part ii

. act ii. scene 4.

[13] It is but fair to imagine that cheat ultimately became synonymous with “fraud,” when we remember that it was one of the most common words of the greatest class of impostors in the country.

[14] We are aware that more than one eminent philologist states that the origin of “queer” is seen in the German _quer_, crooked,—hence strange and abnormal. While agreeing with this etymology, we have reason to believe that the word was first used in this country in a Cant sense.

[15] Booget properly signifies a leathern wallet, and is probably derived from the _low Latin_, BULGA. A tinker’s budget is from the same source.

[16] Which, freely translated into modern Slang, might read—especially to those who know the manners and customs of the Dialites—thus:

“Good girls, go out, and look about, Good girls, go out and see; For every clout is up the spout, The bloke’s gone on the spree.”

[17] Who wrote about the year 1610.

[18] _Gipsies in Spain_, vol. i. p. 18. Borrow further commits himself by remarking that “Head’s Vocabulary has always been accepted as the speech of the English Gipsies.” Nothing of the kind. Head professed to have lived with the Gipsies, but in reality filched his words from Decker and Brome.

[19] The modern meanings of a few of the old Cant words are given within brackets.

[20] This is a curious volume, and is worth from one to two guineas. The Canting Dictionary was afterwards reprinted, word for word, with the title of _The Scoundrel’s Dictionary_, in 1751. It was originally published, without date, about the year 1710, by B. E., under the title of _A Dictionary of the Canting Crew_.

[21] _Bacchus and Venus._—1737.

[22] _London Labour and the London Poor._

[23] Mayhew (vol. i. p. 217) speaks of a low lodging-house “in which there were at one time five university men, three surgeons, and several sorts of broken-down clerks.” But old Harman’s saying, that “a wylde Roge is he that is _borne_ a roge,” will perhaps explain this seeming anomaly. There is, whatever may be the reason, no disputing the truth of this latter statement, as there is not, we venture to say, a common lodging-house in London without broken-down gentlemen, who have been gentlemen very often far beyond the conventional application of the term to any one with a good coat on his back and money in his pocket.

ACCOUNT

OF THE

HIEROGLYPHICS USED BY VAGABONDS.

One of the most singular chapters in a history of vagabondism would certainly be “An Account of the Hieroglyphic Signs used by Tramps and Thieves,” and it certainly would not be the least interesting. The reader may be startled to know that, in addition to a secret language, the wandering tribes of this country have private marks and symbols with which to score their successes, failures, and advice to succeeding beggars; in fact, there is no doubt that the country is really dotted over with beggars’ finger-posts and guide-stones. The subject was not long since brought under the attention of the Government by Mr. Rawlinson.[24] “There is,” he says in his report, “a sort of blackguards’ literature, and the initiated understand each other by Slang [Cant] terms, by pantomimic signs, and by hieroglyphics. The vagrant’s mark may be seen in Havant, on corners of streets, on door-posts, on house-steps. Simple as these chalk-lines appear, they inform the succeeding vagrants of all they require to know; and a few white scratches may say, ‘Be importunate,’ or ‘Pass on.’”

Another very curious account was taken from a provincial newspaper, published in 1849, and forwarded to _Notes and Queries_,[25] under the head of Mendicant Freemasonry. “Persons,” remarks the writer, “indiscreet enough to open their purses to the relief of the beggar tribe, would do well to take a readily-learned lesson as to the folly of that misguided benevolence which encourages and perpetuates vagabondism. Every door or passage is pregnant with instruction as to the error committed by the patron of beggars; as the beggar-marks show that a system of freemasonry is followed, by which a beggar knows whether it will be worth his while to call into a passage or knock at a door. Let any one examine the entrances to the passages in any town, and there he will find chalk marks, unintelligible to him, but significant enough to beggars. If a thousand towns are examined, the same marks will be found at every passage entrance. The passage mark is a cypher with a twisted tail; in some cases the tail projects into the passage, in others outwardly; thus seeming to indicate whether the houses down the passage are worth calling at or not. Almost every door has its marks; these are varied. In some cases there is a cross on the brickwork, in others a cypher; the figures ~1, 2, 3~ are also used. Every person may for himself test the accuracy of these statements by the examination of the brickwork near his own doorway—thus demonstrating that mendicity is a regular trade, carried out upon a system calculated to save time, and realize the largest profits.” These remarks refer mainly to provincial towns, London being looked upon as the tramps’ home, and therefore too “fly” or experienced to be duped by such means. The title it obtains, that of “the Start,” or first place in everything, is significant of this.

Provincial residents, who are more likely to view the foregoing extract with an eye of suspicion than are those who live in a position to constantly watch for and profit by evidences of the secret intercommunication indulged in by the dangerous classes, should note, in favour of the extract given, how significant is the practice of tramps and beggars calling in unfrequented localities, and how obvious it is that they are directed by a code of signals at once complete and imperious. It is bad for a tramp who is discovered disobeying secret orders. He is marked out and subjected to all kinds of annoyance by means of decoy hieroglyphs, until his life becomes a burden to him, and he is compelled to starve or—most horrible of alternatives—go to work.

The only other notice of the hieroglyphs of vagabonds worth remarking is in Mayhew’s _London Labour and the London Poor_.[26] Mayhew obtained his information from two tramps, who stated that hawkers employ these signs as well as beggars. One tramp thus described the method of “working”[27] a small town. “Two hawkers (‘pals’[27]) go together, but separate when they enter a village, one taking one side of the road, and selling different things, and so as to inform each other as to the character of the people at whose houses they call, they chalk certain marks on their door-posts.” Another informant stated that “if a ‘patterer’[27] has been ‘crabbed’” (that is, offended by refusal or exposure) “at any of the ‘cribs’” (houses), “he mostly chalks a signal at or near the door.” These hawkers were not of the ordinary, but of the tramp, class, who carried goods more as a blind to their real designs than for the purposes of sale. They, in fact, represented the worst kinds of the two classes. The law has comparatively recently improved these nondescript gentry off the face of the country, and the hawker of the present day is generally a man more sinned against than sinning.

Another use is also made of hieroglyphs. Charts of successful begging neighbourhoods are rudely drawn, and symbolical signs attached to each house to show whether benevolent or adverse.[28] “In many cases there is over the kitchen mantelpiece” of a tramps’ lodging-house “a map of the district, dotted here and there with memorandums of failure or success.” A correct facsimile of one of these singular maps is given in this book. It was obtained from the patterers and tramps who supplied a great many words for this work, and who were employed by the original publisher in collecting Old Ballads, Christmas Carols, Dying Speeches, and Last Lamentations, as materials for a _History of Popular Literature_. The reader will, no doubt, be amused with the drawing. The locality depicted is near Maidstone, in Kent; and it was probably sketched by a wandering Screever[29] in payment for a night’s lodging. The English practice of marking everything, and scratching names on public property, extends itself to the tribe of vagabonds. On the map, as may be seen in the left-hand corner, some Traveller[29] has drawn a favourite or noted female, singularly nicknamed Three-quarter Sarah. What were the peculiar accomplishments of this lady to demand so uncommon a name, the reader will be at a loss to discover; but a patterer says it probably refers to a shuffling dance of that name, common in tramps’ lodging-houses, and in which “3/4 Sarah” may have been a proficient. Above her, three beggars or hawkers have reckoned their day’s earnings, amounting to 13s., and on the right a tolerably correct sketch of a low hawker, or cadger, is drawn. “To Dover, the _nigh_ way,” is the exact phraseology; and “hup here,” a fair specimen of the self-acquired education of the draughtsman. No key or explanation to the hieroglyphs was given in the original, because it would have been superfluous, when every inmate of the lodging-house knew the marks from his cradle—or rather his mother’s back.

Should there be no map, in most lodging-houses there is an old man who is guide to every “walk” in the vicinity, and who can tell on every round each house that is “good for a cold tatur.” The hieroglyphs that are used are:—

☓ ~No good~; too poor, and know too much.

◠+ ~Stop~,—If you have what they want, they will buy. They are pretty “fly” (knowing).

⊃— ~Go in this direction~, it is better than the other road. Nothing that way.

◇ ~Bone~ (good). Safe for a “cold tatur,” if for nothing else. “Cheese your patter” (don’t talk much) here.

▽ ~Cooper’d~ (spoilt), by too many tramps calling there.

□ ~Gammy~ (unfavourable), like to have you taken up. Mind the dog.

⦿ ~Flummuxed~ (dangerous), sure of a month in “quod” (prison).

⊕ ~Religious~, but tidy on the whole.

Where did these signs come from? and when were they first used? are questions which have been asked again and again, and the answers have been many and various. Knowing the character of the Gipsies, and ascertaining from a tramp that they are well acquainted with the hieroglyphs, “and have been as long ago as ever he could remember,” there is little fear of being wrong in ascribing the invention to them. How strange it would be if some modern Belzoni, or Champollion—say Mr. George Smith, for instance—discovered in these beggars’ marks traces of ancient Egyptian or Hindoo sign-writing!

That the Gipsies were in the habit of leaving memorials of the road they had taken, and the successes that had befallen them, is upon record. In an old book, _The Triumph of Wit_, 1724, there is a passage which appears to have been copied from some older work, and it runs thus:—“The Gipsies set out twice a year, and scatter all over England, each parcel having their appointed stages, that they may not interfere, nor hinder each other; and for that purpose, when they set forward in the country, they stick up boughs in the way of divers kinds, according as it is agreed among them, that one company may know which way another is gone, and so take another road.” The works of Hoyland and Borrow supply other instances.

It would be hardly fair to close this subject without drawing attention to the extraordinary statement that, actually on the threshold of the gibbet, the sign of the vagabond was to be met with! “The murderer’s signal is even exhibited from the gallows; as a red handkerchief held in the hand of the felon about to be executed is a token that he dies without having betrayed any professional secrets.”[30] Private executions have of course rendered this custom obsolete, even if it ever existed.

* * * * *

Since the first editions of this work were published, the publishers have received from various parts of England numerous evidences of the still active use of beggars’ marks and mendicant hieroglyphs. One gentleman writes from Great Yarmouth to say that, whilst residing in Norwich, he used frequently to see them on the houses and street corners in the suburbs. Another gentleman, a clergyman, states that he has so far made himself acquainted with the meanings of the signs employed, that by himself marking the characters ◻ (gammy) and ⦿ (flummuxed) on the gate-posts of his parsonage, he enjoys a singular immunity from alms-seekers and cadgers on the tramp. This hint may not be lost on many other sufferers from importunate beggars, yet its publication may lead to the introduction of a new code.

* * * * *

In a popular constable’s guide,[31] giving the practice of justices in petty sessions, the following interesting paragraph is found, corroborating what has just been said on the hieroglyphs used by vagabonds:—

“Gipsies follow their brethren by numerous marks, such as strewing handfuls of grass in the daytime at a four lane or cross roads; the grass being strewn down the road the gang have taken; also, by a cross being made on the ground with a stick or knife—the longest end of the cross denotes the route taken. In the night-time a cleft stick is placed in the fence at the cross roads, with an arm pointing down the road their comrades have taken. The marks are always placed on the left-hand side, so that the stragglers can easily and readily find them.”

From the cleft stick here alluded to, we learn the origin and use of ⊃—, the third hieroglyph in the vagabond’s private list. And the extract also proves that the “rule of the road” is the same with tramps as with that body which is morally less but physically more dangerous, the London drivers.

FOOTNOTES:

[24] Mr. Rawlinson’s _Report to the General Board of Health, Parish of Havant, Hampshire_.

[25] Vol. v. p. 210.

[26] Vol. i. pp. 218 and 247.

[27] See Dictionary.

[28] Sometimes, as appears from the following, the names of persons and houses are written instead. “In almost every one of the padding-kens, or low lodging-houses in the country, there is a list of walks pasted up over the kitchen mantelpiece. Now at St. Albans, for instance, at the ----, and at other places, there is a paper stuck up in each of the kitchens. This paper is headed, ‘Walks out of this town’ and underneath it is set down the names of the villages in the neighbourhood at which a beggar may call when out on his walk, and they are so arranged as to allow the cadger to make a round of about six miles each day, and return the same night. In many of these papers there are sometimes twenty walks set down. No villages that are in any way ‘gammy’ [bad] are ever mentioned in these papers, and the cadger, if he feels inclined to stop for a few days in the town, will be told by the lodging-house keeper, or the other cadgers that he may meet there, what gentlemen’s seats or private houses are of any account on the walk that he means to take. The names of the good houses are not set down in the paper, for fear of the police.”—_Mayhew_, vol. i. p. 418. [This business is also much altered in consequence of the increase in the surveillance of the kens, an increase which, though nominally for sanitary purposes, has a strong moral effect. Besides this, Mr. Mayhew’s informants seem to have possessed a fair share of that romance which is inherent among vagabonds.—ED.]

[29] See Dictionary.

[30] Mr. Rawlinson’s _Report to the General Board of Health, Parish of Havant, Hampshire_.

[31] Snowden’s _Magistrate’s Assistant_, 1852, p. 444.

A SHORT HISTORY OF SLANG,

OR

THE VULGAR LANGUAGE OF FAST LIFE.

Slang is the language of street humour, of fast, high, and low life. Cant, as was stated in the chapter upon that subject, is the vulgar language of secrecy. It must be admitted, however, that within the past few years they have become almost indivisible. They are both universal and ancient, and appear to have been, with certain exceptions, the offspring of gay, vulgar, or worthless persons in every part of the world at every period of time. Indeed, if we are to believe implicitly the saying of the wise man, that “there is nothing new under the sun,” the “bloods” of buried Nineveh, with their knotty and door-matty-looking beards, may have cracked Slang jokes on the steps of Sennacherib’s palace; while the stocks and stones of ancient Egypt, and the bricks of venerable and used-up Babylon, may be covered with Slang hieroglyphs, which, being perfectly unknown to modern antiquaries, have long been stumbling-blocks to the philologist; so impossible is it at this day to say what was then authorized, or what vulgar, language. The only objection that can be raised to this idea is, that Slang was, so far as can be discovered, traditional, and unwritten, until the appearance of this volume, a state of things which accounts for its many changes, and the doubtful orthography of even its best known and most permanent forms. Slang is almost as old as speech, and must date from the congregating together of people in cities. It is the result of crowding, and excitement, and artificial life. We have traces of this as far as we can refer back. Martial, the epigrammatist, is full of Slang. When an uninvited guest accompanied his friend, the Slang of the day styled him his “umbra;” when a man was trussed, neck and heels, it called him jocosely “quadrupus.” Slang is nowadays very often the only vehicle by which rodomontade may be avoided. It is often full of the most pungent satire, and is always to the point. Without point Slang has no _raison d’être_.

Old English Slang was coarser, and depended more upon downright vulgarity than our modern Slang. It was a jesting speech, or humorous indulgence for the thoughtless moment or the drunken hour, and it acted as a vent-peg for a fit of temper or irritability; but it did not interlard and permeate every description of conversation as now. It was confined to nicknames and improper subjects, and encroached but to a very small extent upon the domain of authorized speech. Indeed, it was exceedingly limited when compared with the vast territory of Slang in such general favour and complete circulation at the present day. Still, although not an extensive institution, as in our time, Slang certainly did exist in this country centuries ago, as we may see if we look down the page of any respectable History of England. Cromwell was familiarly called “Old Noll,”—in much the same way as Bonaparte was termed “Boney,” and Wellington “Conkey” or “Nosey,” only a few years ago.[32] His Legislature, too, was spoken of in a high-flavoured way as the “Barebones” or “Rump” Parliament, and his followers were nicknamed “Roundheads,” and the peculiar religious sects of his protectorate were styled “Puritans” and “Quakers.”[33] The Civil War pamphlets, and the satirical hits of the Cavaliers and the Commonwealth men, originated numerous Slang words and vulgar similes in full use at the present moment. Here is a field of inquiry for the Philological Society, indeed a territory, for there are thirty thousand of these partisan tracts. Later still, in the court of Charles II., the naughty ladies and the gay lords, with Rochester at their head, talked Slang; and very naughty Slang it was too. Fops in those days, when “over head and ears” in debt, and in continual fear of arrest, termed their enemies, the bailiffs, “Philistines”[34] or “Moabites.” At a later period, when collars were worn detached from shirts, in order to save the expense of washing—an object, it would seem, with needy “swells” in all ages—they obtained the name of “Jacobites.” One-half of the coarse wit in Butler’s _Hudibras_ lurks in the vulgar words and phrases which he was so fond of employing. These Slang phrases contained the marrow of his arguments stripped of all superfluous matter, and they fell with ponderous weight and terrible effect upon his opponents. They were more homely and forcible than the mild and elegant sentences of Cowley, and the people, therefore, hurrahed them, and pronounced Butler one of themselves,—or, as we should say, in a joyful moment, “a jolly good fellow.” Orator Henley preached and prayed in Slang, and first charmed and then ruled the dirty mobs in Lincoln’s Inn Fields by vulgarisms. Burly Grose mentions Henley, with the remark that we owe a great many Slang phrases to him, though even the worst Slang was refinement itself compared with many of Henley’s most studied oratorical utterances, which proves that the most blackguard parts of a blackguard speech may be perfectly free from either Slang or Cant. Swift, and old Sir Roger L’Estrange, and Arbuthnot, were all fond of vulgar or Slang language; indeed, we may see from a Slang word used by the latter how curious is the gradual adoption of vulgar terms in our standard dictionaries. The worthy doctor, in order to annihilate (or, as we should say, with a fitting respect to the subject under consideration, to “smash”) an opponent, thought proper on an occasion to use the word “cabbage,” not in the ancient sense of a flatulent vegetable of the kitchen-garden, but in the at once Slang sense of purloining or cribbing. Johnson soon met with the word, looked at it, examined it, weighed it, and shook his head, but out of respect to a brother doctor inserted it in his dictionary, labelling it, however, prominently “Cant;” whilst Walker and Webster, years after, when all over England “to cabbage” was to pilfer, placed the term in their dictionaries as an ancient and very respectable word. Another Slang term, “gull,” to cheat, or delude, sometimes varied to “gully,” is stated to be connected with the Dean of St. Patrick’s. “Gull,” a dupe, or a fool, is often used by our old dramatists, and is generally believed to have given rise to the verb; but a curious little edition of _Bamfylde Moore Carew_, published in 1827, says that “to gull,” or “gully,” is derived from the well-known Gulliver, the hero of the famous Travels. It may be from the phrase, “You can’t come Gulliver over me,” in use while the popularity of the book was hot. How crammed with Slang are the dramatic works of the last century! The writers of the comedies and farces in those days must have lived in the streets, and written their plays in the public-houses, so filled are they with vulgarisms and unauthorized words. The popular phrases, “I owe you one,” “That’s one for his nob,” and “Keep moving, dad,” arose in this way.[35] The second of these sayings was, doubtless, taken from the card-table, for at cribbage the player who holds the knave of the suit turned up counts “one for his nob,” and the dealer who turns up a knave counts “two for his heels.” From a dramatic point of view, the use of these phrases is perfectly correct, as they were in constant use among the people supposed to be represented by the author’s characters.

In Mrs. Centlivre’s admirable comedy of _A Bold Stroke for a Wife_, we see the origin of that popular phrase, the real Simon Pure. Simon Pure is the Quaker name adopted by Colonel Feignwell as a trick to obtain the hand of Mistress Anne Lovely in marriage. The veritable Quaker, the “real Simon Pure,” recommended by Aminadab Holdfast, of Bristol, as a fit sojourner with Obadiah Prim, arrives at last, to the discomfiture of the Colonel, who, to maintain his position and gain time, concocts a letter in which the real Quaker is spoken of as a housebreaker who had travelled in the “leather conveniency” from Bristol, and adopted the garb and name of the western Quaker in order to pass off as the “Real Simon Pure,” but only for the purpose of robbing the house and cutting the throat of the perplexed Obadiah. The scene in which the two Simon Pures, the real and the counterfeit, meet, is one of the best in the comedy.

Tom Brown, of “facetious memory,” as his friends were wont to say, and Ned Ward, who wrote humorous books, and when tired drew beer for his customers at his alehouse in Long Acre,[36] were both great producers of Slang in the last century, and to them we owe many popular current phrases and household words.

Written Slang was checked, rather than advanced, by the pens of Addison, Johnson, and Goldsmith; although Bee, the bottle-holder and historiographer of the pugilistic band of brothers in the youthful days of flat-nosed Tom Cribb, has gravely stated that Johnson, when young and rakish, contributed to an early volume of the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ a few pages, by way of specimen, of a slang dictionary, the result, Mr. Bee says, “of his midnight ramblings!”[37] This statement is not only improbable, but an investigation of the venerable magazine, though strict and searching, produces no evidence in corroboration of Mr. Bee. Goldsmith, even, certainly coined a few words as occasion required, although as a rule his pen was pure and graceful, and adverse to neologisms. The word “fudge,” it has been stated, was first used by him in literary composition, although it probably originated with one Captain Fudge, a notorious fibber, nearly a century before. Street phrases, nicknames, and vulgar words were continually being added to the great stock of popular Slang up to the commencement of the present century, when it received numerous additions from pugilism, horse-racing, and “fast” life generally, which suddenly came into great public favour, and was at its height in the latter part of the reign of George III., and in the early days of the Regency. Slang in those days was generally termed “flash” language. It will thus be noted that the term “flash” has in turn represented both Cant and Slang; now the word Slang has become perfectly generic. So popular was “flash” with the “bloods” of high life, that it constituted the best paying literary capital for certain authors and dramatists. Pierce Egan issued _Boxiana_, and _Life in London_, six portly octavo volumes, crammed with Slang; and Moncrieff wrote the most popular farce of the day, _Tom and Jerry_ (adapted from the latter work), which, to use newspaper Slang, “took the town by storm,” and, with its then fashionable vulgarisms, made the fortune of the old Adelphi Theatre, and was without exception the most wonderful instance of a continuous theatrical run in ancient or modern times. This also was brimful of Slang. Other authors helped to popularize and extend Slang down to our own time, and it has now taken a somewhat different turn, dropping many of the Cant and old vulgar words, and assuming a certain quaint and fashionable phraseology—familiar, utilitarian, and jovial. There can be no doubt that common speech is greatly influenced by fashion, fresh manners, and that general change of ideas which steals over a people once in a generation. But before proceeding further into the region of Slang, it will be well to say something on the etymology of the word.

The word Slang is only mentioned by two lexicographers—Webster and Ogilvie.[38] Johnson, Walker, and the older compilers of dictionaries give “slang” as the preterite of “sling,” but not a word about Slang in the sense of low, vulgar, or unrecognised language. The origin of the word has often been asked for in literary journals and books, but only one man, until recently, ever hazarded an etymology—Jonathan Bee.[39] With a recklessness peculiar to ignorance, Bee stated that Slang was derived from “the _slangs_ or fetters worn by prisoners, having acquired that name from the manner in which they were worn, as they required a sling of string to keep them off the ground.” Bee had just been nettled at Pierce Egan’s producing a new edition of Grose’s _Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue_, and was determined to excel in a vulgar dictionary of his own, which should be more racy, more pugilistic, and more original. How far he succeeded in this latter particular, his ridiculous etymology of Slang will show. Slang is not an English word; it is the Gipsy term for their secret language, and its synonym is Gibberish—another word which was believed to have had no distinct origin.[40] Grose—stout and burly Captain Grose—whom we may characterize as the greatest antiquary, joker, and porter-drinker of his day, was the first lexicographer to recognise the word “Slang.” It occurs in his _Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue_, of 1785, with the statement that it implies “Cant or vulgar language.” Grose was a great favourite with Burns, and so pleased him by his extensive powers of story-telling and grog-imbibing, that the companionable and humour-loving Scotch bard wrote for his fat friend—or, to use his own words, “the fine, fat, fodgel wight”—the immortal poem of _Tam O’ Shanter_.

It is not worth while troubling the reader with a long account of the transformation into an English term of the word Slang, as it is easily seen how we obtained it. Hucksters and beggars on tramp, or at fairs and races, associate and frequently join in any rough enterprise with the Gipsies. The word would be continually heard by them, and would in this manner soon become part of their vocabulary,[41] and, when carried by “fast” or vulgar fashionables from the society of thieves and low characters to their own drawing-rooms, would as quickly become Slang, and the representative term for all vulgar language. Modern philologists give the word Slang as derived from the French _langue_. This is, at all events, as likely as any other derivative.

Any sudden excitement or peculiar circumstance is quite sufficient to originate and set going a score of Slang words. Nearly every election or public agitation throws out offshoots of excitement, or scintillations of humour in the shape of Slang terms—vulgar at first, but at length adopted, if possessing sufficient hold on the public mind, as semi-respectable from sheer force of habit. There is scarcely a condition or calling in life that does not possess its own peculiar Slang. The professions, legal and medical, have each familiar and unauthorized terms for peculiar circumstances and things, and it is quite certain that the clerical calling, or “the cloth”—in itself a Slang term given at a time when the laity were more distinguished by their gay dress from the clergy than they are now—is not entirely free from this peculiarity. Every workshop, warehouse, factory, and mill throughout the country has its Slang, and so have the public schools and the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge. Sea Slang constitutes the principal charm of a sailor’s “yarn;” and our soldiers have in turn their peculiar nicknames and terms for things and subjects, proper and improper. A writer in _Household Words_ (No. 183) has gone so far as to remark, that a person “shall not read one single parliamentary debate, as reported in a first-class newspaper, without meeting scores of Slang words,” and “that from Mr. Speaker in his chair, to the Cabinet Ministers whispering behind it—from mover to seconder, from true blue Protectionist to extremest Radical—Mr. Barry’s New House echoes and re-echoes with Slang.” This statement is most worthy of notice, as showing how, with a very small sub-stratum of fact, a plausible, though not the less gigantic, mis-statement may be built up.

The universality of Slang is extraordinary. Let any person for a short time narrowly examine the conversation of his dearest and nearest friends, or even analyse his own supposed correct talk, and he shall be amazed at the numerous unauthorized, and what we can only call vulgar, words in constant use. One peculiarity of the growth of Slang is the finding of new meanings for old words. Take, for instance, the verbs “do,” “cut,” “go,” and “take,” and see how they are used to express fresh ideas, and then let us ask ourselves how is it possible for a Frenchman or German, be he never so well educated, to avoid continually blundering and floundering amongst our little words when trying to make himself understood in an ordinary conversation? He may have studied our language the required time, and have gone through the usual amount of “grinding,” and practised the common allotment of patience, but all to no purpose as far as accuracy is concerned. As, however, we do not make our language, nor for the matter of that our Slang, for the convenience or inconvenience of foreigners, we need not pursue this portion of the subject further. “Jabber” and “hoax” were Slang and Cant terms in Swift’s time; so, indeed, were “mob” and “sham.”[42] Words directly from the Latin and Greek, framed in accordance with the rules which govern the construction of the language, are not Slang, but are good English, if not Saxon,—a term, by the way, which is as much misused as any unfortunate word that can be remembered just now. Sound contributes many Slang words—a source that etymologists frequently overlook. Nothing pleases an ignorant person so much as a high-sounding term, “full of fury.” How melodious and drum-like are those vulgar coruscations “rumbumptious,” “slantingdicular,” “splendiferous,” “rumbustious,” and “ferricadouzer.” What a “pull” the sharp-nosed lodging-house-keeper thinks she has over her victims if she can but hurl such testimonies of a liberal education at them when they are disputing her charges, and threatening to “absquatulate!” In the United States the vulgar-genteel even excel the poor “stuck-up” Cockneys in their formation of a native fashionable language. How charming to a refined ear are “abskize,” “catawampously,” “exflunctify,” “obscute,” “keslosh,” “kesouse,” “keswollop,” and “kewhollux!”[43] It must not be forgotten, however, that a great many new “Americanisms” are perfectly unknown in America, and in this respect they resemble the manners and customs of our cousins as found in books, and in books only. Vulgar words representing action and brisk movement often owe their origin to sound, as has before been remarked. Mispronunciation, too, is another great source of vulgar or Slang words, and of this “ramshackle,” “shackly,” “nary-one” for neither or neither one, “ottomy” or “atomy” for anatomy, “rench” for rinse, are specimens. The commonalty dislike frequently-occurring words difficult of pronunciation, and so we have the street abridgments of “bimeby” for by-and-by, “caze” for because, “gin” for given, “hankercher” for handkerchief, “ruma tiz” for rheumatism, “backer” for tobacco, and many others, not perhaps Slang, but certainly, all vulgarisms. Whately, in his _Remains of Bishop Copleston_, has inserted a leaf from the bishop’s note-book on the popular corruption of names, mentioning, among others, “kickshaws,” as from the French _quelques choses_; “beefeater,” the grotesque guardian of royalty in a procession, and the envied devourer of enormous beefsteaks, as but a vulgar pronunciation of the French _buffetier_, and “George and Cannon,” the sign of a public-house, as nothing but a corruption (although so soon!) of the popular premier of the last generation, George Canning.[44] Literature has its Slang terms; and the desire on the part of writers to say funny and startling things in a novel and curious way contributes many unauthorized words to the great stock of Slang.

Fashionable or Upper-class Slang is of several varieties. There is the Belgravian, military and naval, parliamentary, dandy, and the reunion and visiting Slang. English officers, civilians, and their families, who have resided long in India, have contributed many terms from the Hindostanee to our language. Several of these, such as “chit,” a letter, and “tiffin,” lunch, are fast losing their Slang character, and becoming regularly-recognised English words. “Jungle,” as a term for a forest or wilderness, is now an English phrase; a few years past, however, it was merely the Hindostanee “junkul.” This, being a perfectly legal transition, having no other recognised form, can hardly be characterized as Slang. The extension of trade in China, and the English settlement of Hong Kong, have introduced among us several examples of Canton jargon, that exceedingly curious Anglo-Chinese dialect spoken in the seaports of the Celestial Empire. While these words have been carried as it were into the families of the upper and middle classes, persons in a humbler rank of life, through the sailors and soldiers and Lascar and Chinese beggars that haunt the metropolis, have also adopted many Anglo-Indian and Anglo-Chinese phrases. As this dictionary would have been incomplete without them, they are carefully recorded in its pages. Concerning the Slang of the fashionable world, it has been remarked that it is mostly imported from France; and that an unmeaning gibberish of Gallicisms runs through English fashionable conversation and fashionable novels, and accounts of fashionable parties in the fashionable newspapers. Yet, ludicrously enough, immediately the fashionable magnates of England seize on any French idiom, the French themselves not only universally abandon it to us, but positively repudiate it altogether from their idiomatic vocabulary. If you were to tell a well-bred Frenchman that such and such an aristocratic marriage was on the _tapis_, he would stare with astonishment, and look down on the carpet in the startled endeavour to find a marriage in so unusual a place. If you were to talk to him of the _beau monde_, he would imagine you meant the world which God made, not half-a-dozen streets and squares between Hyde Park Corner and Chelsea Bun House. The _thé dansant_ would be completely inexplicable to him. If you were to point out to him the Dowager Lady Grimgriffin acting as _chaperon_ to Lady Amanda Creamville, he would imagine you were referring to the _petit Chaperon rouge_—to little Red-Riding Hood. He might just understand what was meant by _vis-à-vis_, _entremets_, and some others of the flying horde of frivolous little foreign slangisms hovering about fashionable cookery and fashionable furniture; but three-fourths of them would seem to him as barbarous French provincialisms, or, at best, but as antiquated and obsolete expressions, picked out of the letters of Mademoiselle Scuderi, or the tales of Crebillon “the younger.” Servants, too, appropriate the scraps of French conversation which fall from their masters’ guests at the dinner table, and forthwith in the world of flunkeydom the word “know” is disused, and the lady’s-maid, in doubt on a particular point, asks John whether or no he “saveys” it?[45] What, too, can be more abominable than that heartless piece of fashionable newspaper Slang, regularly employed when speaking of the successful courtship of young people in the aristocratic world:—

MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE.—We understand that a marriage is ARRANGED (!) betwixt the Lady, &c. &c., and the Honourable, &c. &c.

“Arranged!” Is that cold-blooded Smithfield or Mark Lane term for a sale or a purchase the proper word to express the hopeful, joyous, golden union of young and trustful hearts? Possibly, though, the word is often used with a due regard to facts, for marriages, especially amongst our upper classes, are not always “made in heaven.” Which is the proper way to pronounce the names of great people, and what the correct authority? Lord Cowper, we are often assured, is Lord _Cooper_—on this principle Lord Cowley would certainly be Lord _Cooley_—and Mr. Carew, we are told, should be Mr. _Carey_, Ponsonby should be _Punsunby_, Eyre should be _Aire_, Cholmondeley should be _Chumley_, St. John _Sinjen_, Beauchamp should be _Beachem_, Majoribanks _Marshbanks_, and Powell should always be _Poel_. The pronunciation of proper names has long been an anomaly in the conversation of the upper classes of this country. Hodge and Podge, the clodhoppers of Shakspeare’s time, talked in their mug-houses of the great Lords _Darbie_, _Barkelie_, and _Bartie_. In Pall Mall and May Fair these personages are spoken of in exactly the same manner at the present day, whilst in the City, and amongst the _middle_ classes, we only hear of Derby, Berkeley, &c.,—the correct pronunciations, if the spelling is worth aught. It must not be forgotten, however, that the pronunciation of the upper classes, as regards the names of places just mentioned, is a relic of old times when the orthography was different. The middle-class man is satisfied to take matters the modern way, but even he, when he wishes to be thought a swell, alters his style. In fact, the old rule as to proper names being pronounced according to individual taste, is, and ever will be, of absolute necessity, not only as regards the upper and middle, but the lower classes. A costermonger is ignorant of such a place as Birmingham, but understands you in a moment if you talk of _Brummagem_. Why do not Pall Mall exquisites join with the costermongers in this pronunciation? It is the ancient one.[46]

_Parliamentary Slang_, excepting a few peculiar terms connected with “_the_ House” (scarcely Slang), is mainly composed of fashionable, literary, and learned Slang. When members get excited, and wish to be forcible, they are now and again, but not very often, found guilty of vulgarisms, and then may be not particular which of the street terms they select, providing it carries, as good old Dr. South said, plenty of “wildfire” in it. Lord Cairns when Sir Hugh, and a member of the Lower House, spoke of “that homely but expressive phrase, ‘dodge.’” Out of “the House,” several Slang terms are used in connexion with Parliament or members of Parliament. If Lord Palmerston was familiar by name to the tribes of the Caucasus and Asia Minor as a great foreign diplomatist, when the name of our Queen was unknown to the inhabitants of those parts—as was once stated in the _Times_—it is worthy of remark that, amongst the costers and the wild inhabitants of the streets, he was at that time better known as “Pam.” The cabmen on the “ranks” in Piccadilly have been often heard to call each other’s attention to the great leader of the Opposition in the following expressive manner—“Hollo, there! de yer see old ‘Dizzy’ doing a stump?” A “plumper” is a single vote at an election—not a “split-ticket;” and electors who had occupied a house, no matter how small, and boiled a pot in it, thus qualifying themselves for voting, used in the good old days to be termed “potwallopers.” A quiet “walk over” is a re-election without opposition and much cost; and is obtained from the sporting vocabulary, in which the term is not Slang. A “caucus” meeting refers to the private assembling of politicians before an election, when candidates are chosen, and measures of action agreed upon. The term comes from America, where caucus means a meeting simply. A “job,” in political phraseology, is a Government office or contract obtained by secret influence or favouritism; and is not a whit more objectionable in sound than is the nefarious proceeding offensive to the sense of those who pay but do not

## participate. The _Times_ once spoke of “the patriotic member of

Parliament ‘potted out’ in a dusty little lodging somewhere about Bury Street.” But then the _Times_ was not always the mildly respectable high-class paper it now is, as a reference to the columns devoted by it to Macaulay’s official career will alone determine. These, which appeared during the present reign, would be far below the lowest journalistic taste nowadays; yet they are in keeping with the rest of the political references made at that time by the now austere and high-principled “leading journal.” The term “quockerwodger,” although referring to a wooden toy figure which jerks its limbs about when pulled by a string, has been supplemented with a political meaning. A pseudo-politician, whose strings of action are pulled by somebody else, is often termed a “quockerwodger.” From an early period politics and partyism have attracted unto themselves quaint Slang terms. Horace Walpole quotes a party nickname of February, 1742, as a Slang word of the day:—“The Tories declare against any further prosecution, if Tories there are, for now one hears of nothing but the ‘broad-bottom;’ it is the reigning Cant word, and means the taking all parties and people, indifferently, into the Ministry.” Thus “broad-bottom” in those days was Slang for “coalition.” The term “rat,” too, in allusion to rats deserting vessels about to sink, has long been employed towards those turncoat politicians who change their party for interest. Who that occasionally passes near the Houses of Parliament has not often noticed stout or careful M.P.’s walk briskly through the Hall, and on the kerb-stone in front, with umbrella or walking-cane uplifted, shout to the cabmen on the rank, “Four-wheeler!” The term is both useful and expressive; but it is none the less Slang, though of a better kind than “growler,” used to denominate the same kind of vehicle, or “shoful,” the street term for a hansom cab.

Military Slang is on a par, and of a character, with dandy Slang. Inconvenient friends, or elderly and lecturing relatives, are pronounced “dreadful bores.” This affectionate term, like most other Slang phrases which have their rise in a certain section of society, has spread and become of general application. Four-wheeled cabs are called “bounders;” and a member of the Four-in-hand Club, driving to Epsom on the Derby Day, would, using fashionable phraseology, speak of it as “tooling his drag down to the Derby.” A vehicle, if not a “drag” (or dwag), is a “trap,” or a “cask;” and if the “turn-out” happens to be in other than a trim condition, it is pronounced at once as not “down the road,” unless the critic should prefer to characterize the equipage as “dickey.” Your City swell would say it is not “up to the mark;” whilst the costermonger would call it a “wery snide affair.” In the army a barrack or military station is known as a “lobster-box;” to “cram” for an examination is to “mug-up” (this same term is much in vogue among actors, who regard mugging-up as one of the fine arts of the profession); to reject from the examination is to “spin;” and that part of the barrack occupied by subalterns is frequently spoken of as the “rookery.” In dandy or swell Slang, any celebrity, from the Poet-Laureate to the Pope of Rome, is a “swell,”—“the old swell” now occupies the place once held by the “guv’nor.” Wrinkled-faced old professors, who hold dress and fashionable tailors in abhorrence, are called “awful swells,”—if they happen to be very learned or clever. In this upper-class Slang, a title is termed a “handle;” trousers, “inexpressibles,” and bags, or “howling bags,” when of a large pattern;—a superior appearance, or anything above the common cut, is styled “extensive;” a four-wheeled cab is called a “birdcage;” a dance, a “hop;” dining at another man’s table, “sitting under his mahogany;” anything flashy or showy, “loud;” the peculiar make or cut of a coat, its “build;” full dress, “full fig;” wearing clothes which represent the very extreme of fashion, “dressing to death;” a dinner or supper party, a “spread;” a friend (or a “good fellow”), a “trump;” a difficulty, a “screw loose;” and everything that is unpleasant, “from bad sherry to a writ from a tailor,” “jeuced infernal.” The phrase, “to send a man to Coventry,” or permit no person “in the set” to speak to him, although an ancient saying, must still be considered Slang.

The Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, and the great public schools, are the hotbeds of fashionable Slang. Growing boys and high-spirited young fellows detest restraint of all kinds, and prefer making a dash at life in a Slang phraseology of their own to all the set forms and syntactical rules of _Alma Mater_. Many of the most expressive words in a common chit-chat, or free-and-easy conversation, are old university vulgarisms. “Cut,” in the sense of dropping an acquaintance, was originally a Cambridge form of speech; and “hoax,” to deceive or ridicule, we are informed by Grose, was many years since an Oxford term. Among the words that fast society has borrowed from our great scholastic—not establishments (they are sacred to linendrapery and “gentlemanly assistants”)—institutions, is found “crib,” a house or apartments; “dead men,” empty wine bottles; “drawing teeth,”[47] wrenching off knockers,—an obsolete amusement; “fizzing,” first-rate, or splendid; “governor,” or “relieving-officer,” the general term for a male parent; “plucked,” defeated or turned back, now altered to “plough;” “quiz,” to scrutinize, or a prying old fellow; and “row,” a noisy disturbance. The Slang words in use at Oxford and Cambridge would alone fill a volume. As examples let us take “scout,” which at Oxford refers to an undergraduate’s valet, whilst the same menial at Cambridge is termed a “gyp,”—popularly derived by the Cantabs from the Greek, γὺψ, a vulture; “skull,” the head, or master, of a college; “battles,” the Oxford term for rations, changed at Cambridge into “commons.” The term “dickey,” a half-shirt, it is said, originated with the students of Trinity College, Dublin, who at first styled it a “tommy,” from the Greek τομὴ, a section,—the change from “tommy” to “dickey” requires no explanation. “Crib,” a literal translation, is now universal; “grind” refers to “working up” for an examination, also to a walk or “constitutional;” “Hivite” is a student of St. Begh’s (St. Bee’s) College, Cumberland; to “japan,” in this Slang speech, is to ordain; “mortar board” is a square college cap; “sim,” a student of a Methodistical turn—in allusion to the Rev. Charles Simeon; “sloggers,” at Cambridge, refers to the second division of race-boats, known at Oxford as “torpids;” “sport” is to show or exhibit; “trotter” is the jocose term for a tailor’s man who goes round for orders; and “tufts” are privileged students who dine with the “dons,” and are distinguished by golden tufts, or tassels, in their caps. Hence we get the world-wide Slang term “tuft-hunter,” one whose pride it is to be acquainted with scions of the nobility—a sycophantic race unfortunately not confined to any particular place or climate, nor peculiar to any age or either sex. There are many terms in use at Oxford not known at Cambridge; and such Slang names as “coach,” “gulf,” “harry-soph,” “poker,” or “post-mortem,” common enough at Cambridge, are seldom or never heard at the great sister University. For numerous other examples of college Slang the reader is referred to the Dictionary.

Religious Slang, strange as the compound may appear, exists with other descriptions of vulgar speech at the present day. _Punch_, in one of those half-humorous, half-serious articles, once so characteristic of the wits engaged on that paper, who were, as a rule, fond of lecturing any national abuse or popular folly, remarked—“Slang has long since penetrated into the Forum, and now we meet it in the Senate, and even the pulpit itself is no longer free from its intrusion.” There is no wish here, for one moment, to infer that the practice is general. On the contrary, and in justice to the clergy, it must be said that the principal disseminators of pure English throughout the country are the ministers of our Established Church. Yet it cannot be denied that a great deal of Slang phraseology and expressive vulgarism have gradually crept into the very pulpits which should give forth as pure speech as doctrine. This is an error which, however, has only to be noticed, to be cured.

Dean Conybeare, in his able “Essay on Church Parties,”[48] has noticed this addition of Slang to our pulpit speech. As stated in his Essay, the practice appears to confine itself mainly to the exaggerated forms of the High and Low Church—the Tractarians and the “Recordites.”[49] By way of illustration, the Dean cites the evening parties, or social meetings, common amongst the wealthier lay members of the Recordite churches, where the principal topics discussed—one or more favourite clergymen being present in a quasi-official manner—are “the merits and demerits of different preachers, the approaching restoration of the Jews, the date of the Millennium, the progress of the ‘Tractarian heresy,’ and the anticipated ‘perversion’ of High Church neighbours.” These subjects are canvassed in a dialect differing considerably from English, as the word is generally understood. The terms “faithful,” “tainted,” “acceptable,” “decided,” “legal,” and many others, are used in a sense different from that given to any of them by the lexicographers. We hear that Mr. A. has been more “owned” than Mr. B.; and that Mr. C. has more “seals”[50] than Mr. D. Again, the word “gracious” is invested with a meaning as extensive as that attached by young ladies to nice. Thus, we hear of a “gracious sermon,” a “gracious meeting,” a “gracious child,” and even a “gracious whipping.” The word “dark” has also a new and peculiar usage. It is applied to every person, book, or place not impregnated with Recordite principles. A ludicrous misunderstanding resulting from this phraseology is on record (this is not a joke). “What did you mean,” said A. to B., “by telling me that ---- was such a very ‘dark’ village? I rode over there to-day, and found the street particularly broad and cheerful, and there is not a tree in the place.” “The gospel is not preached there,” was B’s. laconic reply. The conclusion of one of these singular evening parties is generally marked by an “exposition”—an unseasonable sermon of nearly one hour’s duration, circumscribed by no text, and delivered from the table by one of the clerical visitors with a view to “improve the occasion.” This same term, “improve the occasion,” is of Slang slangy, and is so mouthed by Stigginses and Chadbands, and their followers, that it has become peculiarly objectionable to persons of broad views. In the Essay to which reference has been made, the religious Slang terms for the two great divisions of the Established Church receive some explanation. The old-fashioned High Church party—rich and “stagnant,” noted for its “sluggish mediocrity, hatred of zeal, dread of innovation, abuse of Dissent, blundering and languid utterance”—is called the “high and dry;” whilst the opposing division, known as the Low Church—equally stagnant with the former, but poorer, and more lazily inclined (from absence of education) towards Dissent—receives the nickname of the “low and slow.” These terms are among persons learned in the distinctions shortened, in ordinary conversation, to the “dry” and the “slow.” The Broad Church, or moderate division, is often spoken of as the “broad and shallow.”

What can be more objectionable than the irreverent and offensive manner in which many Dissenting ministers continually pronounce the names of the Deity—God and Lord? God, instead of pronouncing in the plain and beautiful simple old English way, “G‑o‑d,” they drawl out into “Gorde” or “Gaude;” and Lord, instead of speaking in the proper way, they desecrate into “Loard” or “Loerd,”—lingering on the _u_, or the _r_, as the case may be, until an honest hearer feels disgusted, and almost inclined to run the gauntlet of beadles and deacons, and pull the vulgar preacher from his pulpit. This is, though a Christian impulse, hardly in accordance with our modern times and tolerant habits. Many young preachers strive hard to acquire this peculiar pronunciation, in imitation of the older ministers. What, then, can more properly be called Slang, or, indeed, the most objectionable of Slang, than this studious endeavour to pronounce the most sacred names in a uniformly vulgar and unbecoming manner? If the old-fashioned preacher whistled Cant through his nose, the modern vulgar reverend whines Slang from the more natural organ. These vagaries of speech will, perhaps, by an apologist, be termed “pulpit peculiarities,” and the writer may be impugned for having dared to intermeddle with a subject that is or should be removed from his criticisms. Honesty of purpose and evident truthfulness of remark will, however, overcome the most virulent opposition. The terms used by the mob towards the Church, however illiberal and satirically vulgar, are fairly within the province of an inquiry such as the present. A clergyman, in vulgar language, is spoken of as a “choker,” a “cushion-thumper,” a “dominie,” an “earwig,” a “gospel-grinder,” a “grey-coat parson;” a “spouter,” a “white-choker,” or a “warming-pan rector,” if he only holds the living _pro tempore_. If he is a lessee of the great tithes, “one in ten;” or if spoken of by an Anglo-Indian, a “rook.” If a Tractarian, his outer garment is rudely spoken of as a “pygostole,” or “M. B. (mark of the beast) coat.” His profession is termed “the cloth” (this item of Slang has been already referred to), and his practice is called “tub-thumping.” This latter term has of late years been almost peculiarly confined to itinerant preachers. Should he belong to the Dissenting body, he is probably styled a “pantiler,” or a “psalm smiter,” or perhaps, a “swaddler.”[51] His chapel, too, is spoken of as a “schism shop.” A Roman Catholic is coarsely named a “brisket-beater.”

## Particular as lawyers generally are about the meanings of words, they

have not prevented an unauthorized phraseology from arising, which may be termed legal Slang. So forcibly did this truth impress a late writer, that he wrote in a popular journal, “You may hear Slang every day in term from barristers in their robes, at every mess-table, at every bar-mess, at every college commons, and in every club dining-room.” Swift, in his _Art of Polite Conversation_ (p. 15), published a century and a half ago, states that “vardi” was the Slang in his time for “verdict.” A few of the most common and well-known terms used out of doors, with reference to legal matters, are “cook,” to hash or make up a balance-sheet; “dipped,” mortgaged; “dun” (from a famous writ or process-server named Dunn), to solicit payment; “fullied,” to be “fully committed for trial;” “land shark,” a sailor’s definition of a lawyer; “limb of the law,” a milder term for the same “professional;” “monkey with a long tail,” a mortgage; “mouthpiece,” the thief’s term for his counsel; “to run through the ring,” to take advantage of the Insolvency Act; “smash,” to become bankrupt; “snipe,” an attorney with a long bill; and “whitewash,” to take the benefit of the Insolvent Act. Comparatively recent legislation has rendered many of these terms obsolete, and “in liquidation” is now the most ominous sound a creditor can hear. Lawyers, from their connexion with the police courts, and transactions with persons in every grade of society, have ample opportunities for acquiring street Slang, of which, in cross-questioning and wrangling, they frequently avail themselves.

It has been said there exists a literary Slang, or the Slang of Criticism—dramatic, artistic, and scientific. This is composed of such words as “æsthetic,” “transcendental,” “the harmonies,” “the unities,” a “myth;” such phrases as “an exquisite _morceau_ on the big drum,” a “scholarlike rendering of John the Baptist’s great toe,” “keeping harmony,” “middle distance,” “aërial perspective,” “delicate handling,” “nervous chiaroscuro,” and the like. It is easy to find fault with this system of doing work, whilst it is not easy to discover another at once so easily understood by educated readers, and so satisfactory to artists themselves. Discretion must, of course, always be used, in fact always is used by the best writers, with regard to the quantity of technical Slang an article will hold comfortably. Overdone mannerism is always a mistake, and generally defeats its own end. Properly used, these technicalities are allowable as the generous inflections and bendings of a bountiful language, for the purpose of expressing fresh phases of thought, and ideas not yet provided with representative words.[52] _Punch_ often employs a Slang term to give point to a joke, or humour to a line of satire. In his best day he gave an original etymology of the schoolboy-ism “slog.” “Slog,” said the classical and then clever _Punch_, is derived from the Greek word “slogo,” to baste, to wallop, to slaughter. To show his partiality to the subject, he once amused his readers with two columns on Slang and Sanscrit, from which the following is taken:—

“The allegory which pervades the conversation of all Eastern nations is the foundation of Western Slang; and the increased number of students of the Oriental languages, especially since Sanscrit and Arabic have been made subjects for the Indian Civil Service examinations, may have contributed to supply the English language with a large portion of its new dialect. While, however, the spirit of allegory comes from the East, there is so great a difference between the brevity of Western expression and the more cumbrous diction of the Oriental, that the origin of a phrase becomes difficult to trace. Thus, for instance, whilst the Turkish merchant might address his friend somewhat as follows—‘That which seems good to my father is to his servant as the perfumed breath of the west wind in the calm night of the Arabian summer;’ the Western negotiator observes more briefly, ‘all serene!’”[53]

But the vulgar term, “brick,” _Punch_ remarks in illustration,

“must be allowed to be an exception, its Greek derivation being universally admitted, corresponding so exactly as it does in its rectangular form and compactness to the perfection of manhood, according to the views of Plato and Simonides; but any deviation from the simple expression, in which locality is indicated—as, for instance, ‘a genuine Bath’—decidedly breathes the Oriental spirit.”

It is singular that what _Punch_ says unwittingly and in humour respecting the Slang expression “bosh,” should be quite true. “Bosh,” remarks _Punch_, after speaking of it as belonging to the stock of words pilfered from the Turks, “is one whose innate force and beauty the slangographer is reluctantly compelled to admit. It is the only word which seems a proper appellation for a great deal which we are obliged to hear and to read every day of our life.” “Bosh,” nonsense or stupidity, is derived from the Gipsy and the Persian. The universality of Slang is proved by its continual use in the pages of _Punch_. Who ever thinks, unless belonging to a past generation, of asking a friend to explain the stray vulgar words employed by the _London Charivari_? Some of the jokes, though, might nowadays be accompanied by explanatory notes, in similar style to that adopted by youthful artists who write “a man,” “a horse,” &c., when rather uncertain as to whether or not their efforts will meet with due appreciation.

The _Athenæum_, the _Saturday Review_, and other kindred “weeklies,” often indulge in Slang words when force of expression or a little humour is desired, or when the various writers wish to say something which is better said in Slang, or so-called vulgar speech, than in the authorized language. Bartlett, the compiler of the _Dictionary of Americanisms_, continually cites the _Athenæum_ as using Slang and vulgar expressions; but the magazine the American refers to is not the literary journal of the present day,—it was a smaller, and now defunct, “weekly.” The present possessor of the classic title is, though, by no means behindhand in its devotion to colloquialisms. Many other highly respectable journals often use Slang words and phrases. The _Times_ (or, in Slang, the “Thunderer”) frequently employs unauthorized terms; and, following a “leader”[54] of the purest and most eloquent composition, may sometimes be seen another “article”[54] on a totally different subject, containing, perhaps, a score or more of exceedingly questionable words. Among the words and phrases which may be included under the head of Literary Slang are, “balaam,” matter kept constantly in type about monstrous productions of nature, to fill up spaces in newspapers; “balaam-box,” the term given in _Blackwood_ to the repository for rejected articles; and “slate,” to pelt with abuse, or “cut up” in a review. “He’s the fellow to slate a piece” is often said of dramatic critics, especially of those who through youth, inexperience, and the process of unnatural selection which causes them to be critics, imagine that to abuse all that is above their comprehension is to properly exercise the critical faculty. This is, however, dangerous ground. The Slang names given to newspapers are curious;—thus, the _Morning Advertiser_ is known as the “Tap-tub,” the “’Tizer,” and was until recently the “Gin and Gospel Gazette.” The _Morning Post_ has obtained the suggestive sobriquet of “Jeames;” whilst the _Morning Herald_ was long caricatured as “Mrs. Harris,” and the _Standard_ as “Mrs. Gamp.”[55]

The _Stage_, of course, has its Slang—“both before and behind the curtain,” as a journalist remarks. The stage-manager is familiarly termed “daddy;” and an actor by profession, or a “professional,” is called a “pro.” It is amusing at times to hear a young actor—who struts about padded with copies of all newspapers that have mentioned his name—talking, in a mixed company, of the stage as _the_ profession. This is after all but natural, for to him “all the world’s a stage.” A man who is occasionally hired at a trifling remuneration to come upon the stage as one of a crowd, or when a number of actors are wanted to give effect, is named a “supe,”—an abbreviation of “supernumerary.” A “surf” is a third-rate actor, who frequently pursues another calling; and the band, or orchestra between the pit and the stage, is generally spoken of as the “menagerie.” A “ben” is a benefit; and “sal” is the Slang abbreviation of “salary.” Should no money be forthcoming on the Saturday night, it is said that the “ghost doesn’t walk;” or else the statement goes abroad that there is “no treasury,” as though the coffers themselves had departed. The travelling or provincial theatricals, who perform in any large room that can be rented in a country village, are called “barn-stormers.” A “length” is forty-two lines of any dramatic composition; and a “run” is the continuous term of a piece’s performance. A “saddle” is the additional charge made by a manager to an actor or actress upon his or her benefit night. To “mug up” is to paint one’s face, or arrange the person, to represent a particular character; to “corpse,” or to “stick,” is to balk, or put the other actors out in their parts by forgetting yours. A performance is spoken of as either a “gooser” or a “screamer,” should it be a failure or a great success;—if the latter, it is not infrequently termed a “hit.” To “goose” a performance is to hiss it; and continued “goosing” generally ends, or did end before managers refused to accept the verdict of audiences, in the play or the players being “damned.” To “star it” is to perform as the centre of attraction, with your name in large type, and none but subordinates and indifferent actors in the same performance. The expressive term “clap-trap,” high-sounding nonsense, is nothing but an ancient theatrical term, and signified a “trap” to catch a “clap” by way of applause. “Up amongst the ‘gods,’” refers to being among the spectators in the gallery,—termed in French Slang “paradis.”

There exists, too, in the great territory of vulgar speech what may not inappropriately be termed Civic Slang. It consists of mercantile and Stock Exchange terms, and the Slang of good living and wealth. A turkey hung with sausages is facetiously styled an “alderman in chains,”—a term which has spread from the City and become general; and a half-crown, perhaps from its rotundity, is often termed an “alderman.” A “bear” is a speculator on the Exchange; and a “bull,” although of an opposite order, follows a like profession. There is something very humorous and applicable in the Slang term “lame duck,” a defaulter in stock-jobbing speculations. The allusion to his “waddling out of the Alley,” as they say, is excellent. “Breaking shins,” in City Slang, is borrowing money; a rotten or unsound scheme is spoken of as “fishy;” “rigging the market” means playing tricks with it; and “stag” was a common term during the railway mania for a speculator without capital, a seller of “scrip” in “Diddlesex Junction” and other equally safe lines. At Tattersall’s a “monkey” is 500_l._, and in the City a “plum” is 100,000_l._, and a “marygold” is one million sterling. But before proceeding further in a sketch of the different kinds of Slang, it may be as well to speak here of the extraordinary number of Cant and Slang terms in use to represent money—from farthings to bank-notes the value of fortunes. Her Majesty’s coin, collectively or in the piece, is known by more than one hundred and thirty distinct Slang words, from the humble “brown” (a halfpenny) to “flimsies,” or “long-tailed ones” (bank-notes).

“Money,” it has been well remarked, “the bare, simple word itself, has a sonorous, significant ring in its sound,” and might have sufficed, one would have imagined, for all ordinary purposes, excepting, of course, those demanded by direct reference to specific sums. But a vulgar or “fast” society has thought differently; and so we have the Slang synonyms—“beans,” “blunt” (_i.e._, specie,—not soft or rags, bank-notes), “brads,” “brass,” “bustle,” “coppers” (copper money, or mixed pence), “chink,” “chinkers,” “chips,” “corks,” “dibbs,” “dinarly,” “dimmock,” “dust,” “feathers,” “gent” (silver,—from argent), “haddock” (a purse of money), “horse nails,” “huckster,” “loaver,” “lour” (the oldest Cant term for money), “mopusses,” “needful,” “nobbings” (money collected in a hat by street-performers), “ochre” (gold), “pewter,” “palm oil,” “pieces,” “posh,” “queen’s pictures,” “quids,” “rags” (bank-notes), “ready,” or “ready gilt,” “redge” (gold), “rhino,” “rowdy,” “shiners” (sovereigns), “skin” (a purse of money), “stiff” (checks, or bills of acceptance), “stuff,” “stumpy,” “tin” (silver), “wedge” (silver), and “yellow-boys” (sovereigns);—just forty-three vulgar equivalents for the simple word money. So attentive is Slang speech to financial matters, that there are seven terms for bad, or “bogus,” coin (as our friends the Americans call it): a “case” is a counterfeit five-shilling piece; “half a case” represents half that sum; “grays” are halfpence made specially for unfair gambling purposes; “queer-soft” is counterfeit or lead coin; “schofel” refers to coated or spurious coin; “sheen” is bad money of any description; and “sinkers” bears the same and not inappropriate meaning. “Snide” is now the generic term for all bad money, whether coined or in notes; and “snide-pitching” or “schoful-tossing” is the term in use among the professors of that pursuit for what is more generally known as “smashing.” “Flying the kite,” or obtaining money on bills and promissory-notes, is closely connected with the allegorical expression of “raising the wind,” which is a well-known phrase for procuring money by immediate sale, pledging, or by a forced loan. In winter or in summer any elderly gentleman who may have prospered in life is pronounced “warm;” whilst an equivalent is immediately at hand in the phrase “his pockets are well lined,” or “he is well breeched.” Each separate piece of money has its own Slang term, and often half a score of synonyms. To begin with that extremely humble coin, a farthing: first we have “fadge,” then “fiddler;” then “gig,” and lastly “quartereen.” A halfpenny is a “brown” or a “madzer (pronounced ‘medzer’) saltee” (Cant), or a “mag,” or a “posh,” or a “rap,”—whence the popular phrase, “I don’t care a rap.” The useful and universal penny has for Slang equivalents a “copper,” a “saltee” (Cant), and a “winn.” Twopence is a “deuce,” and threepence is either “thrums” or “thrups.” “Thrums” has a special peculiarity; for while “thrums-buskin” represents threepence-halfpenny, the term “buskin” is not used in connexion with any other number of pence. Fourpence, or a groat, may in vulgar speech be termed a “bit,” a “flag,” or a “joey.” Sixpence is well represented in street talk, and some of the slangisms are very comical—for instance, “bandy,” “bender,” “cripple,” and “downer;” then we have “buck,” “fye-b’ck,” “half a hog,” “kick” (thus “two and a ‘kick,’” or 2_s._ 6_d._), “lord of the manor,”[56] “pig,” “pot” (the price of a pot of ale—thus half-a-crown is a “five ‘pot’ piece”), “snid,” “sprat,” “sow’s baby,” “tanner,” “tester,” “tizzy,”—seventeen vulgar words to one coin. Sevenpence being an uncommon amount has only one Slang synonym, “setter.” The same remark applies to eightpence and ninepence, the former being only represented by “otter,” and the latter by the Cant phrase “nobba-saltee.” Tenpence is “dacha-saltee,” and elevenpence “dacha-one,”—both Cant expressions. It is noticeable that coined pieces, and sums which from their smallness or otherwise are mostly in use, receive a commensurate amount of attention from promoters of Slang. One shilling boasts eleven Slang equivalents; thus we have “beong,” “bob,” “breaky-leg,” “deener,” “gen” (from the back Slang), “hog,” “levy,” “peg,” “stag,” “teviss,” and “twelver.” One shilling and sixpence is a “kye,” now and then an “eighteener.” It is noticeable that so far the florin has escaped, and only receives the shilling titles with the required numeral adjective prefixed. Half-a-crown is known as an “alderman,” “half a bull,” “half a wheel,” “half a tusheroon,” and a “madza (medzer) caroon;” whilst a crown piece, or five shillings, may be called either a “bull,” a “caroon,” a “cartwheel,” or a “coachwheel,” or, more generally than either, a “wheel” or a “tusheroon.” The word “dollar” is in general use among costermongers and their customers, and signifies exactly five shillings. Any term representing this amount “takes in two,” and represents the half-crown by the addition of the usual prefix. The next advance in Slang money is ten shillings, or half-a-sovereign, which may be either pronounced as “half a bean,” “half a couter,” “a madza poona,” “half a quid,” or “half a thick ’un.” A sovereign, or twenty shillings, is a “bean,” “canary,” “couter,” “foont,” “goldfinch,” “James” (from Jacobus), “poona,” “portrait,” “quid,” “thick-un,” or “yellow-boy.” Guineas are nearly obsolete, yet the terms “neds” and “half neds” are still in use. Bank-notes are “flimsies,” “long-tailed ones,” or “soft.” A “fin,” or a “finnuf,” is a five-pound note. Twenty-five pounds is a “pony,” and a hundred a “century.” One hundred pounds (or any other “round sum”), quietly handed over as payment for services performed, is curiously termed “a ‘cool’ hundred.” Thus ends, with several necessary omissions, this long list of Slang terms for the coins of the realm which, for copiousness, it is not too much to say, is not equalled by any other vulgar or unauthorized language in Europe.

The antiquity of many of these Slang names is remarkable. “Winn” was the vulgar term for a penny in the days of Queen Elizabeth; and “tester,” a sixpence (formerly a shilling), was the correct name in the days of Henry VIII. The reader, too, will have remarked the frequency of animals’ names as Slang terms for money. Little, as a modern writer has remarked, do the persons using these phrases know of their remote and somewhat classical origin, which may, indeed, be traced to a period anterior to that when monarchs monopolized the surface of coined money with their own images and superscriptions. They are identical with the very name of money among the early Romans, which was _pecunia_, from _pecus_, a flock. The collections of coin-dealers amply show that the figure of a “hog” was anciently placed on a small silver coin; and that that of a “bull” decorated larger ones of the same metal. These coins were frequently deeply crossed on the reverse; this was for the convenience of easily breaking them into two or more pieces, should the bargain for which they were employed require it, and the parties making it had no smaller change handy to complete the transaction. Thus we find that the “half bull” of the itinerant street-seller, or “traveller,” so far from being a phrase of modern invention, as is generally supposed, is in point of fact referable to an era extremely remote. This remark will safely apply to most descriptions of money; and it must not be forgotten that farthing is but a corruption of fourthing, or, literally, fourth part of a penny. The representative coin of the realm was often in olden times made to break up,—but this by the way. It is a reminder, however, that the word “smash,” as used by the classes that speak Slang from motives other than those of affectation, has nothing whatever to do with base coin, as is generally supposed. It simply means to give change. Thus:—“Can you smash a thick ’un for me?” means simply, “Can you give me change for a sovereign?” We learn from Erizzo, in his _Discorso_, a further illustration of the proverb “that there is nothing new under the sun;” for he says that the Roman boys at the time of Hadrian tossed up their coppers and cried, “Head or ship;” of which tradition our “heads or tails,” and “man or woman,” or “a tanner I heads ’em,” is certainly a less refined version. We thence gather, however, that the prow of a vessel would appear to have been the more ordinary device of the reverse of the brass coin of that ancient period. There are many other Cant words directly from a classic source, as will be seen in the dictionary.

Shopkeepers’ Slang is perhaps the most offensive of all Slang, though this is not intended to imply that shopkeepers are perhaps the most offensive of people. This kind of Slang is not a casual eyesore, as newspaper Slang, neither is it an occasional discomfort to the ear, as in the case of some vulgar byword of the street; but it is a perpetual nuisance, and stares you in the face on tradesmen’s invoices, on labels in the shop-windows, and placards on the hoardings, in posters against the house next to your own—if it happen to be empty for a few weeks—and in bills thrust into your hand, as you peaceably walk through the streets. Under your door, and down your area, Slang handbills are dropped by some “pushing” tradesman; and for the thousandth time you are called upon to learn that an “alarming sacrifice” is taking place in the next street; that prices are “down again;” that, in consequence of some other tradesman not “driving a roaring trade,” being in fact, “sold up,” and for the time being a resident in “Burdon’s Hotel” (Whitecross-Street Prison), the “pushing” tradesman wishes to sell out at “awfully low prices,” to “the kind patrons, and numerous customers,” &c. &c., “that have on every occasion,” &c. &c. These are, though, very venial offenders compared with those ghouls, the advertising undertakers, who employ boys, loaded with ghastly little books, to follow up the parish doctor, and leave their horrible wares wherever he calls. But what can be expected of ignorant undertakers when a London newspaper of large circulation actually takes out the death records from the _Times_, and sends a circular to each address therein, informing the bereaved persons that the “----” charges so much per line for similar notices, and that its circulation is most extensive? Surely the typical “death-hunter,” hardened though he may be, is hardly down to that level. In shopkeeping Slang any occupation or calling is termed a “line,”—thus, the “building line.” A tailor usurps to himself a good deal of Slang. Amongst operatives he is called a “snip,” a “steel-bar driver,” a “cabbage contractor,” or a “goose persuader;” by the world, a “ninth part of a man;” and by the young collegian, or “fast” man, a “sufferer.” If he takes army contracts, it is “sank work;” if he is a “slop” tailor, he is a “springer up,” and his garments are “blown together.” Perquisites with him are “spiffs,” and remnants of cloth “peaking, or cabbage.” The per-centage he allows to his assistants (or “counter jumpers”) on the sale of old-fashioned articles is termed “tinge.” If he pays his workmen in goods, or gives them tickets upon other tradesmen, with whom he shares the profit, he is soon known as a “tommy master.” If his business succeeds, it “takes;” if neglected, it becomes “shaky,” and “goes to pot;” if he is deceived by a debtor (a by no means unusual circumstance), he is “let in,” or, as it is sometimes varied, “taken in.” It need scarcely be remarked that any credit he may give is termed “tick.”

Operatives’ or workmen’s Slang, in quality, is but slightly removed from tradesmen’s Slang. When belonging to the same shop or factory, they “graft” there, and are “brother chips.” Among printers the favourite term is “comps,”—not compositors, though the same contraction is used for that word,—but companions, whether so in actual fact, or as members of the same “companionship.” A companionship is the number of men engaged on any one work, and this is in turn reduced to “ship:” sometimes it is a “’stab ship,” _i.e._, paid by the week, therefore on the establishment; sometimes it is “on the piece,” and anyhow it is an extremely critical organization, so perhaps it would be better to broaden the subject. Workmen generally dine at “slap-bang shops,” and are often paid at “tommy shops.” At the nearest “pub,” or public-house, they generally have a “score chalked up” against them, which has to be “wiped off” regularly on the Saturday night. This is often known as a “light.” When credit is bad the “light” is said to be out. When out of work, they describe themselves as being “out of collar.” They term each other “flints” and “dungs,” if they are “society” or “non-society” men. Their salary is a “screw,” and to be discharged is to “get the sack,” varied by the expression “get the bullet,” the connexion of which with discharge is obvious, as the small lecturers—those at the Polytechnic for instance—say, to the meanest capacity. When they quit work, they “knock off;” and when out of employ, they ask if any “hands” are, or any assistance is, wanted. “Fat” is the vulgar synonym for perquisites; “elbow grease” signifies labour; and “Saint Monday” is the favourite day of the week. Names of animals figure plentifully in the workman’s vocabulary; thus we have “goose,” a tailor’s smoothing-iron; “sheep’s-foot,” an iron hammer; “sow,” a receptacle for molten iron, whilst the metal poured from it is termed “pig.” Many of the Slang terms for money may have originally come from the workshop, thus—“brads,” from the ironmonger; “chips,” from the carpenter; “dust,” from the goldsmith; “feathers,” from the upholsterer; “horse-nails,” from the farrier; “haddock,” from the fishmonger; and “tanner and skin” from the leather-dresser.

If society, as has been remarked, is a sham, from the vulgar foundation of commonalty to the crowning summit of royalty, then do we perceive the justness of the remark in that most peculiar of peculiarities, the Slang of makeshifts for oaths, and sham exclamations for passion and temper. These apologies for feeling are an addition to our vernacular, and though some argue that they are a disgrace, for the reason that no man should pretend to swear or curse who does not do so, it is some satisfaction to know that they serve the purpose of reducing the stock of national profanity. “You be blowed,” or “I’ll be blowed if,” &c., is an exclamation often heard in the streets. “Blazes,” or “like blazes,” came probably from the army, unless, indeed, it came from the original metaphor, afterwards corrupted, to serve all turns, “to smoke like blazes.” “Blast,” too, although in general vulgar use, may have had an engineering or military origin, and the phrase, “I wish I may be shot, if,” smacks much of powder. “Blow me tight” is a very windy and common exclamation. The same may be said of “strike me lucky,” “never trust me,” and “so help me Davy;” the latter being evidently derived from the truer old phrase, “I’ll take my Davy on’t”—_i.e._, my affidavit, “Davy,” and sometimes “Alfred Davy,” being a corruption of that word. “By Golly,” “Gol darn it,” and “so help”—generally pronounced “selp” or “swelp”—“me Bob,” are evident shams for profane oaths. “Tarnation” is but a softening of damnation; and “od,” whether used in “od drat it,” or “od’s blood,” is but an apology for the name of the Deity. “Marry,” a term of asseveration in common use, was originally, in Popish times, a mode of swearing by the Virgin Mary;—so also “marrow-bones,” for the knees. “I’ll bring him down upon his marrow-bones,”—_i.e._, I’ll make him bend his knees as he does to the Virgin Mary. The Irish phrase, “Bad scran to yer!” is equivalent to wishing a person bad food. “I’m sniggered if you will,” and “I’m jiggered,” are other mild forms of swearing among men fearful of committing an open profanity, yet slily nibbling at the sin. Maybe, some day one of these adventurers will meet with the object of his desires, and then when fairly “jiggered,” whatever it may ultimately turn out to be, it is to be hoped he will prove a fearful example to all persons with the will, but not the pluck, to swear fierce oaths. Both “deuce” and “dickens” are vulgar old synonyms for the devil; and “zounds” is an abbreviation of “God’s wounds,”—a very ancient oath.

In a casual survey of the territory of Slang, it is curious to observe how well represented are the familiar wants and failings of life. First, there is money, with one hundred and odd Slang terms and synonyms; then comes drink, from small beer to champagne; and next as a very natural sequence, intoxication, and fuddlement generally, with some half a hundred vulgar terms, graduating the scale of drunkenness, from a slight inebriation to the soaky state which leads to the gutter, sometimes to the stretcher, the station-house, the fine, and, most terrible of all, the “caution.” The Slang synonyms for mild intoxication are certainly very choice,—they are “beery,” “bemused,” “boozy,” “bosky,” “buffy,” “corned,” “foggy,” “fou,” “fresh,” “hazy,” “elevated,” “kisky,” “lushy,” “moony,” “muggy,” “muzzy,” “on,” “screwed,” “stewed,” “tight,” and “winey.” A higher or more intense state of beastliness is represented by the expressions, “podgy,” “beargered,” “blued,” “cut,” “primed,” “lumpy,” “ploughed,” “muddled,” “obfuscated,” “swipey,” “three sheets in the wind,” and “top-heavy.” But the climax of fuddlement is only obtained when the “disguised” individual “can’t see a hole in a ladder,” or when he is all “mops and brooms,” or “off his nut,” or with his “main-brace well spliced,” or with the “sun in his eyes,” or when he has “lapped the gutter,” and got the “gravel rash,” or is on the “ran-tan,” or on the “ree-raw,” or when “sewed up,” and regularly “scammered,”—then, and not till then, is he entitled, in vulgar society, to the title of “lushington,” or recommended to “put in the pin,” _i.e._, the linch-pin, to keep his legs steady.

FOOTNOTES:

[32] An outgrowth of this latter peculiarity consisted in anyone with a high or prominent nose being, a few years back, called by the street boys “Duke.”

[33] This term, with a singular literal downrightness, which would be remarkable in any other people than the French, is translated by them as the sect of _Trembleurs_.

[34] Swift alludes to this term in his _Art of Polite Conversation_, p. 14, 1738.

[35] See _Notes and Queries_, vol. i. p. 185. 1850.

[36] He afterwards kept a tavern at Wapping, mentioned by Pope in the _Dunciad_.

[37] _Sportsman’s Dictionary_, 1825, p. 15.

[38] This introduction was written in 1859, before the new edition of _Worcester_, and Nuttall’s recent work, were published.

[39] Introduction to Bee’s _Sportsman’s Dictionary_, 1825.

[40] The Gipsies use the word Slang as the Anglican synonym for Romany, the Continental (or rather Spanish) term for the Cingari or Gipsy tongue. Crabb, who wrote the _Gipsies’ Advocate_ in 1831, thus mentions the word:—“This language [Gipsy] _called by themselves_ Slang, or Gibberish, invented, as they think, by their forefathers for secret purposes, is not merely the language of one or a few of these wandering tribes, which are found in the European nations, but is adopted by the vast numbers who inhabit the earth.”

[41] The word Slang assumed various meanings amongst costermongers, beggars, and vagabonds of all orders. It was, and is still, used to express “cheating by false weights,” “a raree show,” “retiring by a back door,” “a watch-chain,” their “secret language,” &c.

[42] North, in his _Examen_, p. 574, says, “I may note that the rabble first changed their title, and were called the “mob” in the assemblies of this [Green Ribbon] club. It was their beasts of burden, and called first _mobile vulgus_, but fell naturally into the contraction of one syllable, and ever since is become proper English.” In the same work, p. 231, the disgraceful origin of SHAM is given.

[43] I am afraid my predecessor was of a somewhat satirical turn of mind, or else he had peculiar notions of melody.—ED.

[44] This latter is, as I take it, an error, as the sign was originally intended to represent the king’s head and cross guns, and may still be seen in parts of the country.—ED.

[45] Savez-vous cela?—[I fancy this is from the Spanish _sabe_. The word is in great use in the Pacific States of America, and is obtained through constant intercourse with the original settlers.—ED.]

[46] At page 24 of a curious old Civil War tract, entitled, _The Oxonian Antippodes_, by I. B., Gent., 1644, the town is called Brummidgham, and this was the general rendering in the printed literature of the seventeenth century.—[This must have been the first known step towards the present vulgar style of spelling, for properly the word is Bromwich-ham, which has been corrupted into Brummagem, a term used to express worthless or inferior goods, from the spurious jewellery, plate, &c., manufactured there expressly for “duffers.”—ED.]

[47] This was more especially an amusement with medical students, after the modern Mohocks had discarded it. The students are now a comparatively mild and quiet race, with very little of the style of a generation ago about them.

[48] _Edinburgh Review_, October, 1853.

[49] A term derived from the _Record_ newspaper, the exponent of this singular section of the Low, or so-called Evangelical Church.

[50] A preacher is said, in this phraseology, to be “owned” when he makes many converts, and his converts are called his “seals.” This is Cant in its most objectionable form.

[51] “Swaddler” is also a phrase by which the low Irish Roman Catholics denominate those of their body who in winter become Protestants, _pro tem._, for the sake of the blankets, coals, &c., given by proselytizing Protestants. It is hard to say which are the worse, those who refuse to give unless the objects of their charity become converted, or those who sham conversion to save themselves from starving, or the tender mercies of the relieving officer. I am much afraid my sympathies are with the “swaddlers,” who are also called “soupers.”—ED.

[52] “All our newspapers contain more or less colloquial words; in fact, there seems no other way of expressing certain ideas connected with passing events of every-day life with the requisite force and piquancy. In the English newspapers the same thing is observable, and certain of them contain more of the class denominated Slang words than our own.”—_Bartlett’s Americanisms_, p. 10, edit. 1859.

[53] When this appeared, “all serene” was one of those street phrases which periodically spring up, have their rage, and depart as suddenly as they come into popularity. These sayings are generally of a most idiotic nature, as their latest specimens, “I’ll warm yer,” “All serene,” and “I’ll ’ave your hi”—used without any premonitory notice or regard to context, and screeched out at the top of the voice—will testify. I suppose we shall soon have another of these “ebullitions of popular feeling.”—ED.

[54] The terms “leader” and “article” can scarcely be called Slang, yet it would be desirable to know upon what authority they were first employed in their present peculiar sense.

[55] The _Morning Herald_ was called “Mrs. Harris,” because it was said that no one ever saw it, a peculiarity which, in common with its general disregard for veracity, made it uncommonly like “Mrs. Gamp’s” invisible friend as portrayed by Dickens. But the _Herald_ has long since departed this life, and with it has gone the title of “Mrs. Gamp,” as applied to the _Standard_, which is, though, as impulsive and Conservative as ever.—ED.

[56] This is rhyming slang, and is corrupted into “lord” only. “Touch-me,” a common term for a shilling, is also derived from the same source, it being short for “touch-me-on-the-nob,” which is rhyming slang for “bob” or shilling.

THE

SLANG DICTIONARY.

~A 1~, first-rate, the very best; “she’s a prime girl, she is; she is A 1.”—_Sam Slick_. The highest classification of ships at Lloyd’s; common term in the United States; also at Liverpool and other English seaports. Another, even more intensitive form is “first-class, letter A, No. 1.” Some people choose to say A I, for no reason, however, beyond that of being different from others.

~Abigail~, a lady’s-maid; perhaps obtained from old comedies. Used in an uncomplimentary sense. Some think the term is derived from Abigail Hill (Mrs. Masham), lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne, and a typical ABIGAIL in the way of intrigue.

~About Right~, “to do the thing ABOUT RIGHT,” _i.e._, to do it properly, soundly, correctly; “he guv it ’im ABOUT RIGHT,” _i.e._, he beat him severely.

~Abraham-man~, a vagabond, such as were driven to beg about the country after the dissolution of the monasteries.—_See_ BESS O’ BEDLAM, _infra_. They are well described under the title of _Bedlam Beggars_.—_Shakspeare’s K. Lear_, ii. 3.

“And these, what name or title e’er they bear, Jarkman, or Patrico, Cranke, or Clapper-dudgeon, Frater, or ABRAM-MAN; I speak to all That stand in fair election for the title Of king of beggars.”—_Beaumont and Fletcher’s Begg. Bush._ II. 1.

It appears to have been the practice in former days to allow certain inmates of Bethlehem Hospital to have fixed days “to go begging:” hence impostors were said to “SHAM ABRAHAM” (the Abraham Ward in Bedlam having for its inmates these mendicant lunatics) when they pretended they were licensed beggars in behalf of the hospital.

~Abraham-sham~, or SHAM ABRAHAM, to feign sickness or distress. From ABRAHAM-MAN, the _ancient Cant_ term for a begging impostor, or one who pretended to have been mad.—_Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy_, vol. i. p. 360. When Abraham Newland was Cashier to the Bank of England, and signed their notes, it was sung:—

“I have heard people say That SHAM ABRAHAM you may, But you mustn’t SHAM ABRAHAM Newland.”

~Absquatulate~, to run away, or abscond; a hybrid _American_ expression, from the Latin _ab_, and “squat” to settle.

~Acres~, a coward. From Bob Acres, in Sheridan’s _Rivals_.

~Adam’s Ale~, water.—_English._ The _Scotch_ term is ADAM’S WINE.

~Added to the List~, a euphuism current among sporting writers implying that a horse has been gelded. As, “Sabinus has been ADDED TO THE LIST.” Another form of expression in reference to this matter is that “the knife has been brought into requisition.” “ADDED TO THE LIST” is simply a contraction for “added to the list of geldings in training.”

~Addlepate~, a foolish fellow, a dullard.

~Admiral of the Red~, a person whose very red face evinces a fondness for strong potations.

~Affygraphy.~ “It fits to an AFFYGRAPHY,” _i.e._, to a nicety—to a _T_.

~Afternoon Farmer~, one who wastes his best opportunity, and drives off the large end of his work to the little end of his time.

~Against the Grain~, in opposition to the wish. “It went AGAINST THE GRAIN to do it, but I knew I must,” is a common expression.

~Aggerawators~ (corruption of _Aggravators_), the greasy locks of hair in vogue among costermongers and other street folk, worn twisted from the temple back towards the ear. They are also, from a supposed resemblance in form, termed NEWGATE KNOCKERS, and sometimes NUMBER SIXES. This style of adorning the head is, however, fast dying out, and the everyday costermonger or street thief has his hair cut like any one else. The yearly militia drill may have had a good deal to do with this alteration.

~Akeybo~, a slang phrase used in the following manner:—“He beats AKEYBO, and AKEYBO beat the devil.”

~Albertopolis~, a facetious appellation given by the Londoners to the Kensington Gore district. Now obsolete.

~Alderman~, a half-crown—possibly from its rotundity. Also a long pipe.

~Alderman~, a turkey; “ALDERMAN IN CHAINS,” a turkey hung with sausages.

~All of a Hugh!~ all on one side; falling with a thump; the word HUGH being pronounced with a grunt.—_Suffolk._

~All my Eye~, a remark of incredulity made in reference to an improbable story; condensation of “ALL MY EYE AND BETTY MARTIN,” a vulgar phrase constructed from the commencement of a Roman Catholic prayer to St. Martin, “Oh, mihi, beate Martine,” which in common with many another fell into discredit and ridicule after the Reformation.

~All out~, by far;—“he was ALL OUT the best of the lot.” _Old_—frequently used by Burton in his _Anatomy of Melancholy_.

~All-overish~, neither sick nor well; the premonitory symptoms of illness. Also the feeling which comes over a man at a critical moment, say just when he is about to “pop the question.” Sometimes this is called, “feeling all over alike, and touching nowhere.”

~All-rounder~, a shirt collar going all round the neck and meeting in front. Once fashionable, but little worn now.

~All Serene~, an ejaculation of acquiescence. Some years back a popular street cry. With or without application to actual fact, the words ALL SERENE were bawled from morning to night without any reference to the serenity of the unfortunate hearers.—_See_ SERENE.

~Alls~, tap-droppings, refuse spirits sold at a cheap rate in gin-palaces.

~All There~, in strict fashion, first-rate, “up to the mark;” a vulgar person would speak of a handsome, well-dressed woman as being ALL THERE. An artisan would use the same phrase to express the capabilities of a skillful fellow-workman. Sometimes ALL THE WAY THERE. Always used as a term of encomium.

~All to Pieces~, utterly, excessively; “he beat him ALL TO PIECES,” _i.e._, excelled or surpassed him exceedingly. Also a term much in use among sporting men and expressing want of form, or decadence. A boat’s crew are said to “go ALL TO PIECES” when they through distress lose their regularity. A woman is vulgarly said to “fall to pieces,” or “tumble to pieces,” when she is confined.

~All to Smash~, or “GONE ALL TO PIECES,” bankrupt, ruined.

~Almighty Dollar~, an _American_ expression representing the manner in which money is worshipped. Modernly introduced by Washington Irving in 1837. The _idea_ of this phrase is, however, far older than the time of _Irving_. _Ben Jonson’s Epistle to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland_, commences thus—

“Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold, And almost every vice, _almightie gold_.”

It seems almost obvious that the term must have been applied, not to dollars certainly, but to money, long before the time of Irving.

~American Tweezers~, an instrument used by an hotel-sneak which nips the wards end of a key, and enables him to open a door from the opposite side to that on which it has been locked.

~Andrew Millar~, a ship of war.—_Sea._

~Ain’t~, the vulgar abbreviation of “am not,” “are not,” or “is not.”

~Anointed~, _i.e._, eminent; used to express great rascality in any one; “an ANOINTED scoundrel,” king among scoundrels.—_Irish._

~Anointing~, a good beating. A case for the application of salve.

~Anonyma~, a lady of the _demi-monde_, or worse; a “pretty horsebreaker.” INCOGNITA was the term at first. Product of the squeamishness of the age which tries to thrust away fact by the use of fine words.

~Antiscriptural~, oaths, foul language. Anything unfit for ordinary society conversation.

~Apartments to Let~, a term used in reference to one who has a somewhat empty head. As, “He’s got APARTMENTS TO LET.”

~Apostle’s Grove~, the London district known as St. John’s Wood. Also called GROVE OF THE EVANGELIST.

~Apostles~, THE TWELVE, the last twelve names on the Poll, or “Ordinary Degree” List at the Cambridge Examinations, when it was arranged in order of merit, and not alphabetically, and in classes, as at present; so called from their being _post alios_, after the others.—_See_ POLL. The last of all was called ST. PAUL (or Saint Poll), as being the least of the apostles, and “not meet to be called an apostle” (_see_ 1 Cor. xv. 9). As in the “Honour” list (_see_ GULF), students who had failed only slightly in one or more subjects were occasionally allowed their degrees, and these were termed ELEGANT EXTRACTS.—_Camb. Univ. Slang._

~Apple-pie Bed~, a trick played at schools on new comers, or on any boy disliked by the rest. One of the sheets is removed, and the other is doubled in the middle, so that both edges are brought to the top, and look as if both sheets were there; but the unhappy occupant is prevented getting more than half-way down, and he has to remake his bed as best he can. This trick is sometimes played by children of a larger growth.

~Apple-Cart~, the human structure, so far as the phrases with which it is connected are concerned. As “I’ll upset your APPLE-CART,” “down with his APPLE-CART.”

~Apple-pie Order~, in exact or very nice order.

~Appro~, contraction of approbation, a word much in use among jewellers. Most of the extensive show of chains, watches, and trinkets in a shop window is obtained “ON APPRO,” _i.e._, “on sale or return.”

~Area Sneak~, a thief who commits depredations upon kitchens and cellars.

~Argol-bargol~, to bandy words.—_Scotch._

~Article~, derisive term for a weak or insignificant specimen of humanity.

~Atomy~, a diminutive or deformed person. From ANATOMY, or ATOM.

~Attack~, to carve, or commence operations; “ATTACK that beef, and oblige!”

~Attic~, the head; “queer in the ATTIC,” intoxicated or weak-minded. Sometimes ATTIC is varied by “upper story.”

~Attic Salt~, wit, humour, pleasantry. Partly a reference to a suggestive portion of Grecian literature, and partly a sly hit at the well-known poverty of many writers.

~Auctioneer~, to “tip him the AUCTIONEER,” is to knock a man down. Tom Sayers’s right hand was known to pugilistic fame as the AUCTIONEER.

~Audit Ale~, extra strong ale supposed to be drunk when the accounts are audited.—_Camb. Univ._

~Auld-Reekie~, an affectionate term for the old town of Edinburgh. Derived from its dingy appearance.

~Aunt Sally~, a favourite figure on racecourses and at fairs, consisting of a wooden head mounted on a stick, firmly fixed in the ground; in the nose of which, or rather where the nose should be, a tobacco-pipe is inserted. The fun consists in standing at a distance and demolishing AUNT SALLY’S pipe-clay projection with short bludgeons, very similar to the halves of broom-handles. The Duke of Beaufort is a “crack hand” at smashing pipe noses; and his performances some years ago on Brighton racecourse, which brought the game into notoriety, are yet fresh in remembrance. AUNT SALLY has, however, had her day, and once again the inevitable “three shies a penny!” is chief among our outdoor amusements.

~Avast~, a sailor’s phrase for stop, shut up, go away,—apparently connected with the _old Cant_, BYNGE A WASTE; or from the _Italian_, BASTA, hold! enough.

~Awake~, or FLY, knowing, thoroughly understanding. “I’m awake,” _i.e._, I know all. The phrase WIDE-AWAKE carries a similar meaning in ordinary conversation, but has a more general reference.

~Awful~, a senseless expletive, used to intensify a description of anything good or bad; “what an AWFUL fine woman!” “awfully jolly,” “awfully sorry,” &c. The phrase is not confined to any section of society.

~Ax~, to ask. Sometimes pronounced arks.

~Babes~, the lowest order of KNOCK-OUTS (which _see_), who are prevailed upon not to give opposing biddings at auctions, in consideration of their receiving a small sum (from one shilling to half-a-crown), and a certain quantity of beer. They can, however, even after this agreement, be secured on the other side for a little longer price. There is no honour among thieves—at all events not among auction thieves—nowadays.

~Back~, to support by means of money, on the turf or otherwise.—_See_ LAY.

~Back~, “to get one’s BACK UP,” to annoy or enrage. Probably from the

## action of a cat when preparing to give battle to an enemy.

~Back-end~, that portion of the year which commences with October. This phrase is peculiar to the turf, and has its origin in the fact that October was actually, and is now nearly, the finishing portion of the racing season. Towards BACK-END the punters and “little men” generally begin to look forward with anxiety to their winter prospects, and “going for the gloves” is not only a frequent phrase, but a frequently recurring practice.

~Back Out~, to retreat from a difficulty; reverse of GO AHEAD. Metaphor borrowed from the stables.

~Back Slang It~, to go out the back way. Equivalent to “Sling your hook out of the back-door,” _i.e._, get away quickly.

~Backslums~, the byeways and disreputable portions of a town.

~Back-Hander~, a blow on the face with the back of the hand, a back-handed tip. Also a drink out of turn, as when a greedy person delays the decanter to get a second glass. Anything done slyly or secretly is said to be done in a back-handed manner.

~Backer~, one who places his money on a particular man or animal; a supporter of one side in a contest. The great body of betting men is divided into BOOKMAKERS and BACKERS.

~Back Jump~, a back window.—_Prison term._

~Bacon~, the body, “to save one’s BACON,” to escape.

~Bad~, “to go to the bad,” to deteriorate in character, to be ruined. _Virgil_ has an almost similar phrase, _in pejus ruere_, which means, by the way, to go to the worse.

~Bad~, hard, difficult. Word in use among sporting men who say, “He will be BAD to beat,” when they mean that the man or horse to whom they refer will about win.

~Bad Egg~, a scoundrel or rascal.

~Badger~, to tease, to annoy by “chaffing.” Suggestive of drawing a badger.

~Bad Lot~, a term derived from auctioneering slang, and now generally used to describe a man or woman of indifferent morals.

~Badminton~, blood,—properly a peculiar kind of claret-cup invented at the Duke of Beaufort’s seat of that name. BADMINTON proper is made of claret, sugar, spice, cucumber peel, and ice, and was sometimes used by the patrons of the Prize Ring as a synonym for blood.

~Bad Words~, words not always bad of themselves but unpleasant to “ears polite,” from their vulgar associations.

~Baffaty~, calico. Term used in the drapery trade.

~Bag~, to seize or steal, equivalent to “collar.”

~Bagman~, a commercial traveller. This word is used more in reference to the old style of commercial travellers than to the present.

~Bags~, trousers. Trousers of an extensive pattern, or exaggerated fashion, have sometimes been termed HOWLING-BAGS, but only when the style has been very “loud.” The word is probably an abbreviation of bumbags. “To have the BAGS off,” to be of age and one’s own master, to have plenty of money. BAGS OF MYSTERY is another phrase in frequent use, and refers to sausages and saveloys. BAG OF TRICKS, refers to the whole of a means towards a result. “That’s the whole bag of tricks.”

~Baked~, seasoned, “he’s only HALF-BAKED,” _i.e._, soft, inexperienced.

~Baker’s Dozen~, thirteen. Originally the London bakers supplied the retailers, _i.e._, chandlers’ shopkeepers and itinerants, with thirteen loaves to the dozen, so as to make up what is known as the overweight, the surplus number, called the _inbread_, being thrown in for fear of incurring a penalty for short weight. To “give a man a BAKER’S DOZEN,” in a slang sense, sometimes means to give him an extra good beating or pummelling.

~Balaam~, printers’ slang for matter kept in type about monstrous productions of nature, &c., to fill up spaces in newspapers that would otherwise be vacant. The term BALAAM-BOX has often been used as the name of a depository for rejected articles. Evidently from Scripture, and referring to the “speech of an ass.”

~Bald-Faced Stag~, a term of derision applied to a person with a bald head. Also, still more coarsely, “BLADDER-OF-LARD.”

~Bale up~, an Australian term equivalent to our “Shell out.” A demand for instantaneous payment.

~Ballambangjang.~ The Straits of BALLAMBANGJANG, though unnoticed by geographers, are frequently mentioned in sailors’ yarns as being so narrow, and the rocks on each side so crowded with trees inhabited by monkeys, that the ship’s yards cannot be squared, on account of the monkey’s tails getting jammed into, and choking up, the brace blocks.—_Sea._

~Ballast~, money. A rich man is said to be well-ballasted. If not proud and over-bearing he is said to carry his ballast well.

~Balmy~, weak-minded or idiotic (not insane).

~Balmy~, sleep; “have a dose of the BALMY.”

~Bamboozle~, to deceive, make fun of, or cheat a person; abbreviated to BAM, which is sometimes used also as a substantive—a deception, a sham, a “sell.” _Swift_ says BAMBOOZLE was invented by a nobleman in the reign of Charles II.; but this is very likely an error. The probability is that a nobleman then first _used_ it in polite society. The term is derived from the _Gipsies_.

~Bandannah~, originally a peculiar kind of silk pocket-handkerchief, now slang used to denote all sorts of “stooks,” “wipes,” and “fogles,” and in fact the generic term for a kerchief, whether neck or pocket.

~Banded~, hungry. From the habit hungry folks have of tying themselves tight round the middle.

~Bandy~, or CRIPPLE, a sixpence, so called from this coin being generally bent or crooked; old term for flimsy or bad cloth, temp. Q. Elizabeth.

~Bang~, to excel or surpass; BANGING, great or thumping.

~Bang-up~, first-rate, in the best possible style.

~Bank~, to put in a place of safety. “BANK the rag,” _i.e._, secure the note. Also “to bank” is to go shares.

~Bank~, the total amount possessed by any one, “How’s the BANK?” “Not very strong; about one and a buck.”

~Bantling~, a child; stated in _Bacchus and Venus_, 1737, and by _Grose_, to be a cant term. This is hardly slang now-a-days, and modern etymologists give its origin as that of bands or swaddling clothes.

~Banyan-Day~, a day on which no meat is served out for rations; probably derived from the BANIANS, a Hindoo caste, who abstain from animal food. Quite as probably from the sanitary arrangements which have in hot climates counselled the eating of BANYANS and other fruits in preference to meat on certain days.—_Sea._

~Bar~, or BARRING, excepting; in common use in the betting-ring; “Two to one bar one,” _i.e._, two to one against any horse with the exception of one. The Irish use of BARRIN’ is very similar, and the words BAR and BARRING may now be regarded as general.

~Barber’s Cat~, a half-starved sickly-looking person. Term used in connexion with an expression too coarse to print.

~Barber’s Clerk~, an overdressed shopboy who apes the manners of, and tries to pass himself off as, a gentleman; a term of reproach applied not to an artisan but to one of those who, being below, assume airs of superiority over, handicraftsmen.

~Barge~, a term used among printers (compositors) to denote a case in which there is an undue proportion of some letters and a corresponding shortness of those which are most valuable.

~Bark~, an Irish person of either sex. From this term, much in use among the London lower orders, but for which no etymology can be found, Ireland is now and then playfully called Barkshire.

~Barker~, a man employed to cry at the doors of “gaffs,” shows, and puffing shops, to entice people inside. Among touting photographers he is called a doorsman.

~Barking-Iron~, or BARKER, a pistol. Term used by footpads and thieves generally.

~Barnacles~, spectacles; possibly a corruption of binoculi; but derived by some from the barnacle (_Lepas Anatifera_), a kind of conical shell adhering to ships’ bottoms. Hence a marine term for goggles, which they resemble in shape, and for which they are used by sailors in case of ophthalmic derangement.

~Barney~, an unfair race of any kind: a sell or cross. Also a lark, jollification, or outing. The word BARNEY is sometimes applied to a swindle unconnected with the sporting world.

~Barn Stormers~, theatrical performers who travel the country and act in barns, selecting short and tragic pieces to suit the rustic taste.

~Barrikin~, jargon, speech, or discourse; “We can’t tumble to that BARRIKIN,” _i.e._, we don’t understand what he says. “Cheese your BARRIKIN,” shut up. _Miege_ calls it “a sort of stuff;” _Old French_, BARACAN.

~Bash~, to beat, thrash; “BASHING a dona,” beating a woman; originally a provincial word, applied to the practice of beating walnut trees, when in bud, with long poles, to increase their productiveness. Hence the West country proverb—

“A woman, a whelp, and a walnut tree, The more you BASH ’em, the better they be.”

The word BASH, among thieves, signifies to flog with the cat or birch. The worst that can happen to a brutal ruffian is to receive “a BASHING in, and a BASHING out,”—a flogging at the commencement and another at the close of his term of enforced virtue.

~Baste~, to beat, properly to pour gravy on roasting meat to keep it from burning, and add to its flavour. Also a sewing term.

~Bastile~, the workhouse. General name for “the Union” amongst the lower orders of the _North_. Formerly used to denote a prison, or “lock-up;” but its abbreviated form, STEEL, is now the favourite expression with the dangerous classes, some of whom have never heard of BASTILE, familiar as they are with “steel.”

~Bat~, “on his own BAT,” on his own account. Evident modification of the cricket term, “off his own bat,” though not connected therewith.—_See_ HOOK.

~Bat~, to take an innings at cricket. To “carry out one’s BAT” is to be last in, _i.e._, to be “not out.” A man’s individual score is said to be made “off his own BAT.”

~Bat~, pace at walking or running. As, “He went off at a good BAT.”

~Bats~, a pair of bad boots.

~Battells~, the weekly bills at Oxford. Probably originally wooden tallies, and so a diminutive of bâton.—_University._

~Batter~, wear and tear; “can’t stand the BATTER,” _i.e._, not equal to the task; “on the BATTER,” “on the streets,” “on the town,” or given up to roystering and debauchery.

~Batty~, wages, perquisites. Derived from BATTA, an extra pay given to soldiers while serving in _India_.

~Batty-Fang~, to beat; BATTY-FANGING, a beating; also BATTER-FANG. Used metaphorically as early as 1630.

“So _batter-fanged_ and belabour’d with tongue mettle, that he was weary of his life.”—_Taylor’s Works._

~Beach-Comber~, a fellow who prowls about the sea-shore to plunder wrecks, and pick up waifs and strays of any kind.—_Sea._

~Beak~, originally a magistrate, judge, or policeman; now a magistrate only; “to baffle the BEAK,” to get remanded. _Ancient Cant_, BECK. _Saxon_, BEAG, a necklace or gold collar—emblem of authority. Sir John Fielding was called the BLIND-BEAK in the last century. Maybe connected with the Italian BECCO, which means a (bird’s) _beak_, and also a _blockhead_.—_See_ WALKER.

~Beaker-Hunter~, or BEAK-HUNTER, a stealer of poultry.

~Beans~, money; “a haddock of BEANS,” a purse of money; formerly, BEAN meant a guinea; _French_, BIENS, property.

~Bear~, one who contracts to deliver or sell a certain quantity of stock in the public funds on a forthcoming day at a stated place, but who does not possess it, trusting to a decline in public securities to enable him to fulfil the agreement and realize a profit.—_See_ BULL. Both words are slang terms on the Stock Exchange, and are frequently used in the business columns of newspapers.

“He who sells that of which he is not possessed is proverbially said to sell the skin before he has caught the BEAR. It was the practice of stock-jobbers, in the year 1720, to enter into a contract for transferring South Sea stock at a future time for a certain price; but he who contracted to sell had frequently no stock to transfer, nor did he who bought intend to receive any in consequence of his bargain; the seller was, therefore, called a BEAR, in allusion to the proverb, and the buyer a BULL, perhaps only as a similar distinction. The contract was merely a wager, to be determined by the rise or fall of stock; if it rose, the seller paid the difference to the buyer, proportioned to the sum determined by the same computation to the seller.”—_Dr. Warton on Pope._

These arrangements are nowadays called “time bargains,” and are as fairly (or unfairly) gambling as any transactions at the Victoria Club or Tattersall’s, or any of the doings which call for the intervention of the police and the protestations of pompous City magistrates, who, during their terms of office, try to be virtuous and make their names immortal. Certainly BULLING and BEARING are as productive of bankruptcy and misery as are BACKING and LAYING.

~Be-argered~, drunk. (The word is divided here simply to convey the pronunciation.)

~Bear-Leader~, a tutor in a private family. In the old days of the “grand tour” the term was much more in use and of course more significant than it is now.

~Bear-up~ and ~Bearer-up~.—_See_ BONNET.

~Beat~, the allotted range traversed by a policeman on duty.

~Beat~, or BEAT-HOLLOW, to surpass or excel; also “BEAT into fits,” and “BEAT badly.”

~Beat~, “DEAD-BEAT,” wholly worn out, done up.

~Beater-Cases~, boots. _Nearly obsolete._ TROTTER CASES is the term nowadays.

~Beaver~, old street term for a hat; GOSS is the modern word, BEAVER, except in the country, having fallen into disuse.

~Bebee~, a lady.—_Anglo-Indian._

~Be-Blowed~, a derisive instruction never carried into effect, as, “You BE-BLOWED.” Used similarly to the old “Go to.” _See_ BLOW ME.

~Bed-Fagot~, a contemptuous term for a woman; generally applied to a prostitute.—_See_ FAGOT.

~Bed-Post~, “in the twinkling of a BED-POST,” in a moment, or very quickly. Originally BED-STAFF, a stick placed vertically in the frame of a bed to keep the bedding in its place, and used sometimes as a defensive weapon.

~Bee~, “to have a BEE in one’s bonnet,” _i.e._, to be not exactly sane; to have a craze in one particular direction. Several otherwise sensible and excellent M.P.’s are distinguished by the “BEE in his bonnet” each carries.

~Beef-Headed~, stupid, fat-headed, dull.

~Beefy~, unduly thick or fat, commonly said of women’s ankles; also rich, juicy, plenteous. To take the whole pool at loo, or to have any

## particular run of luck at cards generally is said by players to be “very

BEEFY.”

~Beeline~, the straightest possible line of route to a given point. When a bee is well laden, it makes a straight flight for home. Originally an Americanism, but now general.

~Beery~, intoxicated, or fuddled with beer.

~Beeswax~, poor, soft cheese. Sometimes called “sweaty-toe cheese.”

~Beeswing~, the film which forms on the sides of bottles which contain good old port wine. This breaks up into small pieces in the process of decanting, and looks like BEES’ WINGS. Hence the term.

~Beetle-Crusher~, or SQUASHER, a large flat foot. The expression was made popular by being once used by Leech.

~Beetle-Sticker~, an entomologist.

~Beggars’ Velvet~, downy particles which accumulate under furniture from the negligence of housemaids. Otherwise called SLUTS’-WOOL.

~Belcher~, a blue bird’s-eye handkerchief.—_See_ BILLY.

~Bell~, a song. Tramps’ term. Simply diminutive of BELLOW.

~Bellows~, the lungs. BELLOWSER, a blow in the “wind,” or pit of the stomach, taking one’s breath away.

~Bellowsed~, or LAGGED, transported.

~Bellows to Mend~, a person out of breath; especially a pugilist is said to be “BELLOWS TO MEND” when winded. With the P.R., the word has fallen into desuetude.

~Belly-Timber~, food, or “grub.”

~Belly-Vengeance~, small sour beer, apt to cause gastralgia.

~Bemuse~, to fuddle one’s self with drink, “BEMUSING himself with beer,” &c.

~Ben~, a benefit.—_Theatrical._

~Ben Cull~, a friend, or “pal.” Expression used by thieves.

~Bend~, “that’s above my bend,” _i.e._, beyond my power, too expensive or too difficult for me to perform.

~Bender~, a sixpence. Probably from its liability to bend. In the days when the term was most in use sixpences were not kept in the excellent state of preservation peculiar to the currency of the present day.

~Bender~, the arm; “over the BENDER,” synonymous with “over the left.”—_See_ OVER.

~Bendigo~, a rough fur cap worn in the midland counties, called after a noted pugilist of that name. “Hard Punchers” are caps worn by London roughs and formerly by men in training. They are a modification of the common Scotch cap, and have peaks.

~Bene~, good.—_Ancient Cant_; BENAR was the comparative.—_See_ BONE. _Latin._

~Benedick~, a married man. _Shakspeare._

~Benjamin~, coat. Formerly termed a JOSEPH, in allusion, perhaps, to Joseph’s coat of many colours.—_See_ UPPER-BENJAMIN.

~Ben Joltram~, brown bread and skimmed milk; a Norfolk term for a ploughboy’s breakfast.

~Benjy~, a waistcoat, diminutive of BENJAMIN.

~Beong~, a shilling.—_See_ SALTEE.—_Lingua Franca._

~Bess-o’-Bedlam~, a lunatic vagrant.—_Norfolk._

~Best~, to get the better or BEST of a man in any way—not necessarily to cheat—to have the best of a bargain. BESTED, taken in, or defrauded, in reality worsted. BESTER, a low betting cheat, a fraudulent bookmaker.

~Better~, more; “how far is it to town?” “Oh, BETTER ’n a mile.”—_Saxon_ and _Old English_, now a vulgarism.

~Betting Round~, laying fairly and equally against nearly all the horses in a race so that no great risk can be run. Commonly called getting round. _See_ BOOK, and BOOKMAKING.

~Betty~, a skeleton key, or picklock.—_Old Prison Cant._

~B Flats~, bugs.—_Compare_ F SHARPS.

~Bible-Carrier~, a person who sells songs without singing them.—_Seven Dials._

~Biddy~, a general name applied to Irish stallwomen and milkmaids, in the same manner that Mike is given to the labouring men. A big red-faced Irish servant girl is known as a Bridget.

~Big~, “to look BIG,” to assume an inflated air or manner; “to talk BIG,” _i.e._, boastingly.

~Big-Bird~, TO GET THE, _i.e._, to be hissed, as actors occasionally are by the “gods.” BIG-BIRD is simply a metaphor for goose.—_Theat. Slang._

~Big House~, or LARGE HOUSE, the workhouse,—a phrase used by the very poor.

~Big-wig~, a person in authority or office. Exchangeable with “GREAT GUN.”

~Bilbo~, a sword; abbrev. of “BILBAO blade.” Spanish swords were anciently very celebrated, especially those of Toledo, Bilbao, &c.

~Bilk~, a cheat, or a swindler. Formerly in general use, now confined to the streets, where it is common, and mostly used in reference to prostitutes. _Gothic_, BILAICAN.

~Bilk~, to defraud, or obtain goods, &c., without paying for them; “to BILK the schoolmaster,” to get information or experience without paying for it.

~Billingsgate~ (when applied to speech), foul and coarse language. Many years since people used to visit Thames Street to hear the Billingsgate fishwomen abuse each other. The anecdote of Dr. Johnson and the Billingsgate virago is well known.

~Billingsgate Pheasant~, a red herring or bloater. This is also called a “two-eyed steak.”

~Billy~, a silk pocket-handkerchief.—_Scotch._—_See_ WIPE.

⁂ A list of slang terms descriptive of the various patterns of handkerchiefs, pocket and neck, is here subjoined:—

BELCHER, darkish blue ground, large round white spots, with a spot in the centre of darker blue than the ground. This was adopted by Jem Belcher, the pugilist, as his “colours,” and soon became popular amongst “the fancy.”

BIRD’S-EYE WIPE, a handkerchief of any colour, containing white spots. The blue bird’s-eye is similar to the Belcher except in the centre. Sometimes a BIRD’S-EYE WIPE has a white ground and blue spots.

BLOOD-RED FANCY, red.

BLUE BILLY, blue ground, generally with white figures.

CREAM FANCY, any pattern on a white ground.

KING’S MAN, yellow pattern on a green ground.

RANDAL’S MAN, green, with white spots; named after the favourite colours of Jack Randal, pugilist.

WATER’S MAN, sky coloured.

YELLOW FANCY, yellow, with white spots.

YELLOW MAN, all yellow.

~Billy~, a policeman’s staff. Also stolen metal of any kind. BILLY-HUNTING is buying old metal. A BILLY-FENCER is a marine-store dealer.

~Billy-Barlow~, a street clown; sometimes termed a JIM CROW, or SALTIMBANCO,—so called from the hero of a slang song. Billy was a real person, semi-idiotic, and though in dirt and rags, fancied himself a swell of the first water. Occasionally he came out with real witticisms. He was a well-known street character about the East-end of London, and died in Whitechapel Workhouse.

~Billy-Cock~, a soft felt hat of the Jim Crow or “wide-awake” description.

~Bingo~, brandy.—_Old Cant._

~Bingy~, a term largely used in the butter trade to denote bad, ropy butter; nearly equivalent to VINNIED.

~Bird-Cage~, a four-wheeled cab.

~Birthday Suit~, the suit in which Adam and Eve first saw each other, and “were not ashamed.”

~Bishop~, a warm drink composed of materials similar to those used in the manufacture of “flip” and “purl.”

~Bit~, fourpence; in America a 12-1/2 cent piece is called a BIT, and a defaced 20 cent piece is termed a LONG BIT. A BIT is the smallest coin in Jamaica, equal to 6d. BIT usually means the smallest silver coin in circulation; also a piece of money of any kind. Charles Bannister, the witty singer and actor, one day meeting a Bow Street runner with a man in custody, asked what the prisoner had done; and being told that he had stolen a bridle, and had been detected in the act of selling it, said, “Ah, then, he wanted to touch the BIT.”

~Bitch~, tea; “a BITCH party,” a tea-drinking. Probably because undergraduates consider tea only fit for old women.—_Oxford._

~Bite~, a cheat; “a Yorkshire BITE,” a cheating fellow from that county. The term BITE is also applied to a hard bargainer.—_North_; also _old slang_—used by _Pope_. Swift says it originated with a nobleman in his day.

~Bite~, to cheat; “to be BITTEN,” to be taken in or imposed upon. Originally a Gipsy term. CROSS-BITER, for a cheat, continually occurs in writers of the sixteenth century. Bailey has CROSS-BITE, a disappointment, probably the primary sense; and BITE is very probably a contraction of this.

~Bit-Faker~, or TURNER OUT, a coiner of bad money.

~Bit-of-Stuff~, overdressed man; a man with full confidence in his appearance and abilities; a young woman, who is also called a BIT OF MUSLIN.

~Bitter~, diminutive of bitter beer; “to do a BITTER,” to drink beer.—Originally _Oxford_, but now general.

~Bittock~, a distance of very undecided length. If a North countryman be asked the distance to a place, he will most probably reply, “a mile and a BITTOCK.” The latter may be considered any distance from one hundred yards to ten miles.

~Bivvy~, or GATTER, beer; “shant of BIVVY,” a pot or quart of beer. In Suffolk the afternoon refreshment of reapers is called BEVER. It is also an old English term.

“He is none of those same ordinary eaters, that will devour three breakfasts, and as many dinners, without any prejudice to their BEVERS, drinkings, or suppers.”—_Beaumont and Fletcher’s Woman Hater_, i. 3.

Both words are probably from the _Italian_, BEVERE, BERE. _Latin_, BIBERE. _English_, BEVERAGE.

~Biz~, contraction of the word business; a phrase much used in America in writing as well as in conversation.

~B. K. S.~ Military officers in _mufti_, when out on a spree, and not wishing their profession to be known, speak of their barracks as the B. K. S.

~Black and White~, handwriting or print. “Let’s have it in BLACK AND WHITE,” is often said with regard to an agreement when it is to the advantage of one or both that it should be written.

~Black-a-vised~, having a very dark complexion.

~Blackberry-Swagger~, a person who hawks tapes, boot-laces, &c.

~Blackbirding~, slave-catching. Term most applied nowadays to the Polynesian coolie traffic.

~Black Diamonds~, coals; talented persons of dingy or unpolished exterior; rough jewels.

~Blackguard~, a low or dirty fellow; a rough or a hulking fellow, capable of any meanness or cowardice.

“A cant word amongst the vulgar, by which is implied a dirty fellow of the meanest kind, Dr. Johnson says, and he cites only the modern authority of Swift. But the introduction of this word into our language belongs not to the vulgar, and is more than a century prior to the time of Swift. Mr. Malone agrees with me in exhibiting the two first of the following examples:—The _black-guard_ is evidently designed to imply a fit attendant on the devil. Mr. Gifford, however, in his late edition of Ben Jonson’s works, assigns an origin of the name different from what the old examples which I have cited seem to countenance. It has been formed, he says, from those ‘mean and dirty dependants, in great houses, who were selected to carry coals to the kitchen, halls, &c. To this smutty regiment, who attended the progresses, and rode in the carts with the pots and kettles, which, with every other article of furniture, were then moved from palace to palace, the people, in derision, gave the name of _black guards_; a term since become sufficiently familiar, and never properly explained.’”—_Todd’s Johnson’s Dictionary._

Blackguard as an adjective is very powerful.

~Blackleg~, a rascal, swindler, or card cheat. The derivation of this term was solemnly argued before the full Court of Queen’s Bench upon a motion for a new trial for libel, but was not decided by the learned tribunal. Probably it is from the custom of sporting and turf men wearing black _top-boots_. Hence BLACKLEG came to be the phrase for a professional sporting man, and thence for a professional sporting cheat. The word is now in its worst sense diminished to “leg.”

~Black Maria~, the sombre van in which prisoners are conveyed from the police court to prison.

~Black Monday~, the Monday on which boys return to school after the holidays. Also a low term for the Monday on which an execution took place.

~Black Sheep~, a “bad lot,” “_mauvais sujet_;” sometimes “scabby sheep;” also a workman who refuses to join in a strike.

~Black Strap~, port wine; especially that which is thick and sweet.

~Blackwork~, undertaking. The waiters met at public dinners are often employed during the day as mutes, etc. Omnibus and cab drivers regard BLACKWORK as a _dernier ressort_.

~Bladder-of-Lard~, a coarse, satirical nickname for a bald-headed person. From similarity of appearance.

~Blade~, a man—in ancient times the term for a soldier; “knowing BLADE,” a wide-awake, sharp, or cunning man.

~Blarney~, flattery, powers of persuasion. A castle in the county of Cork. It is said that whoever kisses a certain stone in this castle will be able to persuade others of whatever he or she pleases. The name of the castle is derived from BLADH, a blossom, _i.e._, the flowery or fertile demesne. BLADH is also flattery; hence the connexion. A more than ordinarily persuasive Irishman is said to have “kissed the BLARNEY stone.”

~Blast~, to curse. Originally a _Military_ expression.

~Blaze~, to leave trace purposely of one’s way in a forest or unknown path by marking trees or other objects.

~Blazes~, a low synonym for the infernal regions, and now almost for anything. “Like BLAZES” is a phrase of intensification applied without any reference to the original meaning. Also applied to the brilliant habiliments of flunkeys, since the episode of Sam Weller and the “swarry.”

~Bleed~, to victimize, or extract money from a person, to sponge on, to make suffer vindictively.

~Blest~, a vow; “BLEST if I’ll do it,” _i.e._, I am determined not to do it; euphemism for CURST.

~Blether~, to bother, to annoy, to pester. “A BLETHERING old nuisance” is a common expression for a garrulous old person.

~Blew~, or BLOW, to inform, or peach, to lose or spend money.

~Blewed~, a man who has lost or spent all his money is said to have BLEWED it. Also used in cases of robbery from the person, as, “He’s BLEWED his red ’un,” _i.e._, he’s been eased of his watch.

~Blewed~, got rid of, disposed of, spent.

~Blind~, a pretence, or make-believe.

~Blind-Half-Hundred~, the Fiftieth Regiment of Foot; so called through their great sufferings from ophthalmia when serving in Egypt.

~Blind-Hookey~, a game at cards which has no recommendation beyond the rapidity with which money can be won and lost at it; called also WILFUL MURDER.

~Blind-Man’s-Holiday~, night, darkness. Sometimes applied to the period “between the lights.”

~Blind Monkeys~, an imaginary collection at the Zoological Gardens, which are supposed to receive care and attention from persons fitted by nature for such office and for little else. An idle and useless person is often told that he is only fit to lead the BLIND MONKEYS to evacuate. Another form this elegant conversation takes, is for one man to tell another that he knows of a suitable situation for him. “How much a week? and what to do?” are natural questions, and then comes the scathing and sarcastic reply, “Five bob a week at the doctor’s—you’re to stand behind the door and make the patients sick. They wont want no physic when they sees your mug.”

~Blinker~, a blackened eye.—_Norwich._ Also a hard blow in the eye. BLINKERS, spectacles.

~Blink-Fencer~, a person who sells spectacles.

~Bloated Aristocrat~, a street term for any decently dressed person. From the persistent abuse lavished on a “bloated and parasitical aristocracy” by Hyde Park demagogues and a certain unpleasant portion of the weekly press.

~Bloater.~—_See_ MILD.

~Blob~ (from BLAB), to talk. Beggars are of two kinds—those who SCREEVE (introducing themselves with a FAKEMENT, or false document) and those who BLOB, or state their case in their own truly “unvarnished” language.

~Block~, the head. “To BLOCK a hat,” is to knock a man’s hat down over his eyes.—_See_ BONNET. Also a street obstruction.

~Block Ornaments~, the small dark-coloured and sometimes stinking pieces of meat which used to be exposed on the cheap butchers’ blocks or counters; matters of interest to all the sharp-visaged women in poor neighbourhoods. Since the great rise in the price of meat there has been little necessity for butchers to make block ornaments of their odds and ends. They are bespoke beforehand.

~Bloke~, a man; “the BLOKE with the jasey,” the man with the wig, _i.e._, the Judge. _Gipsy_ and _Hindoo_, LOKE. _North_, BLOACHER, any large animal.

~Blood~, a fast or high-mettled man. Nearly obsolete, but much used in George the Fourth’s time.

~Blood-money~, the money that used to be paid to any one who by information or evidence led to a conviction for a capital offence. Nowadays applied to all sums received by informers.

~Blood-Red Fancy~, a particular kind of handkerchief sometimes worn by pugilists and frequenters of prize fights.—_See_ BILLY and COLOUR.

~Bloody~, an expletive used, without reference to meaning, as an adjective and an adverb, simply for intensification.

~Bloody Jemmy~, an uncooked sheep’s head.—_See_ SANGUINARY JAMES. Also MOUNTAIN PECKER.

~Blow~, to expose, or inform; “BLOW the gaff,” to inform against a person.

“‘As for that,’ says Will, ‘I could tell it well enough, if I had it, but I must not be seen anywhere among my old acquaintances, for I am BLOWN, and they will all betray me.’”—_History of Colonel Jack_, 1723.

The expression would seem to have arisen from the belief that a flower might be blighted if “BLOWN upon” by a foul wind or a corrupted breath. See the condition of the flowers on a dinner-table by the time the company rise. In _America_, “to BLOW” is slang for to lie in a boasting manner, to brag or “gas” unduly.

~Blow a Cloud~, to smoke a cigar or pipe—a phrase used two centuries ago. Most likely in use as long as tobacco here—an almost evident conclusion.

~Blow Me~, or BLOW ME TIGHT, a vow, a ridiculous and unmeaning ejaculation, inferring an appeal to the ejaculator; “I’m BLOWED if you will” is a common expression among the lower orders; “BLOW ME UP” was the term a century ago.—_See Parker’s Adventures_, 1781.—The expression BE-BLOWED is now more general. Thomas Hood used to tell a story:—

“I was once asked to contribute to a new journal, not exactly gratuitously, but at a very small advance upon nothing—and avowedly because the work had been planned according to that estimate. However, I accepted the terms conditionally—that is to say, provided the principle could be properly carried out. Accordingly, I wrote to my butcher, baker, and other tradesmen, informing them that it was necessary, for the sake of cheap literature and the interest of the reading public, that they should furnish me with their several commodities at a very trifling per-centage above cost price. It will be sufficient to quote the answer of the butcher:—‘Sir,—Respectin’ your note, Cheap literater BE BLOWED! Butchers must live as well as other pepel—and if so be you or the readin’ publick wants to have meat at prime cost, you must buy your own beastesses, and kill yourselves.—I remane, etc.

“‘JOHN STOKES.’”

~Blow Out~, or TUCK IN, a feast. Sometimes the expression is, “BLOW OUT your bags.” A BLOW OUT is often called a tightener.

~Blow Up~, to make a noise, or scold; formerly a cant expression used among thieves, now a recognised and respectable phrase. BLOWING UP, a jobation, a scolding.

~Blowen~, originally a showy or flaunting female, now a prostitute only. In _Wilts_, a BLOWEN is a blossom. _Germ._ BLÜHEN, to bloom. In _German_, also, BUHLEN is to court, and BUHLE, a sweetheart.

“O du _blühende_ Mädchen, viel schöne Willkomm!”—_German Song._

Possibly, however, the street term BLOWEN may mean one whose reputation has been BLOWN UPON or damaged.

~Blower~, a girl; a contemptuous name in opposition to JOMER.—_Gipsy._

~Blowsey~, a word applied to a rough wench, or coarse woman.

~Bludger~, a low thief, who does not hesitate to use violence, literally one who will use a bludgeon.

~Blue~, said of talk that is smutty or indecent. Probably from the French, “Bibliothèque Bleu.” When the conversation has assumed an entirely opposite character, it is then said to be BROWN or Quakerish.

~Blue~, a policeman; otherwise BLUE BOTTLE. From the colour of his uniform.

~Blue~, or BLEW, to pawn or pledge. Actually to get rid of.

~Blue~, confounded or surprised; “to look BLUE,” to look astonished, annoyed, or disappointed.

~Blue Bellies~, a term applied by the Confederate soldiers during the civil war in America to the Federals, the name being suggested by the skyblue gaberdines worn by the Northern soldiers. On the other hand, the “filthy BLUE BELLIES,” as the full title ran, dubbed the Confederates “Greybacks,” the epithet cutting both ways, as the Southern soldiers not only wore grey uniforms, but “greyback” is American as well as English for a louse.

~Blue Billy~, the handkerchief (blue ground with white spots) sometimes worn and used as a colour at prize-fights. Also, the refuse ammoniacal lime from gas factories.

~Blue Blanket~, a rough overcoat made of coarse pilot cloth.

~Blue Bottle~, a policeman. This well-known slang term for a London constable is used by _Shakspeare_. In