“My dear sister, I have taken up the pen early this morning, as I intend to write considerable.” (Life and Remains of Charles Pont.)

  The word great is oddly used for fine, splendid.

  “She’s the greatest gal in the whole Union.”

  But there is one word which we must surrender up to the Americans as their very own, as the children say. I will quote a passage from one of their papers: —

  “The editor of the Philadelphia Gazette is wrong in calling absquatiated a Kentucky phrase (he may well say phrase instead of word.) It may prevail there, but its origin was in South Carolina, where it was a few years since regularly derived from the Latin, as we can prove from undoubted authority. By the way, there is a little corruption is the word as the Gazette uses it, absquatalized is the true reading.”

  Certainly a word worth quarrelling about!

  “Are you cold, miss?” said I to a young lady, who pulled the shawl closer over her shoulders.

  “Some,” was the reply.

  The English what? implying that you did not hear what was said to you, is changed in America to the word how?

  “I reckon,” “I calculate,” “I guess,” are all used as the common English phrase, “I suppose.” Each term is said to be peculiar to different states, but I found them used everywhere, one as often as the other. I opine, is not so common.

  A specimen of Yankee dialect and conversation: —

  “Well now, I’ll tell you — you know Marble Head?”

  “Guess I do.”

  “Well, then, you know Sally Hackett.”

  “No, indeed.”

  “Not know Sally Hackett? Why she lives at Marble Head.”

  “Guess I don’t.”

  “You don’t mean to say that?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “And you really don’t know Sally Hackett?”

  “No, indeed.”

  “I guess you’ve heard talk of her?”

  “No, indeed.”

  “Well, that’s considerable odd. Now, I’ll tell you — Ephraim Bagg, he that has the farm three miles from Marble Head — just as — but now, are you sure you don’t know Sally Hackett?”

  “No, indeed.”

  “Well, he’s a pretty substantial man, and no mistake. He has got a heart as big as an ox, and everything else in proportion, I’ve a notion. He loves Sal, the worst kind; and if she gets up there, she’ll think she has got to Palestine (Paradise); ain’t she a screamer? I were thinking of Sal myself, for I feel lonesome, and when I am thrown into my store promiscuous alone, I can tell you I have the blues, the worst kind, no mistake — I can tell you that. I always feel a kind o’ queer when I sees Sal, but when I meet any of the other gals I am as calm and cool as the milky way,” etcetera, etcetera.

  The verb “to fix” is universal. It means to do anything.

  “Shall I fix your coat or your breakfast first?” That is— “Shall I brush your coat, or get ready your breakfast first!”

  Right away, for immediately or at once, is very general.

  “Shall I fix it right away?” — i.e. “Shall I do it immediately?”

  In the West, when you stop at an inn, they say —

  “What will you have? Brown meal and common doings, or white wheat and chicken fixings;” — that is, “Will you have pork and brown bread, or white bread and fried chicken?”

  Also, “Will you have a feed or a check?” — A dinner, or a luncheon?

  In full blast — something in the extreme.

  “When she came to meeting, with her yellow hat and feathers, wasn’t she in fall blast?”

  But for more specimens of genuine Yankee, I must refer the reader to Sam Slick and Major Downing, and shall now proceed to some farther peculiarities.

  There are two syllables — um, hu — which are very generally used by the Americans as a sort of reply, intimating that they are attentive, and that the party may proceed with his narrative; but, by inflection and intonation, these two syllables are made to express dissent or assent, surprise, disdain, and (like Lord Burleigh’s nod in the play) a great deal more. The reason why these two syllables have been selected is, that they can be pronounced without the trouble of opening your mouth, and you may be in a state of listlessness and repose while others talk. I myself found them very convenient at times, and gradually got into the habit of using them.

  The Americans are very local in their phrases, and borrow their similes very much from the nature of their occupations and pursuits. If you ask a Virginian or Kentuckian where he was born, he will invariably tell you that he was raised in such a county — the term applied to horses, and, in breeding states, to men also.

  When a man is tipsy (spirits being made from grain), they generally say he is corned.

  In the West, where steam-navigation is so abundant, when they ask you to drink they say, “Stranger, will you take in wood?” — the vessels taking in wood as fuel to keep the steam up, and the person taking in spirits to keep his steam up.

  The roads in the country being cut through woods, and the stumps of the trees left standing, the carriages are often brought up by them. Hence the expression of, “Well, I am stumped this time.”

  I heard a young man, a farmer in Vermont, say, when talking about another having gained the heart of a pretty girl, “Well, how he contrived to fork into her young affections, I can’t tell; but I’ve a mind to put my whole team on, and see if I can’t run him off the road.”

  The old phrase of “straining at a gnat, and swallowing a camel,” is, in the Eastern states, rendered “straining at a gate, and swallowing a saw-mill.”

  To strike means to attack. “The Indians have struck on the frontier,”— “A rattle-snake struck at me.”

  To make tracks — to walk away. “Well, now, I shall make tracks;” — from foot-tracks in the snow.

  Clear out, quit, and put — all mean “be off.” “Captain, now, you hush or put” — that is, “Either hold your tongue, or be off.” Also, “Will you shut, mister?” — i.e. will you shut your mouth? i.e. hold your tongue?

  “Curl up” — to be angry — from the panther and other animals when angry raising their hair. “Rise my dandee up,” from the human hair; and a nasty idea. “Wrathy” is another common expression. Also, “Savage as a meat-axe.”

  Here are two real American words: —

  “Sloping” — for slinking away.

  “Splunging,” like a porpoise.

  The word “enthusiasm,” in the south, is changed to “entuzzy-muzzy.”

  In the Western states, where the racoon is plentiful, they use the abbreviation ‘coon when speaking of people. When at New York, I went into a hair-dresser’s shop to have my hair cut; there were two young men front the west — one under the barber’s hands, the other standing by him.

  “I say,” said the one who was having his hair cut, “I hear Captain is in the country.”

  “Yes;” replied the other, “so they say; I should like to see the ‘coon.”

  “I’m a gone ‘coon” implies “I am distressed — or ruined — or lost.” I once asked the origin of this expression, and was very gravely told as follows: —

  “There is a Captain Martin Scott (already mentioned in the Diary) in the United States Army who is a remarkable shot with a rifle. He was raised, I believe, in Vermont. His fame was so considerable through the state, that even the animals were aware of it. He went out one morning with his rifle, and spying a racoon upon the upper branches of a high tree, brought his gun up to his shoulder; when the racoon perceiving it, raised his paw for a parley. ‘I beg your pardon, mister,’ said the racoon, very politely; ‘but may I ask you if your name is Scott?’— ‘Yes,’ replied the captain.— ‘Martin Scott?’ continued the racoon— ‘Yes,’ replied the captain— ‘Captain Martin Scott?’ still continued the animal.— ‘Yes,’ replied the captain, ‘Captain Martin Scott?’— ‘Oh! then,’ says the animal, ‘I may just as well come down, for I’m a gone ‘coon.’”

  But one of the strangest perversions of the meaning of a word which I ever heard of is in Kentucky, where sometimes the word nasty is used for nice. For instance: at a rustic dance in that state a Kentuckian said to an acquaintance of mine, in reply to his asking the name of a very fine girl, “That’s my sister, stranger; and I flatter myself that she shows the nastiest ankle in all Kentuck” — Unde derivatur, from the constant rifle-practice in that state, a good shot or a pretty shot is termed also a nasty shot, because it would make a nasty wound: ergo, a nice or pretty ankle becomes a nasty one.

  The term for all baggage, especially in the south or west, is “plunder.” This has been derived from the buccaneers, who for so long a time infested the bayores and creeks near the mouth of the Mississippi, and whose luggage was probably very correctly so designated.

  I must not omit a specimen of American criticism.

  “Well, Abel, what d’ye think of our native genus, Mister Forrest?”

  “Well, I don’t go much to theatricals, that’s a fact; but I do think he piled the agony up a little too high in that last scene.”

  The gamblers on the Mississippi use a very refined phrase for “cheating”— “playing the advantages over him.”

  But, as may be supposed, the principal terms used are those which are borrowed from trade and commerce.

  The rest, or remainder, is usually termed the balance.

  “Put some of those apples into a dish, and the balance into the storeroom.”

  When a person has made a mistake, or is out in his calculation, they say, “You missed a figure that time.”

  In a skirmish last war, the fire from the British was very severe, and the men in the American ranks were falling fast, when one of the soldiers stepped up to the commanding officer and said, “Colonel, don’t you think that we might compromise this affair?” “Well, I reckon I should have no objection to submit it to arbitration myself,” replied the colonel.

  Even the thieves must be commercial in their ideas. One rogue meeting another, asked him what he had done that morning; “Not much,” was the reply, “I’ve only realised this umbrella.”

  This reminds me of a conversation between a man and his wife, which was overheard by the party who repeated it to me. It appears that the lady was economically inclined, and in cutting out some shirts for her husband, resolved that they should not descend much lower than his hip; as thereby so much linen would be saved. The husband expostulated, but in vain. She pointed out to him that it would improve his figure, and make his nether garments set much better; in a word, that long shirt-tails were quite unnecessary; and she wound up her arguments by observing that linen was a very expensive article, and that she could not see what on earth was the reason that people should stuff so much capital into their pantaloons.

  There is sometimes in the American metaphors, an energy which is very remarkable.

  “Well, I reckon, that from his teeth to his toe-nail, there’s not a human of a more conquering nature than General Jackson.”

  One gentleman said to me, “I wish I had all hell boiled down to a pint, just to pour down your throat.”

  It is a great pity that the Americans have not adhered more to the Indian names, which are euphonous, and very often musical; but, so far from it, they appear to have had a pleasure in dismissing them altogether. There is a river running into Lake Champlain, near Burlington, formerly called by the Indians the Winooski; but this name has been superseded by the settlers, who, by way of improvement, have designated it the Onion river. The Americans have ransacked scripture, and ancient and modern history, to supply themselves with names, yet, notwithstanding, there appears to be a strange lack of taste in their selection. On the route to Lake Ontario you pass towns with such names as Manlius, Sempronius, Titus, Cato, and then you come to Butternuts. Looking over the catalogue of cities, towns, villages, rivers, and creeks in the different states in the Union, I find the following repetitions: —

  Of towns, etcetera, named after distinguished individuals, there are: —

  Washingtons

  43

  Carrolls

  16

  Jacksons

  41

  Adamses

  18

  Jeffersons

  32

  Bolivars

  8

  Franklins

  41

  Clintons

  19

  Madisons

  26

  Waynes

  14

  Monroes

  25

  Casses

  6

  Perrys

  22

  Clays

  4

  Fayettes

  14

  Fultons

  17

  Hamiltons

  13

  Of other towns, etcetera, there are: —

  Columbus

  27

  Libertys

  14

  Centre Villes

  14

  Salems

  24

  Fairfields

  17

  Onions

  28

  Athenses

  10

  Muds

  8

  Romes

  4

  Little Muds

  1

  Crookeds

  22

  Muddies

  11

  Littles

  20

  Sandys

  39

  Longs

  18

  In colours they have: —

  Clears

  13

  Greens

  16

  Blacks

  33

  Whites

  15

  Blues

  8

  Yellows

  10

  Vermilions

  14

  Named after trees: —

  Cedars

  25

  Laurels

  14

  Cypresses

  12

  Pines

  18

  After animals: —

  Beavers

  23

  Foxes

  12

  Buffaloes

  21

  Otters

  13

  Bulls

  9

  Racoons

  11

  Deers

  13

  Wolfs

  16

  Dogs

  9

  Bears

  12

  Elks

  11

  Bear’s Rump

  1

  After birds, etcetera: —

  Gooses

  10

  Fishes

  7

  Ducks

  8

  Turkeys

  12

  Eagles

  8

  Swans

  15

  Pigeons

  10

  Pikes

  20

  The consequence of these repetitions is, that if you do not put the name of the state, and often of the county in the state in which the town you refer to may be, your letter may journey all over the Union, and perhaps, after all, never arrive at its place of destination.

  The states have already accommodated each other with nicknames, as per example: —

  Illinois people are termed

  Suckers

  Missouri

  Pukes

  Michigan

  Wolverines

  Indiana

  Hoosiers

  Kentucky

  Corn Crackers

  Ohio

  Buckeyes, etcetera

  The names of persons are also very strange; and some of them are, at all events, obsolete in England, even if they ever existed there. Many of them are said to be French or Dutch names Americanised. But they appear still more odd to us from the high sounding Christian names prefixed to them; as, for instance: Philo Doolittle, Populorum Hightower, Preserved Fish, Asa Peabody, Alonzo Lilly, Alceus Wolf, etcetera. I was told by a gentleman that Doolittle was originally from the French Do l’hotel; Peabody from Pibaudiere; Bunker from Bon Coeur; that Mr Ezekial Bumpus is a descendant of Monsieur Bon Pas, etcetera, all which is very possible.

  Every one who is acquainted with Washington Irving must know that, being very sensitive himself, he is one of the last men in the world to do anything to annoy another. In his selection of names for his writings, he was cautious in avoiding such as might be known; so that, when he called his old schoolmaster Ichabod Crane, he thought himself safe from the risk of giving offence. Shortly afterward a friend of his called upon him, accompanied by a stranger whom he introduced as Major Crane; Irving started at the name; “Major Ichabod Crane,” continued his friend, much to the horror of Washington Irving.

  I was told that a merchant went down to New Orleans with one Christian name, and came back, after a lapse of years, with another. His name was John Flint. The French at New Orleans translated his surname, and called him Pierre Fusée — on his return the Pierre stuck to him, and rendered into English as Peter, and he was called Peter Flint ever afterward.

  People may change their names in the United States by application to Congress. They have a story hardly worth relating, although considered a good one in America, having been told me by a member of congress. A Mr Whitepimple, having risen in the world, was persuaded by his wife to change his name, and applied for permission accordingly. The clerk of the office inquired of him what other name he would have, and he being very indifferent about it himself, replied carelessly, as he walked away, “Oh, anything;” whereupon the clerk enrolled him as Mr Thing. Time passed on, and he had a numerous family, who found the new name not much more agreeable than the old one, for there was Miss Sally Thing, Miss Dolly Thing, the old Things, and all the little Things; and worst of all, the eldest son being christened Robert, went by the name of Thingum Bob.