The Sources of Standard English/Chapter I - English in its Earliest Shape

by Thomas Laurence Kington-Oliphant

THE

SOURCES OF STANDARD ENGLISH

――――――――――

CHAPTER I.

english in its earliest shape.^[1]

There are many places, scattered over the world, that are hallowed ground in the eyes of Englishmen; but the most sacred of all would be the spot (could we only know it) where our forefathers dwelt in common with the ancestors of the Hindoos, Persians, Greeks, Latins, Slavonians, and Celts — a spot not far from the Oxus. By the unmistakable witness of language we can frame for ourselves a pedigree more truthful than any heraldic tree boasted by Veres or Montmorencies, by Guzmans or Colonnas. Thanks to the same evidence, we can gain some insight into the daily life of the great Aryan clan, whence spring all the above-named nations.

The word ‘Arya’ seems to come from a time-honoured term for ploughing, traces of which term are found in the Latin arare and the English ear. Some have thought that Iran in the East and Erin in the West alike take their names from the old Aryans, the ‘ploughing’ folk, men more civilised than the roving Tartar hordes around them.

These tillers of the ground ‘knew the arts of plough­ing, of making roads, of building ships, of weaving and sewing, of erecting houses; they had counted at least as far as one hundred. They had domesticated the most important animals, the cow, the horse, the sheep, the dog; they were acquainted with the most useful metals, and armed with hatchets, whether for peaceful or warlike purposes. They had recognised the bonds of blood and the laws of marriage; they followed their leaders and kings; and the distinction between right and wrong was fixed by customs and laws.’^[2] As to their God, traces of him are found in the Sanscrit Dyaus, in the Latin Dies-piter, in the Greek Zeus, in the English Tiw; from this last comes our Tuesday. More­over, the Aryans had a settled framework of grammar: theirs was that Mother Speech, whence most of the men dwelling between the Shannon and the Ganges inherit the words used in daily life.^[3]

The Sanscrit and the English are two out of the many channels that have brought the water from the old Aryan well-head down to our days. The Sanscrit lan­guage, having been set down in writing two thousand years before the earliest English, shows us far more of the great Mother Speech than our own tongue does. I now print a hundred and thirty words or so, the oldest used by us, which vary but slightly in their Eastern and Western shapes. How the one-syllable roots first arose, no man can say.

Sanscrit.	English (Old and New).	Sanscrit.	English (Old and New).
na	ne, no	dhruva (cer­tain)	true
ana	an, on
upa	up	mridu (soft)	mild
upari	over	bhurja	birch
abhi	by	nâbhi	navel
apa	of	nakha	nægel, nail
para	far	nava	new
puras	for	ukshan (bull)	ox
param	fram, from	gô	cú, cow
antar	under	avi (ovis)	ewe
adhi	at	mûsha	mûs, mouse
ud	ût, out	hansa (goose)	gander
nu	nu, now	udra	water
sa, sâ, tat	se, seô, þæt (the, that)	swâdu	sweet
		swêda	sweat
tê	they	rudhira	red
sama (like)	same	anta	end
ubhâ	bâ, both	yuga	yoke
kas[4]	hwâ, who	laghu, laghis­tha	light, lightest
kutra	hwider, whither
tatra	thither	Divâ-madhyam	Day-middle, noon
katara	hwæðer, whe­ther
		râjya	rich
antara	(onther) other	vidjâ	wit
mahistha	mâest, most	manas	mind
dvau	twâ, two	gharmá	warmth
tri	þri, three	nâman	nama, name
sastha	sixth	lobha (desire)	love
saptan	seven	agra (field)	acre
navan	nine	hval (to move)	hweol, wheel
trajôdasan	thirteen	sadas	seat
yuvan	young	pathin	path

bhrâj	bright	satya	sooth, true
pitri	father	vêda	I wot
mâta	mother	sîd-âmi	I sit
bhrâtri	brother	sa-sâd-a	I sat
svasâr	sister	sâd-ayâ-mi	I seat
sûnu	sunu, son	bhar-âmi	I bear
duhitri	daughter	vaks-âmi	I wax
ganas	kin	mâr-ayâ-mi	I murder
dvâra	door	bhanj	break
bhrû	brow	hrî	rue
naktam	by night	we-	weave
div	day	man	mean
ghrishti (pig)	griskin	smi (laugh)	smile
gridhnu (eager)	greedy	grabh (take)	grab
bhadra (good)	better	lih	lick
vant (blowing)	wind	gâ	go
vidhavâ	widow	dhâ	do
nâsa	nose	ad	eat
tripada	three-footed	plu	flow
tanu	thin	par	ferry
dhuma (smoke)	dim	stâ	stand
manu	man	strî	strew
malana (grind­ing)	miln, mill	snu (flow)	snivel
		dar	tear
kalamas	haulm (stubble)	bhu	be
kalya	hale	asti	is
kala (time)	hwile, a while	bhid (split)	bite
dhvan	din	dharsh	dare
janaka (father)	cyning, king	trish	thirst
janî (mother)	cwen, queen	lû	loose
dru	tree	bandh	bind
hrid	heart	dam	tame
stâras	stars	gnâ	know
pattra (wing)	feather	vânksh	wish
kas (to cough)	hâs, hoarse	vrit (turn)	worth[5]
danta	(tonth) tooth	siv	sew[6]

Unhappily, we English have been busy, for the last four thousand years, clipping and paring down our inflec­tions, until very few of them are left to us. Of all Europeans, we have been the greatest sinners in this way. Well said the sage of old, that words are like regiments: they are apt to lose a few stragglers on a long march. Still, we can trace a few inflections, that are common to us and to our kinsmen who compiled the Vedas.

In Substantives, we have the Genitive Singular and the Nominative Plural left.^[7]

	Sanscrit.	Old English.	New English.
Nom. Sing.	Asva-s (horse)	Wulf	Wolf
Gen. Sing.	Asva-sja	Wulfes	Wolf's
Nom. Plur.	Asva-sas	Wulfâs	Wolves

I give a few Suffixes, common to Sanscrit and English forms of the same root: —

Ma; as from the root gna, know, we get the Sanscrit nâman and the English nama, name.

Ra; as from the root ag, go, we get the Sanscrit agra and the English acre.

Nu; as from the root su, bear, we get the Sanscrit sunus and the English sunu, son.

Der; as from the root pa, feed, we get the Sanscrit pi-tar and the English fœ-der, father.

U; as the Sanscrit madhu (honey) is the English meodu (mead). Hence our scádu (shadow), seonu (sinew).

Our word silvern must once have been pronounced as silfre-na, having the suffix na in common with the Sanscrit phali-na.

We may wonder why vixen is the feminine of fox, carline of carle. Turning to our Sanscrit and Latin cousins, we find that their words for queen are râj-nî and reg-ina, coming from the root râj. Still, in these last, the n is possessive; the vowel at the end is the mark of the feminine.

What is the meaning of ward in such a word as heaven-ward? I answer, to turn is vrit in Sanscrit, vertere in Latin.

There is no ending that seems to us more thoroughly Teutonic than the like in such words as workmanlike. But this is seen under a slightly differing shape in the Sanscrit ta-drksa, in the Greek te-lik-os, and the Latin ta-lis. These words answer to our old þŷlic, which survives as thick or thuck in the mouths of Somersetshire peasants. So in Old English we find swŷ-lic, corrupted by us first into swylc, and then into such.

Our privative un is seen in Sanscrit, as an-anta-s, un-end-ing.

The Sanscrit kas, kâ, kat appears in Latin as quis, quœ, quid, and in English as hwâ, hwâ, hwôet (who, what).

The Numerals, up to a hundred, are much the same in Sanscrit, Greek, Latin, and English.

In the Comparison of our Adjectives, we have much in common with Sanscrit. There was a Comparative suffix jans, a Superlative jans-ta.

	Sanscrit.		English.
Theme	Mah (great)		Mic-el, much
Compar.	mah-î-jas		mâ-r-a, more
Superl.	mah-istha		mâe-st, most

So swâdu (sweet) becomes swâdîyâns, swâdisthas, (sweeter, sweetest).

The old Comparatives were formed in ra, tara, Su­perlatives in ma, tama. We have, as relics of the Comparative, other, whether, after; also, over, under.

Of the old Superlatives we have but one left:

Positive.	Comparative.	Superlative.
foreweard	fyrra	for-ma

But this forma we have degraded into a Comparative, and now call it former. It is, in truth, akin to the Sanscrit pra-tha-ma and the Latin pri-mus. Long before the Norman Conquest, we corrupted our old Aryan Superlatives in ma into mest, thinking that they must have some connection with mœst, most. Thus we find both ûtema and ûtmest, utmost. Our word aftermost, if written at full length, would be af-ta-ra-ma-jans-ta, a heaping up of signs to express Comparison.

In our Pronouns, we had a Dual as well as a Singular and Plural; it lasted down to the reign of Edward I.

In our Adverbs, we find traces of the Sanscrit s, with which the old Genitive was formed. Hence comes such a form as ‘he must needs go,’ which carries us back, far beyond the age of written English, to the Sanscrit adverb formed from the Genitive. Even in the earliest English, the Genitive of néd was néde, and nothing more. In later times we say, ‘of a truth, of course,’ &c., which are imitations of the old Adverbial Genitive.

We have not many inflections left in the English Verb. The old form in mi, once common to English, Sanscrit, and other dialects, has long dropped; our word am (in Sanscrit asmi) is now its only representative. It is thought that the old Present ran as shown in the following specimen:

Root nam, take; a word retained by us till A.D. 1500.^[8]

1.	nama-mi	1st Per.	ma, me.
2.	nama-si	2nd Per.	ta, thou.
3.	nama-ti	3rd Per.	ta, this, he.
4.	nama-masi	1st Per.	ma + ta, I + thou.
5.	nama-tasi	2nd Per.	ta + ta, thou + thou.
6.	nama-nti	3rd Per.	an + ta, he + he.

The Perfect of this verb must have been na-nam-ma, in its second syllable lengthening the first vowel of the Present; in other words, forming what is called in English a Strong verb. Sîd-âmi in Sanscrit has sâ-sâd-a for its Perfect, words of which we have clipped forms in I sit and I sat. I hight (once hôehât), from hâ­tan, and I did (once dide), are the only English Perfects that have kept any trace of their reduplication, and the former is our one relic of the Passive voice. The Imperative in Sanscrit was, in the Singular, nama, in the Plural, namata, answering to the Old English nim and nimath. The Infinitive was nam-anaj-a (the Greek nem-enai), which we had pared down into nim-an more than a thousand years ago. The Active Par­ticiple was nama-nt, which runs through most of the daughters of the Aryan Tongue, and which kept its ground in the Scotch Lowlands until of late years, as ‘ridand’ instead of our corrupt word ‘riding.’ The San­scrit and English alike have both Strong and Weak Passive Participles; the former ending in na, the latter in ta, as stîr-na-s, strew-n.^[9]

Sanscrit, yuk-tas
Greek, zeuk-tos
Latin, junc-tus
English, yok-ed (in Lowland Scotch, yok-it).

Those who choose to write I was stopt instead of stopped, may justify their spelling by a reference to the first three forms given above. But this form, though admissible in the Passive Participle, is clearly wrong in the Active Perfect, I stopped, as we shall see farther on.^[10]

In the Aryan Speech there were a few Verbs which had lost their Presents, and which used their old Per­fects as Presents, forming for themselves new weak Perfects. I give a specimen of one of these old Perfects, found both in Sanscrit and English.

Sanscrit.	Old English.	New English.
vêd-a	wât	I wot
vêt-tha	wâs-t	Thou wottest
vêd-a	wât	He wots
vid-ma	wit-o-n	We wot
vid-a	wit-o-n	Ye wot
vid-us	wit-o-n	They wot

It is easy to see that, thousands of years before Christ's birth, our forefathers must have used a Present tense, like wit or vid. Our verbs may, can, shall, will, must, dare (most of which we use, with their new Perfects, as auxiliary verbs), have been formed like wot, and are Irregulars.

Our verb to be is most irregular, since it comes from three roots, as, bhu, and vas. One of the points, in which English goes nearer than Sanscrit to the Mother Speech, is the first letter of the Third Person Plural of this verb. We still say are, the old ar-anti or as-anti; in Sanscrit this word appears only as s-anti. The Germans have no form of our am, the Sanscrit asmi.

The old word, which in Sanscrit is da-dhâ-mi, with its Perfect, da-dhau, was brought to the Northumbrian shores by our Pagan forefathers in the shape of ge-dô-m, di-de. Hence our irregular do, did, the latter of which plays a great part in building Weak Teutonic verbs.

Our verb ga, which is now go, is found in Sanscrit as gi-gâ-mi, with its Perfect derived from another verb; we now say went, instead of the old eôde, which Spenser used; this came from eo. The Lowland Scotch have a corrupt Perfect, gaed, which has been long in use.

Some of the compounds of our English verbs carry us far back. Thus, to explain the meaning of the first syllable in such words as forlorn, fordone, we must look to the Sanscrit parâ.

The Aryan settlement on the banks of the Oxus was in the end broken up. First, the Celt marched towards the setting sun, to hold the Western lands of Europe, and to root out the old Turanian owners of the ground; of these last, the Basques and Lapps alone remain in being. Hundreds of years later the English, with other tribes (they had not yet learnt to count up to a thousand), followed in the Celt's wake, leaving behind them those of their kinsmen who were after­wards to conquer India and Persia, to compile the Vedas, and to leave their handwriting on the rock of Behistun.^[11] Some streams flowed to the West of the great water­shed, others to the East.

Many tokens show that the English must have long lived in common with the forefathers of Homer and Nævius. The ending of the Greek word paid-ion is the counterpart of that of the English maid-en; paid-isk-os of cild-isc, childish,^[12] Latin is still nearer akin to us, and sometimes hardly a letter is changed; as when we com­pare alias and else. Dom-unculus appears in Old English as hus-incle. The Latin fer and the Old English bœre, in truth the same word, are attached to substantives, which are thus changed into adjectives. Vig-il and wac-ol (wakeful) are but different forms of one word. The Latin calvus, gilvus, and malva are our callow, yel­low, and mallow; and the likeness was still more striking before we corrupted the old ending u into ow. Aiei and œvum are the Gothic âiv, the English aye and ever. Latin and English alike slipped the letter n into the middle of a verb before g, as frango or frag, and gang or gag. The Latin Future tense cannot be ex­plained by Latin words; but, on turning to English, we at once see that doma-bo is nothing but our tame-be; that is, I be to tame, or I shall tame. So likewise with ara-bo, or I ear be.^[13] English sometimes shows itself more primitive than Latin; thus, our knot has never lost its first letter, while gnodus was shortened into nodus thousands of years ago.

But all the Teutonic tribes have traces left of their nearness of kin to the Slavonians and Lithuanians, who seem to have been the last of the Aryan stock from whom we Teutons separated. We have seen that, when living in Asia, we were unable to count up to a thousand. The Sanscrit for this numeral is sahasra, the Latin mille. The Slavonians made it tusantja, the Lithuanians tukstanti, and with this the whole Teutonic kindred closely agrees. Further, it seems strange at first sight that we have not framed those two of our numerals that follow ten in some such shape as ân-tŷne and twâ-tŷne, since we go on to þreô-tŷne, thirteen. The explanation is, that the Lithuanian lika answers to the Teutonic tihan, ten; the ka at the end of the former word changes to fa; just as the Sanscrit katvar changes to the Gothic fidvor (our four), and the Latin cado to our fall. If lifan then take the place of the common Teutonic tihan, ân-lifan and twâ-lifan (eleven and twelve) are easily framed. These Eastern kinsmen of ours had also, like ourselves and unlike the rest of the Aryan stock, both a Definite and an Indefinite form of the Adjective.

But the time came when our fathers left off hunting the auroch in the forests to the East of the Vistula, bade farewell to their Lithuanian cousins (one of the most interesting of all the branches of the Aryan tree), and marched Westward, as the Celts had done long before. Up to this time, we may fairly guess, we had kept our verbs in mi. It cannot be known when the great Teutonic race was split up into High Germans, Low Germans, and Scandinavians. Hard is it to explain why each of them stuck to peculiar old forms; why the High Germans should have kept the Present Plural of their Verb (a point in which Old English fails woefully), almost as it is in Sanscrit and Latin; why the Low Germans (this term includes the Goths and English) should in general have clung closer to the old inflec­tions than their brethren did, and have refused to corrupt the letter t into s;^[14] why the Scandinavians should have retained to this day a Passive Voice. I can here do no less than give a substantive and a verb, to show how our brethren (I may now at last drop the word cousins) formed their inflections.

The Substantive Wolf.
Old English.		Gothic.	Old High German.	Old Norse.
singular.
Nom.	wulf	vulfs	wulf	ulfr
Gen.	wulfes	vulfis	wulfes	ulfs
Dat.	wulfe	vulfa	wulfa	ulfi
Acc.	wulf	vulf	wulf	ulf
plural.
Nom.	wulfas	vulfos	wulfa	ulfar
Gen.	wulfa	vulfe	wulfo	ulfa
Dat.	wulfum	vulfam	wulfum	ulfum
Acc.	wulfas	vulfans	wulfa	ulfa
Present Tense of the Verb niman, to take; whence comes our numb.
Old English.		Gothic.	Old High German.	Old Norse.
Ic nime		nima	nimu	nem
þu nimest		nimis	nimis	nemr
he nimeð		nimiþ	nimit	nemr
we nimað		nimam	nemames	nmum
ge nimað		nimiþ	nemat	nemið
hi nimað		nimand	nemant	nema

All these Teutonic tribes must have easily understood each other, about the time of Christ's birth; since, hundreds of years after that event, they were using the above-cited inflections. They had by this time wan­dered far from the old Aryan framework of speech. Thus, to take one instance — the Dative Plural in um; the Sanscrit Nominative sûnus formed its Dative Plural in sûnu-bhjas (compare the Latin ped-ibus),^[15] our English word by entering into the third syllable. Sunubhjas was in time pared down in Teutonic mouths to sunub, and this again to sunum. This last corruption of the dative kept its ground in our island until Becket's time. The tendency of old, when we dwelt on the Oxus, and long afterwards, was to pack different words into one; our custom, ever since the days of Henry I., has been to untie the words so packed together; thus sunubhjas has been turned into by sons.^[16] We have two of these old Datives still left, hwîl-um, whilom, and seld-um, seldom.

We keep to this day many prefixes to verbs (a, be, for, fore, gain, mis, un, with), and many endings of substan­tives and adjectives, common to us and to our brethren on the mainland; seen in such English words as leech-craft, man-kind, king-dom, maiden-head, wed-lock, glee-man, piece-meal, ridd-ell, kind-red, bishop-rick, friend-ship, dar-ling, sing-er, spin-ster, warn-ing, good-ness, stead-fast, mani-fold, East-ern, stân-ig (stony), aw-ful, god-less, win-some, gold-en, right-wis (righteous). Others, older still, I have given before. Many old Teutonic endings have unhappily dropped out of our speech, and have been replaced by meaner ware.

The Teutons, after turning their backs on the rest of their Aryan kin, compounded for themselves a new Perfect of the verb, known as the Weak form. The older Strong Perfect is formed by changing the vowel of the Present, as I sit, I sat, common to English and Sanscrit. But the new Perfect of the Teutons is formed by adding di-de (in Sanscrit, da-dhâu) to the stem. Thus, sealf-ie, I salve, becomes in the Perfect, sealfo-de, the de being contracted from dide. When we say, I loved, it is like saying, I love did. This comes out much plainer in our Gothic sister.^[17]

Another peculiarity of the Teutons was the use of the dark Runes, still found engraven on stone, both in our island and on the mainland: these were in later times proscribed by Christianity as the handmaids of witch­craft.

The Celts were roughly driven out of their old abodes, on the banks of the Upper Danube and elsewhere, by the intruding Teutons. The former were far the more civilised of the two races: they have left in their word hall an abiding trace of their settlement in Bavaria, and of their management of salt works. The simple word leather is thought by good judges to have been borrowed from the Celts by their Eastern neighbours.^[18]

Others suffered besides the Celts. A hundred years before Christ's birth, the Teutons forced their way into Italy, but were overthrown by her rugged champion Marius. Rather later, they matched themselves against Cæsar in Gaul, and felt the heavy hand of Drusus. The two races, the Latin and the Teutonic (neither of them dreamed that they were both sprung from a com­mon Mother), were now brought fairly face to face. Our forefathers, let us hope, bore their share in the great fight, when the German hero smote Varus and his legions; we English should think less of Caractacus and Boadicea, more of Arminius and Velleda. Hitherto we have puzzled out our history from the words used by ourselves and our kin, without help from annalists; now at length the clouds roll away, and Tacitus shows us the Angli, sheltered by their forests and rivers, the men who worshipped Mother Earth, in her own sea-girt island, not far from the Elbe. Little did the great his­torian guess of the future that lay before the barba­rians, whom he held up to his worthless countrymen with so skilful a pen. Some of these Teutonic tribes were to take the place of Rome and become the lords of her Empire, to bear her Eagle and boast her titles; others of them, later in the world's history, were to rule more millions of subjects than Rome could ever claim, and were to found new empires on shores to her unknown. She had indeed done great things in law and litera­ture; but her Senate might well have learned a lesson of public spirit from the assemblies held by these barba­rians, assemblies to which we can trace a likeness in the later councils held in Wessex, Friesland, Uri, Norway. Rome's most renowned poets were to be outdone by Teuton Makers, men who would soar aloft upon bolder wing into the Unseen and the Unknown, and who would paint the passions of mankind in more lifelike hues than any Latin writer ever essayed.^[19]

But among the many good qualities of ourselves and our kinsmen, tender care for conquered foes has seldom been reckoned; Western Celt and Eastern Slavonian know this full well. Hard times were at hand; the old worn-out Empire of Rome was to receive fresh life-blood from the healthy Teutons. In the Fifth Century, our brethren overran Spain, Gaul, and Italy; becoming lords of the soil, and overlaying with their own words the old Latin dialects spoken in those provinces. To this time belongs the Beowulf, which is to us English (may I not say, to all Teutons?) what the Iliad was to the Greeks. The old Epic, written on the mainland, sets before us the doughty deeds of an Englishman, before his tribe had come to Britain. There is an unmistak­able Pagan ring about the poem; and a Christian tran­scriber, hundreds of years afterwards, has sought to soften down this spirit, which runs through the recital of the feats of Ecgtheow's bairn.

In the same age as the Beowulf were written the Battle of Finsborough and the Traveller's Song. In the latter, Attila, Hermanric, and the wealthy Cæsar are all mentioned. Pity it is that we have not these lays in their oldest form, in the English spoken not long after the first great Teutonic writer had given the Scriptures to his Gothic countrymen in their own tongue.^[20]

The island of Britain was now no longer to be left in the hands of degenerate Celts; happier than Crete or Sicily, it was to become the cradle where a great people might be compounded of more than one blood. Bede, writing many years later, tells us how the Jutes settled themselves in Kent and Wight; how the Saxons fastened upon Essex, Sussex, and Wessex; how the Angles, coming from Anglen (the true Old England), founded the three mighty kingdoms of East Anglia, Mercia, and Northumbria, holding the whole of the coast between Stirling and Ipswich. It is with this last tribe that I am mainly concerned in this work. Fearful must have been the woes undergone by the Celts at the hands of the ruthless English heathen, men of blood and iron with a vengeance. So thoroughly was the work of extermination done, that but few Celtic words have been admitted to the right of English citizenship. The few that we have seem to show that the Celtic women were kept as slaves, while their husbands, the old owners of the land, were slaughtered in heaps.

Garnett gives a list of nearly two hundred of these words, many of which belong to household manage­ment; and others, such as spree, bam, whop, balderdash, &c., can scarcely be reckoned classical English.^[21]

Old Britain was by degrees swept away, after much hard fighting; and the history of New England at length begins. Christianity, overspreading the land in the Seventh Century, did much to lighten the woes of the down-trodden Celts: a wonderful difference there was between the Christian conquest of Somerset and the Pagan conquest of Sussex. The new creed brought in its train scores of Latin words, such as candle, altar, church, &c., which have been employed by us ever since the Kentish King's baptism.

At this point I halt, finding no better opportunity for setting forth the grammar employed by our forefathers, traces of which, mangled as it is by the wear and tear of centuries, may still be found.

NOUNS.
DIVISION I.
CLASS I.
singular.
	Masc.	Fem.	Neut.
Nom.	Steorra	Tunge	Eáge
Gen.	Steorran	Tungan	Eágan
Dat.	Steorran	Tungan	Eágan
Acc.	Steorran	Tungan	Eáge
plural.
Nom.	Steorran	Tungan	Eágan
Acc.
Gen.	Steorrena	Tungena	Eágena
Dat.	Steorrum	Tungum	Eágum

CLASS II.
singular.		plural.
Nom.	Sáwel	Nom.	Sáwla
Gen.	Sáwle	Gen.	Sáwla, sawlena
Dat.	Sáwle	Dat.	Sáwlum
Acc.		Acc.	Sáwla
CLASS III.
singular.		plural.
Nom.	Duru	Nom.	Dura
Gen.	Dure	Gen.	Dura (durena)
Dat.	Dure	Dat.	Durum
Acc.	Dura	Acc.	Dura
DIVISION II.
CLASS I.
singular.		plural.
Nom.	Hors	Nom.	Hors
Acc.		Acc.
Gen.	Horses	Gen.	Horsa
Dat.	Horse	Dat.	Horsum
CLASS II.
singular.		plural.
Nom.	Scip	Nom.	Scipu
Acc.		Acc.
Gen.	Scipes	Gen.	Scipa
Dat.	Scipe	Dat.	Scipum
DIVISION III.
CLASS I.
singular.		plural.
Nom.	Dæl	Nom.	Dælas
Acc.		Acc.
Gen.	Dæles	Gen.	Dæla
Dat.	Dæle	Dat.	Dælum

CLASS II.
singular.		plural.
Nom.	Sunu	Nom.	Suna
Acc.		Acc.
Gen.	Suna	Gen.	Suna
Dat.	Suna	Dat.	Sunum

We have still a few Plurals left, formed by vowel-change from the Singular. These are feet, teeth, mice, lice, geese, men. Three substantives, deer, sheep, swine, are the same in both numbers. Oxen is our one Plural in en that has come down from very early times.

ADJECTIVES.
DEFINITE DECLENSION.
	singular.
	Masc.	Fem.	Neut.
Nom.	Góda	Góde	Góde
Gen.	Gódan	Gódan	Gódan
Dat.	Gódan	Gódan	Gódan
Acc.	Gódan	Gódan	Góde
	plural.
	Nom.	Gódan
	Acc.
	Gen.	Gódena
	Dat.	Gódum
INDEFINITE DECLENSION.
	singular.
	Masc.	Fem.	Neut.
Nom.	Gód	Gód	Gód
Gen.	Gódes	Gódre	Gódes
Dat.	Gódum	Gódre	Gódum
Acc.	Gódne	Góde	Gód

plural.
Masc. and Fem.			Neut.
Nom.	Góde		Gód(u)
Acc.
Gen.	Gódra		Gódra
Dat.	Gódum		Gódum

DEMONSTRATIVES.
	singular.				plural.
	Masc.	Fem.	Neut.
Nom.	se	seo	þæt		Nom.	þa
Gen.	þæs	þâere	þæs		Acc.
Dat.	þam	þâere	þam		Gen.	þâra
Acc.	þone	þâ	þæt		Dat.	þâm
Abl.	þŷ	þŷ	þŷ
	singular.				plural.
	Masc.	Fem.	Neut.
Nom.	þes	þeôs	þis		Nom.	þâs
Gen.	þises	þisse	þises		Acc.
Dat.	þisum	þisse	þisum		Gen.	þissa
Acc.	þisne	þâs	þis		Dat.	þisum

PRONOUNS.
	singular.			dual.
Nom.	Ic	þu	Nom.	wit	git
Gen.	mîn	þîn	Gen.	uncer	incer
Dat.	me	þe	Dat.	unc	inc
Acc.			Acc.

	plural.
Nom.	we		ge
Gen.	ûre		eôwer
Dat.	ûs		eôw
Acc.

	singular.				plural.
	Masc.	Fem.	Neut.
Nom.	he	heô	hit		Nom.	hî
Gen.	his	hire	his		Acc.
Dat.	him	hire	him		Gen.	hira
Acc.	hine	hi	hit		Dat.	him

	Masc. and Fem.			Neut.
	Nom.	hwâ		hwæt
	Gen.	hwæs		hwæs
	Dat.	hwam		hwam
	Acc.	hwone		hwæt
	Abl.	hwŷ		hwŷ

THE STRONG VERB.
(Infinitive, healdan.)
INDICATIVE.
Present.		Perfect.
Sing.	Plur.	Sing.	Plur.
healde	healdað	heôld	heôldon
hylst	healdað	heôlde	heôldon
hylt	healdað	heôld	heôldon

SUBJUNCTIVE.
	Present.		Perfect.
	Sing.	healde	heôlde
	Plur.	healdon	heôldon

IMPERATIVE.
		Sing.	heald
		Plur.	healdað

Gerund.	Present Participle.	Past Participle.
To healdanne	healdende	gehealden

THE WEAK VERB.
(Infinitive, lufian.)
INDICATIVE.
Present.		Perfect.
Sing.	Plur.	Sing.	Plur.
lufige	lufiað	lufode	lufodon
lufast	lufiað	lufodest	lufodon
lufað	lufiað	lufode	lufodon

SUBJUNCTIVE.
Present.			Perfect.
Sing.	lufige		lufode
Plur.	lufion		lufodon

IMPERATIVE.
		Sing.	lufa
		Plur.	lufiað

Gerund.	Present Participle.	Past Participle.
To lufigenne	lufigende	gelufod

There are two marked tendencies in English, shared by some of the other Teutonic dialects, which should be observed.

The first is, a liking to cast out the letter n, if it comes before th, s, or f. We have seen how the Sanscrit antara is heard in our mouths as other; much in the same way tonth, finf, gons, became tôð, fîf, gôs, lengthen­ing the vowel before n.

The second of our peculiarities is, a habit of putting d or t after n, l, r, or s, usually to round off the end of a word, though it sometimes is inserted in the middle of a word. Thus the French tyran becomes tyrant, the Gaelic Donuil becomes Donald; the old English betweox is now betwixt; thou falles (akin to the Greek and Latin form) is corrupted into fallest; but the true old form of this last still lingers in Scotland. Those who talk about a gownd or of being drownded may plead that they are only carrying further a corruption that began long before the Norman Conquest, and that has since that event turned thunor into thunder, and dwine into dwindle.

Many in our day call a wasp a wapse, and axe leave instead of asking it. Both forms alike are good old English; we also find side by side fisc and fix, beorht and bryht, grœs and gœrs, irnan and rinnan, for piscis, clarus, gramen, and currere. When men say, ‘they don't care a curse’ (the last word is commonly some­thing still stronger), they little think that they are employing the old English cerse, best known to us as cress.

English, unlike German, has now a strong objection to the hard g, especially in the middle of a word; the g is softened into y; regen early became rén (rain).

A table of the Old English Prepositions is a mournful sight. Too many of them have been dropped altogether; and some have been replaced by cumbrous French com­pounds, such as on account of, according to, in addition to, because of, in spite of, on condition that, around, during, except.

Our sailors have kept alive bœftan (abaft), as a Pre­position, though œft (aft) is with them only an adverb. Bûtan and binnan (in Latin, extra et intra) still linger in the Scotch Lowlands; as in the old Perth ballad of Cromwell's time: —

When Oliver's men
Cam but and ben.

Anent, which of old was on-efn, is preserved in the same district; and this most useful word seems to be coming into use among our best writers once more. But gelang (the Latin per) is now used only by the poor; as in ‘it is all along of you.’ We sometimes hear the old onforan as afore, and ongêan sounded as again, not the corrupt against. Tô is still used in America in one of its old senses, where we degenerate English should use at; we find in the Beowulf sêcean tô Heorote, seek at Heorote. The old Northumbrian til is employed in the North, where we say to.

I now give a few instances, where we still use Prepo­sitions in the true Old English sense, though very sparingly. To do one's duty by a man; to receive at his hands; for all his prayers, i.e. in spite of; to go a hunting, which of old was written, gân on huntunge; eaten of worms (by is very seldom used before the Con­quest in this sense of agency); we have Abraham to our father; made after his likeness; to get them under arms. Our best writers should never let these old phrases die out; we have already lost enough and too much of the good old English.

Sum man used to stand either for quidam or for aliquis; we can now only use it in the latter sense. The Indefinite Article may be seen in Matt. xxi. 28, ân man hœfde twegen sunâ; but one of the most marked tendencies of the oldest English is to leave out this Article, especially in poems, such as Cadmon's lay or the Beowulf. Hence our many pithy phrases like, ‘Faint heart never won fair lady.’ In this we go much farther than the Gothic or High German.

Man is used indefinitely, where the Greeks would say tis; as gif mon wîf ofsleâ (March's Grammar, p. 181). The numeral ân, was the parent of our one (if one slay). Some have wrongly derived the latter from the French on. Readers of David Copperfield will remember the col­legian, who uses the phrase ‘a man’ for I; as, ‘a man is always hungry here,’ ‘a man might make himself very comfortable.’

Some think that yea is a more archaic form than yes; but gese and geâ are alike found in our oldest writers. There was also once a nese. As to negation, when a man says, ‘I didn't never say nothing to nobody,’ this is a good old idiom, that lasted down to the Reformation. Much harm has been done to our speech by attempts to ape French and Latin idioms.

We are now told that an English sentence ought never to end with a Preposition. This rule is not sanc­tioned by our forefathers' usage. When Cadmon was on his death-bed, and wished for the Eucharist, he said, ‘Berað me hwæþere husel to.’^[22]

In the Verb we keep many old idioms with but little change, such as, ic eom sêcende, I am seeking; hê gœð rôedan, he is going to read; ic tô drincenne hœbbe, I have to drink; wôeron tô farenne, they were to go; ic hœbbe mete tô etanne, I have to eat; synd forðfarene, they are gone. The Future was expressed by shall and will, and also by the Present; we still say, ‘another word, and I go.’ Ic môt, þû môst expressed permission, and was very seldom used in our sense of must, expressing need.^[23]

Our fathers translated the Latin debeo by sceal; we have lost this old sense of that verb, except in a phrase like ‘he should do it.’ In the Imperative mood, utan was used where we say let, as utan tô-brecan, let us break; this old form lingered on to 1250. We see an attempt to supply the want of a Middle voice in such phrases as hê heþohte hine, ‘he bethought him,’ and the later, ‘I fear me.’

I give a few forms, which we should not expect, found in English writers before the Conquest. These I have taken from March's Anglo-Saxon Grammar, published in 1870.

The Article, as in Homer, sometimes stands for the Pronoun; seô for heô; as, seô lufath hine.^[24] Hence comes our she.

The Preposition of is used to express material instead of the old Genitive. Thus we find not only scennum scîran goldes, but also reâf of hœrum.^[25] Compare Virgil's templum de marmore ponam. This of and this de have been the parents of a wide-spread offspring in modern languages; but our Old English Genitive is happily still alive, though it is used more in speaking than in writing.

The Preposition to is used sometimes (not often) with an Infinitive, as well as with a Gerund. Thus, in Beowulf, 316, mœl is mê tô fêran, it is time for me to fare.^[26]

Cut to pieces seems modern, but we find in the Old English Bible ceorfon tô sticcon.^[27]

With has two meanings, seemingly contradictory, in Latin, cum and contra. We say, to walk with a friend, and to fight with a foe. It was used in both senses long before the Conquest.

In Old English, hwœt sometimes stood for the Latin aliquid. Hence comes our, ‘I tell you what.’^[28] In later times it would be easy to compound somewhat.

Indefinite agency was expressed of old much as now; þonne hig wyriað eôw, when they revile you.^[29]

The strange Dative reflexive has always been used; as, Pilatus hym sylf âwrât.^[30] The Irish rightly say meself, not myself; this is the old Dative mê sylf, brought to Erin by Strongbow's men-at-arms.

We have seen how useful the verb do has always been in framing our English speech. A phrase like he doth withstand (not he withstands) seems modern; but it is found in King Alfred's writings. Do not thou turn was expressed of old as ne dô þû, þœt þû oncyrre.^[31] Christ said to the woman taken in adultery, ‘Dô gâ, and ne synga ðû nôefre mâ’ (John viii. 11).

Our curious idiom of Participles, he ceased commanding, they dreaded asking, is found in Old English, as geendude bebeôdende, ondrêdon âcsigende. Hê hœfde hine geworhtne, ‘he had him wrought,’ common enough with us, is not often found in Greek or Latin.^[32]

Bu is used just as we employ both in phrases like both he and I.^[33] We have lost certain other old forms for ex­pressing this.

The Latin non solum appears in Old English as nâ þœt ân. We now omit the word in the middle.

Our same was never used except adverbially; thus, sam hit sŷ sumer sam winter, the same in summer and winter.^[34] Beasts have natures swâ same swâ men.^[35] The Latin idem was expressed, not by same, but by ylc; this lingers in Scotland, as in the phrase, Redgauntlet of that Ilk. Same (idem) began to come into vogue only about the year 1200.

We still employ though at the end of a sentence, in the sense of the Latin tamen, and now in the sense of quoniam; just as our forefathers did. We have had a sad loss in for þam, the Latin quia, which we began to replace in 1300 by an ugly French compound.

I give from King Alfred a sentence which contains two peculiar English idioms: ‘Elpendes hŷd myle drin­can wœtan gelice and spinge dêð, Elephant's hide will soak water like a sponge doth.’^[36]

The well-known Latin phrase, quo plus . . . eo plus, becomes in English bið þŷ heardra, þe swîðôr beâtað, it becomes the harder, the stronger they beat.^[37] This is, in our day, the one sole case in which the is not a Definite Article.

The expletive þœr was used to begin a sentence, as, þœr was án cyning. This resembles nothing in German or Latin.

The English of old employed hwœt (quid) as an In­terjection. This is the first word of the Beowulf, where it answers to our Ho. The old usage may be traced down to our times, though it was thought to be some­what overdone by King George the Third.^[38]

Our speech is now but a wreck of what it once was; for instance, of the many verbs which bore the prefix œt, only one is left, retaining that preposition sadly mangled; this is œtwitan, our twit.

Other verbs have become oddly corrupted, and the corruptions have, as it were, run into each other. Thus we have but one verb, own, to represent both the old áhnian (possidere), and the old unnan (concedere). Thus also we have but settle, to stand for both setlan and sahtlian.^[39]

An old verb had often two forms slightly differing; we still translate fugere by both fly and flee, following the oldest usage. It is a pity that we have lost our accents; we can now no longer distinguish between metan (me­tiri) and métan (occurrere). We have often doubled our vowels to mark a difference; thus gód (bonus) has become good, that it may not be confounded with our word for Deus: it is the same with toll and tool, cock and cook, and many others.^[40]

We have sometimes thought that we could improve on our forefathers' speech by yoking two of their synonyms together; when we say sledgehammer, it is like a Latinist writing malleus twice over. Now and then a good old word is sadly degraded; thus dyderian (decipere) now exists only in the slang verb diddle.^[41] Further on I shall give examples of words, that are seven hundred years old, set down as mere slang in our day.

There was one favourite art of our forefathers, which we have not yet altogether lost, prone though we have been to copy French rimes. This art was Alliterative poetry, as seen in Cadmon's lines on the Deluge: —

For mid Fearme
Fære ne moston
Wæg liðendum
Wætres brogan
Hæste Hrinon
ac hie Halig god
Ferede and nerede.
Fiftena stod
Deop ofer Dunum
Sæ Drence flod.^[42]

Conybeare traces this love of Alliteration in English poets down to 1550, and Earle traces it on farther to 1830. Byron's noble line on the Brunswicker's death at Quatre Bras is well known. I can bear witness, from my own schoolboy recollections, to the popularity of this old metre in 1849.^[43] This it is that has kept alive phrases like ‘weal and woe,’ ‘born and bred,’ ‘sooth to say,’ ‘fair or foul,’ ‘kith and kin,’ ‘bed and board,’ ‘make or mar,’ ‘might and main.’^[44]

1. Gibbon begins his famous Chapter on Mohammed by confessing his ignorance of Arabic; even so, I must acknowledge that all my Sanscrit comes from Garnett, Bopp, Max Müller, and Dr. Morris.
2. Max Müller, Science of Language, I. 273.
3. The Turks and Magyars are the chief exceptions to the rule.
4. K in Sanscrit becomes H in a Teutonic tongue.
5. As in our phrase, ‘woe worth the day.’
6. It will be remarked that Grimm's Law is sometimes broken.Thus day and path begin with the same letter both in Sanscrit andEnglish. I wish that some competent scholar would give us a listof all those of our Teutonic words that are clearly akin to Sanscrit.Antiquam exquirite — sororem. The English bishop and the Frenchevêque, two very modern forms of the same word, are much widerapart from each other than the hoary words in the long list givenabove. Clive's sailors would have stared, had they been told thatthe first syllable of the Ganges was to be found in the gangway oftheir ships, and that kinsmen, long separated, were being re-united.
7. English, in respect of the Nominative Plural, comes nearer to the Mother Speech than German does.
8. Hence comes ‘to numb.’
9. Few Sanscrit verbs have this form, so common in English.
10. Archdeacon Hare always spelt preached as preacht. Still, it is the English th not t, that answers to the Sanscrit t.
11. The old Persian word yâre is the English year.
12. Sophocles' high-sounding πωλοδαμνεῖν would be our to foal­tame, if we chose to compound a word closely akin to Greek.
13. The verb ear is happily preserved in Shakespeare, and in the English Bible. It is one of the first words that ought to be revived by our best writers, who should remember their Ar-yan blood.
14. Compare the Sanscrit swêda, English sweat, High German schweiss. English is at once seen to be far more primitive than German.
15. Pedibus is but the Latin form of the Sanscrit padbhyas.
16. I hope I have been plainer than Miss Cornelia Blimber, who told her small pupil that Analysis is ‘the resolution of an object, whether of the senses or of the intellect, into its first elements — as opposed to Synthesis, you observe. Now you know what Analysis is, Dombey.’ It is remarked that Dombey didn't seem to be absolutely blinded by the light thus let in upon his intellect.
17. The Latins set Prepositions before dhâ and dadhdu, and thus formed abdo, abdidi; condo, condidi; perdo, perdidi. This last is nothing but the English I for-do (ruin), I for-did.
18. Garnett's Essays, pp. 150, 167.
19. Most Englishmen will agree with Garnett, who writes, ‘We have a great regard for the Dutch, a still greater for the Germans, and an absolute enthusiasm for all the sons of Odin, whether Danes, Swedes, Norwegians, or Icelanders.’
20. I do not quote in my Appendix any specimen of English before 680, as we cannot be sure that we have any such English exactly as it was written.
21. Philological Essays, p. 161. Some Celtic words, like gallop and travail, were brought back to England by our Norman con­querors. Bother, a favourite oath of the ladies in our time, comes to us from the Irish; it means mente affligere. — Garnett, p. 161.
22. Thorpe's Analecta Anglo-Saxonica, p. 68.
23. March (p. 195) gives a few instances of the latter sense.
24. Ibid. pp. 140, 177. He quotes from Mark xii. 3, swungon thone and forlêton hine.
25. Ibid. p. 154. So ân of þesum, one of these. This Partitive use of the word of is very old.
26. March, p. 168.
27. Ibid.
28. Morris, English Accidence, p. 137.
29. March, p. 174.
30. Ibid. p. 175.
31. Ibid. p. 186.
32. March, p. 201.
33. Ibid. p. 202.
34. Ibid. p. 203.
35. Ibid. p. 204.
36. Ibid. p. 208.
37. Ibid.
38. In the Rolliad, the King meets Major Scott, and thus expresses himself: —

    Methinks I hear,
    In accents clear,
    Great Brunswick's voice still vibrate on my ear.
    ‘What, what, what!
    Scott, Scott, Scott!
    Hot, hot, hot!
    What, what, what!’

39. As in the phrase, ‘to settle a quarrel.’ So, in French, louer has to represent both laudare and locare.
40. We have not often kept the sound of the old vowel at the end of the word so faithfully as in smithy, the former smiððe.
41. The Dorsetshire peasantry, as Mr. Barnes tells us, pronounce in the Old English way words that in polite speech have but one sound; thus they say heäle for sanus, and haïl for grando. We have had a sad loss in dropping the twofold sound, and odd mistakes some­times arise. I remember at school, nearly thirty years ago, that our class was given Scott's lines:

    ‘Hail to thy cold and clouded beam’ &c.,

    which we were to turn into Latin longs and shorts. I still recall the disgust of the master (vir plagosus) on reading one blockhead's attempt: it began with grando! Thanks to our slovenly fore­fathers, English is now the punster's Paradise; Hood knew this well.

42. Conybeare's Anglo-Saxon Poetry, xxxiii.
43. We were fond of an old ballad, beginning with —

    ‘All round the rugged rocks
    The ragged rascal ran.’

44. It has sometimes substituted a Romance for a Teutonic word; thus we now say ‘safe and sound,’ not ‘hale and sound,’ our fore­fathers' phrase.