One point to be observed in the nature and history of words is their tendency to contract in form and degenerate in meaning. A word which, in the beginning of its career, has generally a favourable, or at any rate a not disparaging, meaning, becomes, as it grows older, weaker in effect and more contracted in form and signification, and, in most cases, falls into an unfavourable sense. It does not improve or extend, but contracts and deteriorates in meaning. Archbishop Trench uses this fact as an argument to prove the perversity and evil tendencies of mankind; and it must be admitted to have considerable force. Take the two verbs, to ‘resent’ and to ‘retaliate.’ The first of these means, etymologically, ‘to feel back,’ or ‘feel in return.’ Of course, one may feel kindly or unkindly, according to circumstances: but we now never use this word in a favourable sense. We are never said to ‘resent’ kindness or affection; but only injury, slander, ill deeds, &c. Again, the derivation of ‘retaliate’ is from the Latin ‘re’ (back) and ‘talis’ (such); and it would naturally signify, ‘to give back such’ (as we have received). But we now retaliate offences or indignities, and never favours or benefits. These words were, however, once used in a much more extended sense. Dr. South, a celebrated preacher of Charles II.’s time, in one of his sermons has the expression, ‘resenting God’s favours,’ which, according to the present restricted meaning of the word, would seem to a modern reader positively blasphemous. But in the seventeenth century the word ‘resent’ implied good as well as bad feeling; gratitude for benefits received as well as anger for injury done.

This tendency to degenerate will appear, perhaps, more evidently if we inquire into the original source of certain English words which are now used as the strongest terms of reproach in the language. Among these may be named, ‘thief,’ ‘villain,’ and ‘vagabond.’

The first is of Saxon origin. ‘Theow’ was a term originally applied to one of the servile classes of the Anglo-Saxon population, and in its first sense implied no reproach. But, as people in this position had many temptations to fraud and deceit, the word at length came to have its modern signification; i.e. it degenerated into the present meaning of ‘thief.’

‘Villanus’ was, in Latin, first used in the sense of a farm-servant; but as those in this capacity acquired a bad reputation by their immorality and brutal violence, the whole class was stigmatised; and thus the word ‘villain’ now conveys, as every one knows, a very different sense from that of farm-servant.

There is no particular reproach conveyed in the etymology of ‘vagabond.’ It meant at first simply a wanderer. But as the habits of a wanderer are likely to become unsteady, irregular, and reckless, this term, in course of time, degenerated into its present acceptation. It is now always associated with the ideas of a loose morality and want of sobriety.

‘Prejudice’ is another of those words which have gradually got rid of their favourable meaning, and are, in most cases, used in a bad sense. It is true, we sometimes say ‘prejudiced in favour of’ some person or thing; but, without this specification, there is always a leaning towards the bad sense of the word. And yet the derivation shows simply, ‘a judgment formed before sufficient reflection,’ whether favourable or otherwise.

In the same class may be placed ‘animosity.’ In Latin, ‘animosus’ meant courageous, full of soul, vigour, and ardour. Now, it is wholly confined to the sense of a violent feeling of anger, hatred, and resentment. In fine, it has lost all its beauty. There is no longer the least trace of anything noble in the word ‘animosity.’

The words ‘simple’ and ‘simplicity’ still retain something of their original charm, but it is much to be feared that they are more frequently used in a contemptuous sense. We speak of a ‘simple’ fellow, as of one who is easily cheated or duped; one wanting in shrewdness; anything but ‘knowing;’ which, by the way, is another term which has degenerated into an unfavourable acceptation.

It may seem strange, but it is certainly true, that the word ‘good’ which is naturally associated with everything high, pure, and noble, both in morals and intellect, has partaken of this general tendency downwards, and is often used in the sense of ‘able to pay,’ or ‘having sufficient means to discharge’ debts. This use of the word is found in the language as far back as Shakspere’s time. In the ‘Merchant of Venice,’ Shylock says to Bassanio:—‘Antonio is a good man?’ and when Bassanio asks him ‘if he has heard any imputation to the contrary,’ he replies:—‘My meaning in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me that he is sufficient.’ This is still the common acceptation of the word with city men; with them, a good man is one who has a large balance at his banker’s.

If we look into the original meaning of the word ‘cunning,’ we shall find that it was not at first used in its present bad sense. This is one of a numerous Saxon family, based upon the type ‘kn’ or ‘cn;’ as ‘ken,’ ‘know,’ ‘can,’ ‘king,’ ‘cunning,’ &c. We find in Psalms cxxxvii. 5:—‘If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her “cunning,”’ where the word is used for skill or art. This meaning is now seldom applied, while the word has kept its sense of deceit or slyness.

The same may be said of ‘craft.’ It had at first a good as well as a bad sense. It meant ability or dexterity, as well as fraud or artifice. Now its bad meaning is in the ascendant. If the favourable sense is sometimes intended, this is the exception, not the rule.

Indeed, there are many English words which, though not taken in a positively unfavourable sense, have yet a tendency that way—which require qualifying, if we wish them to be understood favourably. For instance, if we speak of any one’s ‘curiosity,’ meaning that he has an inquiring spirit, it will be necessary to explain that we mean a well-directed, and not a prying, impertinent curiosity; for, without that explanation, it will be certainly understood in the latter sense. In fine, when there are two meanings to a word, a right and a wrong, the evil is sure to prevail.

The words ‘critic’ and ‘criticise’ are in precisely the same condition. These words do not of necessity imply fault-finding. A critic is simply a judge; he may have to praise as well as to blame; but every one knows full well that to ‘criticise’ is generally looked upon as synonymous with ‘to censure,’ and, unless qualified, is sure to be understood in the latter sense.

In the very copious vocabulary of words which have ‘fallen from their high estate,’ or undergone a pernicious transformation, may be also ranged the word ‘fellow.’ In some cases it retains a certain respectability, as when we speak of the ‘Fellow of a college.’ Shakspere makes Hamlet say of Yorick, the jester:—‘He was a “fellow” of infinite jest,’ where the sense is certainly not intended to be disparaging. But now-a-days ‘fellow’ is, on the whole, not looked upon very favourably. It is suggestive of recklessness and disorderly conduct, and, unless qualified, is not a very complimentary term.

As to the word ‘knave,’ it is irrecoverably lost. It is the lowest and most degrading term we can apply as a reproach and an insult; and yet it meant originally nothing more than ‘boy,’ as ‘Knabe’ does to this day in German. By what process the ‘boy’ became a ‘knave’ may be a speculation, but the word has obviously lost its former good name.

This perversity of human nature in turning words into an opposite and unfavourable meaning may also be seen in many familiar and every-day forms of speech. It is not uncommon to hear an abandoned fellow spoken of as a ‘precious’ scoundrel, or some absurdity referred to as ‘blessed’ nonsense. This perversion is not confined to English. The French often use the word ‘sacrÉ’ in a sense diametrically opposed, to ‘holy,’ a meaning which existed in Latin, from which French is derived. Virgil’s ‘auri “sacra” fames’ is properly translated ‘accursed lust for gold.’ The Latin ‘altus’ also conveyed the distinct and opposite meanings of ‘high’ and ‘deep.’

Also the English word ‘silly’ has degenerated from ‘selig,’ which in German preserves its meaning of ‘blessed;’ and ‘ninny’ took its origin from the Spanish ‘niÑo,’ where it means simply ‘a child.’

Another example of a change for the worse may be seen in the word ‘prevent.’ The Church Service gives us this word in the literal sense of ‘to go before, or guide:’ ‘Prevent us, O Lord, in all our doings,’ &c.; and in the Collect for the 17th Sunday after Trinity:—‘We pray Thee that Thy grace may always “prevent” and follow us.’ But this is not the present sense of the word; it has now always the meaning of ‘to stop,’ rather than to guide onwards—the very opposite of its former signification. This, like other words, has degenerated.

Contradictory Meanings.

Connected with this degeneracy of words is one very curious phenomenon, viz. that in English we frequently meet with the same word in two distinct meanings, directly opposed to each other. For example, the verb ‘to let’ has generally the meaning of ‘to give leave,’ or ‘allow.’ This is its ordinary acceptation, but in the still common legal phrase, ‘without let or hindrance,’ it has the very opposite meaning.[2] Again, Hamlet says:—‘I’ll make a ghost of him that “lets” me,’ i.e. him that interferes with or hinders me, where the sense is again the very reverse of the usual meaning.

The verb ‘to cleave’ is another case of this contradiction of meaning. ‘To cleave’ may mean either ‘to adhere to closely’ or ‘to cut asunder.’[3] When we say the tongue ‘cleaves’ to the roof of the mouth, it is used in the first sense; but the directly opposite meaning is implied when people talk of ‘cleaving’ wood, i.e. cutting it into parts.

We may use the word ‘fast’ in two senses, opposed to each other. It conveys the idea either of quiet rest or of rapid motion. ‘The door was fast locked,’ means that it was fixed and not to be moved; whereas in the sentence, ‘He runs fast,’ it expresses quickness of motion.

To this class also belongs ‘nervous,’ which means either possessing, or wanting nerve. When ladies are said to be ‘nervous,’ we understand that they are weak, timid, easily frightened; in fine, wanting nerve. On the other hand, a ‘nervous’ style is one marked by vigour and energy. One use of the word represents the absence, and the other the presence, of nerve.

When Shakspere makes Hamlet say, ‘Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven,’ he means, ‘my most hated foe.’ As extremes are said to meet, so does this word express the extremes of love and hatred.

The adjective ‘fearful’ will also illustrate this principle. It means either ‘affected by fear’ or ‘inspiring fear.’ The word ‘mortal’ is in the same condition. Its usual sense is ‘subject to death,’ but it is also used subjectively, as ‘producing death.’ Hence the difference between a ‘mortal wound’ and a ‘mortal being.’

‘To look’ may be understood in two opposed senses. When we say, ‘a man looks well into his affairs,’ the word is used in its active meaning; but if we should say, ‘he looks well,’ it would mean that he appears to others to be in good health.

The word ‘mistaken’ also is equivocal in meaning. ‘I am mistaken’ may mean ‘I make a mistake,’ or ‘Others mistake me.’ This perversity appears in various forms. When we say that a tradesman ‘sells his goods,’ the word ‘sells’ is employed in a subjective sense; but we not unfrequently hear that his goods sell well, where the same term is used objectively. In these cases, the active form is used in a passive sense, and not vice versÂ. ‘A walking-stick’ does not mean a stick that walks, but a stick to be walked with. Nor is a ‘drinking cup’ one that drinks, but one to be drunk out of.

This difference of subjective and objective meaning may be especially observed in that class of adjectives which ends in ‘able’ or ‘ible;’ such as, ‘portable,’ ‘pliable,’ ‘visible,’ ‘legible,’ &c. Most of these words have a passive or objective sense. ‘Portable’ means ‘that which can be carried;’ ‘visible,’ ‘that which can be seen.’ But some of these convey an active or subjective meaning. For example, ‘comfortable’ does not mean ‘what can be comforted;’ but ‘that which comforts.’ A ‘comfortable’ house or room is one which comforts the inmates. ‘Terrible,’ again, does not mean ‘capable of receiving terror;’ but able to produce that feeling in others. A ‘terrible’ accident is one which inspires terror in the beholders. This active or subjective meaning is, however, the exception. Most of this class of words are used in a passive or recipient sense.

Another case in which this contrariety of meaning may be observed is in the use of the prefix ‘in.’ This prefix has, in general, the force of a negative; as may be seen in the words ‘incomplete,’ ‘incapable,’ ‘indelible,’ &c. But there are certain adjectives in which it conveys a positive or intensive meaning, i.e. the very opposite to the negative. When we say that some one’s health was ‘invigorated,’ we do not mean that it was weakened; but, on the contrary, that it was very much strengthened. Instead of depriving the word of any of its meaning, the ‘in’ here adds force to its positive signification. Some of this class are, ‘intense,’ ‘infatuated,’ ‘inveterate,’ ‘invaluable;’ but most of them are used in a negative sense.

We occasionally meet with much confusion of sense in the application of some English words. We commonly say that a man marries a woman, and also that a woman marries a man; in addition to which, the clergyman marries them both. Perhaps, as the word ‘marry’ is derived from the French ‘mari,’ and the Latin ‘maritus,’ a husband—which is from ‘mas, maris,’ a male, and marks a difference of sex—it would be better to say, a man ‘marries’ a woman, and a woman ‘is married to’ a man; and the priest joins them in marriage. The use of the good old Saxon word ‘wed’ would obviate all these difficulties; but, unfortunately, it is now much out of fashion, and indeed rapidly disappearing from the language, though the noun ‘wedding’ still holds its place.

There is a tendency to contract or restrict in meaning certain words of our language whose etymology would allow of their being used much more extensively. This, in many instances, seems to be caused by that deteriorating principle before mentioned; for, in all these cases, the favourable meaning is ignored, and the bad one retained. The word ‘condign’ is never used but with ‘punishment,’ though its meaning might be reasonably applied to honours, merits, or rewards. ‘Condign’ rewards would be rewards worthy of the receiver’s actions. ‘Condign’ honours would mean honours appropriate to certain merits, &c.

The adjective ‘inveterate’ is in precisely the same predicament. It is never applied to a good feeling, but always to some bad passion. We commonly hear of inveterate resentment, malice, hatred, animosity, &c.; but we never meet with inveterate love, kindness, affection, or attachment. And yet why not? The true meaning of ‘inveterate’ is what has gained strength by age; and it is clear that this quality would apply reasonably enough to such feelings as love, kindness, or affection. An anecdote is told of Lord Byron, that in a letter to one of his friends, he subscribed himself, ‘Yours inveterately, Byron.’ This was, of course, done in a playful spirit; but the word was perfectly well applied; and it is a pity that this example had not been generally followed.

In this class we may place the words ‘animadvert’ and ‘insinuate.’ The first of these signifies literally to notice or observe (animum vertere ad), to turn the mind to; but there is always coupled with it the idea of censure or punishment. But surely we may observe in order to praise as well as to blame!

Again, ‘to insinuate’ is generally connected with a crooked procedure of the mind. When people ‘insinuate,’ the result looked for is rather evil than good. It is opposed to a straightforward mode of action.

On the other hand, certain French words have been admitted into English in one sense, which many writers show a disposition to extend. But this should be checked, and these words should be confined to their legitimate meaning. For example: the French verb ‘demander’ is properly translated into English by ‘to ask.’ In English, ‘to demand’ should be only used in the sense of to ask as a right, in a case where justice must be satisfied, and should not be applied to general cases. The French say, ‘demander pardon,’ but we English ‘beg’—we do not ‘demand’—pardon.

‘To assist,’ meaning to do a service, is good English; but in the sense of ‘to be present,’ it is French, and not English. We may ‘assist’ a man in his work, or by giving him advice, &c., but we cannot properly write that some one ‘assisted’ at a supper, if we mean that he was one of the guests.

To ‘arrive’ is another of the French words adopted in English whose sense must not be stretched beyond its legitimate bounds. When it signifies ‘to come to,’ it is properly applied; but in the sense of ‘to happen,’ it is not English. We may say, ‘Our friends are arrived;’ but we must not ask, ‘What has arrived?’ if we mean ‘What has happened?’

The verb ‘to accord’ is constantly used for ‘to give,’ or ‘to grant,’ probably because it has two syllables instead of one. ‘To accord with’ is properly used in the sense of ‘to agree,’ or ‘to suit,’ as:—‘This arrangement “accords” with my views;’ but to say that ‘he “accorded” his friends the use of his library,’ would be a wrong application of the word. In the phrase, ‘according with,’ the word is a participle; in ‘according to,’ it is a preposition.

The mistake made in the word ‘allude’ is in using it for ‘to mention’ or ‘to state.’ ‘To allude’ properly means merely to hint at, or suggest; and it should never be used in the other sense. This, again, seems to arise from the idea that it is not so common a word as the others, and it is therefore adopted—as if the object of writing should be to confuse and puzzle the reader!

Now and then, however, we meet with words which retain their first favourable acceptation, and have not been degraded to a lower sense. Some few, indeed, have been ennobled, i.e. raised from a comparatively humble meaning to a higher dignity. In the first of these classes we may place the verb ‘to reward;’ and we are labouring under a certain difficulty in consequence of its being confined to the one meaning. We very much want a word which would signify a just return for ill deeds; for, though we use the noun ‘retribution’ for this purpose, the verb ‘to retribute’ is not in common use. The verb ‘to reward’ is always used in a favourable sense. We can hardly say that ‘a felon was rewarded for his crimes.’ We speak of the ‘rewards’ of goodness or virtue, but not of the ‘rewards’ of wickedness or immorality.

Of those words which have been elevated in meaning, we may mention ‘angel,’ ‘martyr,’ and ‘Paradise;’ all three referring to religious matters. These are all of Greek origin. ‘Angel,’ from ???e???, was at first merely ‘a messenger;’ but it is now used only in a higher sense—‘a messenger of God.’ We certainly should not think of calling an errand-boy ‘an angel.’ ‘Martyr,’ from ??t????, a witness, is now applied only to one who by his death bore witness to the truth of Christianity. A witness who gives evidence in a trial cannot now be called a martyr. Again, ‘Paradise,’ from pa??de?s??, has been raised from the ordinary sense of ‘garden’ to that of Garden of Eden, or place of bliss. Cases of this sort are, however, comparatively rare.