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black bile; and according to the mixture of these humours was the temperament of the man, both bodily and spiritual. When the blood predominated, it made a sanguine, hopeful man; when the choler, which was supposed to contain the principle of natural heat, it made a choleric, fiery, irritable man; when the phlegm, it made a cold, dull, phlegmatic man; when the melancholy, or black bile, it made a gloomy, desponding, melancholy man. We retain these terms in common use, though the pathology which gave them their significance has long since been exploded, and almost forgotten. The same physiological theory, also, has bequeathed to us other words still in use. It taught that a man's disposition depended on the right mixture of these humours; and hence we speak of a humorous man, a man's humour, a good-humoured or badhumoured person; and, also, of a good temper, a bad temper, a distemper, a temperament of body, &c., all of which terms had their origin in the theory that the disposition of a man depended on the tempering of these primary humours of the body.

Another set of terms that still continue in use are those of astrology. We have long since ceased to believe in sidereal influences on the lives of men, and yet we retain the word "influence," which originally referred to the flowing down (influens) of a force or virtue from the planets upon the earth. The word "ascendant" is from the same terminology. We also speak of a "disaster," from dis, against, and aster, a star, which originally meant that a man's star was malignant, or against him. We still speak of a man as "jovial," although we do not think that it is owing to his being born under the influence of the planet Jupiter or Jove, the roystering chief of the Pagan Olympus; and we use the terms "saturnine," and "mercurial," though we do not think that gloomy Saturn, or light-heeled and light-fingered Mercury, have any thing to do with the matter whatever.

The ancient tendency of the human mind to refer its acts and states to superhuman and sub-human influences, what Comte calls the theological phase, is also embodied in words. A "guilty" man was at first a guiled or guilt man, that is, one guided by the devil. So a "wicked" man was a man witched, from wiccan, to bewitch. We retain these terms, though we fasten the responsibility nearer home than either the devil or the witch. We also speak of a person as fascinating, without having any faith in the power of killing with the evil eye, as the word fascino originally meant; and talk of another as "enchanting," although we know that the day of enchantments, or wizardly incantations, is over; and call others "bewitching," without the slightest intention of intimating that

they perform nocturnal journeys on a broomstick. The word "journey," we may remark in passing, also records a state of facts that antedates our age of railroads, and even coaches, that have night lines as well as day. It meant, originally, a day's travel, (jour, a day,) and hence we have the words journeyman, journey-work, which were originally applied to men who worked by the day, and work that was performed by the day. Hence a nocturnal journey is etymologically a contradiction.

We have, also, in a number of words, records of particular notions that have long since been laid aside or forgotten. In the phrase, “Sardonic laugh," we record the ancient opinion of the Greeks, that there was an herb in Sardinia that would make those who ate it die with laughter. In the word "sareophagus," which is literally "flesh-eater," and which seems to be an unaccountable name for a receptacle designed to preserve, and not to destroy the bodies of the dead, we perpetuate the opinion of the ancients, that the stones of Assos in Troas, from which tombs were made, would in forty days consume the bodies that were placed in them, all but the teeth, as Pliny informs us, and hence were called sarcophagi, or flesh-consumers. In the word "panic," we retain the notion of the Greeks that the god Pan had some finger in the mischief thus designated. In the phrase," hermetically sealed," we transmit the notion that Hermes Trismegistus was the author of the chemical art; in the word "electricity," that amber (electron) was the substance in which electric phenomena were supposed solely to reside, because first noticed in it. We also speak of the "halcyon days" of human life, and are somewhat puzzled to learn that the halcyon is the king-fisher, until we find out that the seven days before and after the winter solstice were so named, because then this bird made its nest among the reeds by the sea-shore, inasmuch as during these days the sea was usually calm and the sky bright. We speak of the "nightmare," also, without believing that the old Runic spectre Mara seizes and throttles us during the night. We also continue to call a metallic medicine "antimony," although we do not believe that it has any special antipathy to monks, as its discoverer did, who gave it to an unsuspecting monk by way of experiment, and killed the poor fellow; and hence called it antimony, or anti-monk, in view of its supposed anti-popery properties. Thus we find, by chipping off the outer shell of many of our words, we have embodied a record of the crude opinions of our predecessors on many subjects. But we have not only records of crude opinions in words, but also of the crude condition of the arts in ancient times. Most persons are aware that "paper" is so called from the

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Egyptian reed papyrus, the early writing material; and that "volume" (something rolled) is derived from the rolling of MSS. before the discovery of the arts of printing and bookbinding. But we have other words that embody records of similar facts. In the word "library" (from liber, bark) we have the fact that men once used the smooth bark of trees to write on; a fact also preserved in the word "book," which is the old Anglo-Saxon for a beach-tree, because its polished bark was used in this way. In the word "style," we preserve the name of the Roman stylus, the iron pen, one end of which traced the lines on the waxen tablet, and the other erased them when the writer made his corrections. The word "pen" is undergoing this change in our own day. It is literally a penna, a feather or quill, though we now speak of a quill pen and a steel pen. We also speak of "calculating," although we no longer use calculi, or pebbles, to aid us in the process; and use the word "stipulation," though the custom of handing a stipula or straw from the seller to the buyer of a piece of land, in attestation of the contract, is no longer used. We count by "scores," meaning twenties, although we have more convenient methods of reckoning than our ancestors, who counted by notches, and when they had reached twenty, scored; that is, cut off the tally, from the old verb scuran, to cut off. The laying aside of this method of reckoning was adduced by Jack Cade as one of the misdemeanours of the Lord Say in Henry VI.: "Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of this realm, in erecting a grammar school; and whereas before, our forefathers had no other books but the score and tally, thou hast caused printing to be used; and contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill." So we use the phrases "signing our name," "signature," &c., notwithstanding we no longer make the sign of the cross, as our unlettered fathers did, when, unable to write their names, they made a sign for them, or signed instead of writing them. And the tenacity of these ancient customs is indicated by the fact, that when a man is compelled to make his mark, we find him, Protestant though he be, making the sign of the cross as duly as the devoutest Catholic, although in the very act he seems to confess to being a knownothing.

There are also national and social customs that are embodied in words. Thus "candidate" is from candida, white, because a Roman aspirant to office always wore an unusually white toga, a custom that is perhaps perpetuated in modern times by the white-washing that is commonly given to these gentlemen by their friends. From the same source we have the word "ambition," which is literally a going about, (ambitio,)

and was applied to that patriotic impulse that led men to desire to sacrifice themselves to the service of their country on the altar of one of her fat offices, and hence to go about soliciting votes, a sort of pilgrim's progress that our annual elections show has not yet become wholly obsolete. So a "clerk," at one stage of the changing history of its meaning, meant any one who could read, although now it means any one who can write; and when the phrase," benefit of clergy," was first introduced, clerks and clergy were the same class,although in our day the clerks would be very unwilling to be held to all the restraints that are imposed upon the clergy. A "husband" was so called because he was regarded as the "house-band," as old Tusser has it :

"The name of a husband, what is it to say,

Of wife and of household the band and the stay."

And yet, in spite of old Tusser's authority, we know that often the stay of the house comes from the other side. The "wife" was so called from weben, to weave, because among our simple Saxon ancestors, she did the weaving of the household; and the unmarried lady was called "spinster," because she did the spinning. We retain the terms wife and spinster, although these operations have long been laid aside, except in the insinuations of crabbed satirists, who are fond of charging modern spinsters with the manufacture of a less profitable kind of yarn, outside of the house, than that which is produced by the stationary spinning jennies. The word "bonnet" is derived from bonad, a covering; it being an antiquated prejudice that this article of dress was designed to cover the head; a blunder of our great-grandmothers that is exposed now in the most barefaced manner. The word "bead" comes from beden, to pray, and had its origin in the use of the rosary in praying, when one bead was dropped for every petition. In our day, however, wearing beads and saying prayers are things that have no necessary connection. The word "gossip" has also wandered very far from its original meaning. It meant originally a sponsor for a child in baptism. These sponsors were supposed to acquire a spiritual relationship to the child that created a kinship with each other that made intermarriage unlawful. Hence, as the male sponsor was called the godfather, and the female the godmother, their relationship was called godsibb, or kin in God, using the old word sibb, which meant kindred. The christening-days and birth-days naturally brought these spiritual relatives together in a festive manner, and, as Junius very ungallantly observes, they soon came together to tell stories and to tipple over them. Thus, by an obvious process, the word gossip acquired its present meaning, which involves a very different kind of sponsorship, ofttimes,

than that which is assumed at the baptismal font. Thus it is that words remain as witnesses of facts long after those who acted in them have passed away.

A number of words carry in their structure the history of the places from which the articles described by them had their origin. Thus the damson, or damascene plum, tells us that it came from Damascus; while the cloth called "damask" tells the same story. The "bayonet" proclaims that it was made originally at Bayonne; "cambric," at Cambray; "dimity," at Damietta; "carpet" at Cairo, (Cairo tapet, or Cairo tapestry); "muslin," or mousseline, that it came from Moussul; "calico," from Calicut; "gingham," from Guinchamp; "gauze," from Gaza; "arras," from Arras; "holland," from Holland, though now it comes mainly from Ireland; "currants," from Corinth; 'guinea," from Guinea gold; "camlet," from camel's hair; and "artesian wells," from Artois, where they were first made. The same process is going on at the present time in such things as Petersham coats, Mackinaw blankets, Lowell cottons, and other commercial articles, where the adjective is gradually absorbing to itself all the force of a name. The word "bedlam" had an original of this kind. It is simply a corruption of Bethlehem, the hospital of St Mary, Bethlehem, having been given to the city of London, in 1545, as a receptacle for lunatics, whence a madhouse is called a bedlam. The word "tariff" has had a parentage that will rejoice the enemies of a protective system. It comes from Tarifa, the promontory that juts out from Spain into the Straits of Gibraltar, where the piratical Moors were in the habit of arresting all ships entering the Mediterranean, and compelling them to pay toll for the privilege. This levying of black-mail was called tariffing, from whence we have our word tariff; a derivation which the fiery free-trader will think to be a very appropriate one for what he regards as a system of legalised piracy.

But we must pause in our fossil hunting; not, however, for want of material, for we have left some of the richest veins of this great deposit untouched. There are mournful chapters of national history contained in the changes that have occurred in the meanings of words. What volumes of Roman history are contained in the word virtus every Latin scholar knows. It is a cameo-picture of Roman history for many centuries. But what a mournful proof of change is evinced by the fact, that the people who tread on the ashes of Brutus and Cato, now mean by vertu, not the stern manliness of its old Roman original, but tit-bits of rarity, gimcracks, and old curiosities! as if to possess these were the highest attainment of man. It is a further proof of Italian degeneracy, that by a virtuoso they

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