up.
These provincial modes of speech have often actually preserved for us the origin of English phraseology, and enlightened the philologist in a path unexplored. In one of the most original and most fanciful of the dramas of Ben Jonson, “The Sad Shepherd,” the poet designed to appropriate a provincial dialect to the Witch Maudlin’s family. He had consulted Lacy the comedian, who was a native of Yorkshire, respecting the northern phraseology. Unfortunately, this drama was never finished; and the consequence is, that the dialects are incorrectly given, and are worsened by the orthography of the printer. Yet it was from this imperfect attempt to convey some notion of our dialects that Horne Tooke was able to elucidate one of his grammatical discoveries, in regard to the conjunction if, which, from “The Sad Shepherd,” is demonstrated to be anciently the imperative of the verb gif, or give. Thus it was, by apparently very rude dialects, this famous philologist was enabled to substantiate beyond doubt a signification which had occurred to no one but himself.5
A language in the progress of its refinement loses as well as gains in the amount of words, and the good fortune of expressive phrases. Some become equivocal by changing their signification, and some fall obsolete, one cannot tell why, for custom or caprice arbitrate, guided by no law, and often with an unmusical ear. These discarded but faithful servants, now treated as outcasts, and not even suspected to have any habitation, are safely lodged in some of our dialects. As the people are faithful traditionists, repeating the words of their forefathers, and are the longest to preserve their customs, they are the most certain antiquaries; and their oral knowledge and their ancient observances often elucidate many an archæological obscurity. Hence, two remarkable consequences have been discovered in the history of our popular idioms; many words and phrases used in the land of Cockney, now deemed not only vulgar but ungrammatical, are in fact not corruptions of the native tongue, but the remains of what was anciently at different periods the established national dialect.6 This transmitted language descended to the humbler classes, unimpaired and unaugmented, through a long line of ancestry. Again, it is often probable that the provincial word which in its pronunciation merely reverses the order of the letters, as now uttered, and which is only heard from the mouths of the people, may convey the original spoken sound, and be the genuine English. Are we quite sure that the polishers may not often have been the corrupters of our language? Nor let us be positive that the metropolitan taste has always fixed on the most felicitous or the most forcible of our idiomatic words or phrases, since we may discover some lingering among our provincial dialects which should never have been dismissed, and which claim to be restored. When Johnson compiled his “Dictionary,” he was not aware of the authentic antiquity of our dialectic terms and phrases. Our literary antiquities had not yet engaged the attention of general scholars. Provincialisms were not deemed by the legislator of our language legitimate words; he did not recognise their primitive claims, nor their relative affinities, but ejected them as vagabonds. But words are not barbarous nor obsolete because no longer used in our written composition, since some of the most exquisite and picturesque, which have ceased to enrich our writings, live in immortal pages. After the issue of Johnson’s great labour, our national literature began to attract the studies of literary men, who soon perceived how this neglected but existing stock of idiomatic English in our provincialisms more certainly explained our elder writers in verse and prose. Amid the murmurs raised by the archæologists, Ash attempted to supply the palpable deficiency of Johnson; but the matter was too abundant, and his space too contracted. In vain he attempted his “Supplement;” all the counties in England seemed to rise against the luckless glossarist; but notwithstanding its limited utility, his vocabulary was often preferred for its copiousness to the more elaborate lexicon. The spirit of inquiry was now abroad after the “winged words;” and ingenious persons, within these twenty years,7 have produced a number of provincial glossaries; but several are still wanting, particularly those of Kent, and Sussex, and Hampshire. All these glossaries collected together might form a provincial lexicon marking each county. A few might be allowed to enter into the great dictionary of the English language; but that would not be their safest place, for they would then lie at the mercy of successive editors, who would not always discern a precious archaism amid the baseness and corruption of language. The origin, the nature, and the history of our provincial idioms have yet never been investigated, though the subject, freed from its mere barbarisms, opens a diversified field to the philosopher, the antiquary, and the philologist.
Grose, who wrote in 1785, notices the state of those counties which were remote from the metropolis, or which had no immediate intercourse with it before “newspapers and stage-coaches imported scepticism, and made every ploughman and thresher a politician and a freethinker.” The accelerated intercourse of the people has long passed beyond the diurnal folio and the evanescent stage-coach, and in a century of railroads and national schools the provincial glossary will finally vanish away.
1 “Dictionnaire Languédocien-françois,” par l’Abbé de Sauvages. “Franchiman est formé de l’Allemand, et signifie homme de France.” The Abbé wrote in 1756, when he did not care to translate too literally; the Frank-man meant the Free man, for the Franks called themselves so, as “the free people.” This learned Gascon, in his zeal for the Langue d’oc, explains, “Parla Franchiman,” means “parler avec l’accent (bon ou mauvais) des provinces du nord du royaume:” an insinuation that the French accent might not be positively the better one. The good Abbé had such a perfect conviction of the superiority of his Languedocians, that he would have no other servants not only for their superior integrity, but for that of their language.
2 “Palgrave,” 174. They also received some in exchange, many words in Cæsar being British.—Hearne’s “Leland’s Itinerary,” vi.
3 In that very curious “Logonomia Anglica” of the learned Alexander Gill—the father, for his son of the same name succeeded him as master of St. Paul’s—we have the orthoepy of our dialects given with great exactness. This work was produced about 1619, and we find the peculiar provincial pronunciation of the present day. A work so curious in the history of our vernacular tongue should not have been composed in Latin. Mr. Guest has carefully translated a judicious extract—“History of English Rhythms,” ii, 204.
4 The late Dr. Valpy told me that Mr. Walker, the orthoepist, had so intimate a knowledge of the provincial peculiarities of pronunciation, that in a private course of reading at Oxford with twelve undergraduates, he told each of them the respective place of their birth or early education.
5 Tooke’s “Diversions of Purley,” p. 141.
6 In “Anecdotes of the English Language,” by Samuel Pegge, an antiquary, who called himself “an old modern,” the reader will find several curious exemplifications of the vulgar dialect, sometimes fancifully, but often satisfactorily ascertained. It is amusing to detect what we call vulgarisms composing the language of Chaucer and Shakspeare, and even our Bibles and Liturgies.
7 Ray was the first who collected “Local Words, North Country and South and East Country.” “The Exmoor Scolding and Courtship” is an authentic specimen of the Exmoor Language. The words were collected by a blind fiddler, and the dialogues were written by a clergyman with the fiddler’s assistance, before 1725. We have a glossary of Lancashire words and phrases, contained in the humorous works of Tim Bobbin. Other county glossarists have appeared within the last fifteen years:—Brockett’s “North Country Words;” “Suffolk Words and Phrases,”
