Sometimes a divergence in pronunciation has given us two words with different meanings, as in genteel and jaunty, which I find coming in toward the close of the seventeenth century, and wavering between genteel and jantee. It is usual in America to drop the u in words ending in our a very proper change recommended by Howell two centuries ago, and carried out by him so far as his printers would allow. This and the corresponding changes in musique, musick, and the like, which he also advocated, show that in his time the French accent indicated by the superfluous letters (for French had once nearly as strong an accent as Italian) had gone out of use. There is plenty of French accent down to the end of Elizabeth's reign. In Daniel we have riches' and counsel', in Bishop Hall comet', chapelain, in Donne pictures', virtue', presence', mortal', merit', hainous', giant', with many more, and Marston's satires are full of them. The two latter, however, are not to be relied on, as they may be suspected of Chaucerizing. Herrick writes baptime. The tendency to throw the accent backward began early. But the incongruities are perplexing, and perhaps mark the period of transition. In Warner's Albion's England we have creator' and creature' side by side with the modern creator and creature. Envy and e'nvying occur in Campion (1602), and yet envy' survived Milton. In some cases we have gone back again nearer to the French, as in revenue for revenue. I had been so used to hearing imbecile pronounced with the accent on the first syllable, which is in accordance with the general tendency in such matters, that I was surprised to find imbecile in a verse of Wordsworth. The dictionaries all give it so. I asked a highly cultivated Englishman, and he declared for imbeceel'. In general it may be assumed that accent will finally settle on the syllable dictated by greater ease and therefore quickness of utterance. Blasphemous, for example, is more rapidly pronounced than blasphem'ous, to which our Yankee clings, following in this the usage of many of the older poets. American is easier than American, and therefore the false quantity has carried the day, though the true one may be found in George Herbert, and even so late as Cowley.

To come back to the matter in hand. Our "uplandish man" retains the soft or thin sound of the u in some words, such as rule, truth (sometimes also pronounced truth, not trooth), while he says noo for new, and gives to view and few so indescribable a mixture of the two sounds with a slight nasal tincture that it may be called the Yankee shibboleth. Voltaire says that the English pronounce true as if it rhymed with view, and this is the sound our rustics give to it. Spenser writes deow (dew) which can only be pronounced with the Yankee nasality. In rule the least sound of a precedes the u. I find reule in Pecock's Repressor." He probably pronounced it rayoole, as the old French word from which it is derived was very likely to be sounded at first, with a reminiscence

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of its original regula. Tindal has rueler, and the Coventry Plays have preudent. In the "Parlyament of Byrdes" I find reule. As for noo, may it not claim some sanction in its derivation, whether from nouveau or neuf, the ancient sound of which may very well have been noof, as nearer novus? Beef would seem more like to have come from buffe than from bauf, unless the two were mere varieties of spelling. The Saxon few may have caught enough from its French cousin peu to claim the benefit of the same doubt as to sound; and our slang phrase a few (as "I licked him a few ") may well appeal to un peu for sense and authority. Nay, might not lick itself turn out to be the good old word lam in an English disguise, if the latter should claim descent as, perhaps, he fairly might, from the Latin lambere? The New England ferce for fierce, and perce for pierce (sometimes heard as fairce and pairce), are also Norman. For its antiquity I cite the rhyme of verse and pierce in Chapman and Donne, and in some commendatory verses by a Mr. Berkenhead before the poems of Francis Beaumont. Our pairlous for perilous is of the same kind, and is nearer Shakespeare's parlous than the modern pronunciation. One other Gallicism survives in our pronunciation. Perhaps I should rather call it a semi-Gallicism, for it is the result of a futile effort to reproduce a French sound with English lips. Thus for joint, employ, royal, we have junt, emply, rýle, the last differing only from rile (roil) in a prolongation of the y sound. I find royal so pronounced in the "Mirror for Magistrates." In Walter de Biblesworth I find solives Englished by gistes. This, it is true, may have been pronounced jeests, but the pronunciation jystes must have preceded the present spelling, which was no doubt adopted after the radical meaning was forgotten, as analogical with other words in oi. In the same way after NormanFrench influence had softened the out of would (we already find woud for veut in N. F. poems), should followed the example, and then an was foisted into could, where does not belong, to satisfy the logic of the eye, which has affected the pronunciation and even the spelling of English more than is commonly supposed. Ï meet with eyster for oyster as early as the fourteenth century. I find viage in Bishop Hall and Middleton the dramatist, bile for boil in Donne and Chrononhotonthologos, line for loin in Hall, ryall and chyse (for choice), dystrye for destroy, in the Coventry Plays. In Chapman's "All Fools" is the misprint of employ for imply, fairly inferring an identity of sound in the last syllable. Indeed, this pronunciation was habitual till after Pope, and Rogers tells us that the elegant Gray said naise for noise just as our rustics still do. Our cornish (which I find also in Herrick) remembers the French better than cornice does. While clinging more closely to the Anglo-Saxon in dropping the g from the end of the present participle, the Yankee now and then pleases himself with an experiment in French nasality in words ending in n. It is not,

so far as my experience goes, very common, though it may formerly have been more so. Capting, for instance, I never heard save in jest, the habitual form being kepp'n. But at any rate it is no invention of ours. In that delightful old volume, "Ane Compendious Buke of Godly and Spirituall Songs," in which I know not whether the piety itself or the simplicity of its expression be more charming, I find burding, garding, and cousing, and in the State Trials uncerting used by a gentleman. I confess that I like the n better than the ng.

Of Yankee preterites I find risse and rize for rose in Beaumont and Fletcher, Middleton and Dryden, clim in Spenser, chees (chose) in Sir John Mandevil, give (gave) in the Coventry Plays, shet (shut) in Golding's Ovid, het in Chapman and in Weever's Epitaphs, thriv and smit in Drayton, quit in Ben Jonson and Henry More, and pled in the Paston Letters, nay, even in the fastidious Landor. Rid for rode was anciently common. So likewise was see for saw, but I find it in no writer of authority (except Golding), unless Chaucer's seie and Gower's sigh were, as I am inclined to think, so sounded. Shew is used by Hector Boece, Giles Fletcher, Drummond of Hawthornden, and in the Paston Letters. Similar strong preterites, like snew, thew, and even mew, are not without example. I find sew for sewed in "Piers Ploughman." Indeed, the anomalies in English preterites are perplexing. We have probably transferred flew from flow (as the preterite of which I have heard it) to fly because we had another preterite in fled. Of weak preterites the Yankee retains growed, blowed, for which he has good authority, and less often knowed. His sot is merely a broad sounding of sat, no more inelegant than the common got for gat, which he further degrades into gut. When he says darst, he uses a form as old as Chaucer.

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The Yankee has retained something of the long sound of the a in such words as are, wax, pronouncing them exe, wex (shortened from aix, waix). He also says hev and hed (hāve, had) for have and had. In most cases he follows an Anglo-Saxon usage. In air for axle he certainly does. I find wer and aisches (ashes) in Pecock, and ere in the Paston Letters. Golding rhymes wax with were and spells challenge chelenge. Chaucer wrote hendy. Dryden rhymes can with men, as Mr. Biglow would. Alexander Gill, Milton's teacher, in his Logonomia " cites hez for hath as peculiar to Lincolnshire. I find hauth in Collier's "Bibliographical Account of Early English Literature "under the date 1584, and Lord Cromwell so wrote it. Sir Christopher Wren wrote belcony. Our fect is only the O. F. faict. Thaim for them was common in the sixteenth century. We have an example of the same thing in the double form of the verb thrash, thresh. While the NewEnglander cannot be brought to say instead for instid (commonly 'stid where not the last word in a sentence), he changes the i into e in red for rid, tell for till, hender for hinder, rense for rinse. I find red in the old interlude of "Ther

sytes," tell in a letter of Daborne to Henslowe, and also, I shudder to mention it, in a letter of the great Duchess of Marlborough, Atossa herself! It occurs twice in a single verse of the Chester Plays,

"Tell the day of dome, tell the beames blow."

The

From the word blow (in another sense) is formed blowth, which I heard again this summer after a long interval. Mr. Wright explains it as meaning "a blossom." With us a single blossom is a blow, while blowth means the blossoming in general. A farmer would say that there was a good blowth on his fruit-trees. word retreats farther inland and away from the railways, year by year. Wither rhymes hinder with slender, and Shakespeare and Lovelace have renched for rinsed. In "Gammer Gurton" and "Mirror for Magistrates" is sence for since; Marlborough's Duchess so writes it, and Donne rhymes since with Amiens and patience, Bishop Hall and Otway with pretence, Chapman with citizens, Dryden with providence. Indeed, why should not sithence take that form ? Dryden's wife (an earl's daughter) has tell for till, Margaret, mother of Henry VII., writes seche for such, and our ef finds authority in the old form yeffe.

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E sometimes takes the place of u, as jedge, tredge, bresh. I find tredge in the interlude of "Jack Jugler," bresh in a citation by Collier from "London Cries" of the middle of the seventeenth century, and resche for rush (fifteenth century) in the very valuable Volume of Vocabularies " edited by Mr. Wright. Resce is one of the Anglo-Saxon forms of the word in Bosworth's A.-S. Dictionary. Golding has shet. The Yankee always shortens the u in the ending ture, making ventur, natur, pictur, and so on. This was common, also, among the educated of the last generation. I am inclined to think it may have been once universal, and I certainly think it more elegant than the vile vencher, naycher, pickcher, that have taken its place, sounding like the invention of a lexicographer to mitigate a sneeze. Nash in his Pierce Penniless" has ventur, and so spells it, and I meet it also in Spenser, Drayton, Ben Jonson, Herrick, and Prior. Spenser has tort'rest, which can be contracted only from tortur and not from torcher. Quarles rhymes nature with creator, and Dryden with satire, which he doubtless pronounced according to its older form of satyr. Quarles has also torture and mortar. Mary Boleyn writes kreatur. I find pikter in Izaak Walton's autograph will.

I shall now give some examples which cannot so easily be ranked under any special head. Gill charges the Eastern counties with kiver for cover, and ta for to. The Yankee pronounces both too and to like ta (like the tou in touch) where they are not emphatic. When they are, both become tu. In old spelling, to is the common (and indeed correct) form of too, which is only to with the sense of in addition. I suspect that the sound of our too has caught something 1 Dictionary of Obsolete and Provincial English.

from the French tout, and it is possible that the old too too is not a reduplication, but a reminiscence of the feminine form of the same word (toute) as anciently pronounced, with the e not yet silenced. Gill gives a Northern origin to geaun for gown and waund for wound (vulnus). Lovelace has waund, but there is something too dreadful in suspecting Spenser (who borealized in his pastorals) of having ever been guilty of geaun! And yet some delicate mouths even now are careful to observe the Hibernicism of ge-ard for guard, and ge-url for girl. Sir Philip Sidney (credite posteri!) wrote furr for far. would hardly have believed it had I not seen it in fac-simile. As some consolation, I find furder in Lord Bacon and Donne, and Wither rhymes far with cur. The Yankee, who omits the final d in many words, as do the Scotch, makes up for it by adding one in geound. The purist does not feel the loss of the d sensibly in lawn and yon, from the former of which it has dropped again after a wrongful adoption (retained in laundry), while it properly belongs to the latter. But what shall we make of git, yit, and yis? I find yis and git in Warner's" Albion's England," yet rhyming with wit, admit, and fit in Donne, with wit in the "Revenger's Tragedy," Beaumont, and Suckling, with writ in Dryden, and latest of all with wit in Sir Hanbury Williams. Prior rhymes fitting and begetting. Worse is to come. Among others, Donne rhymes again with sin, and Quarles repeatedly with in. Ben for been, of which our dear Whittier is so fond, has the authority of Sackville, "Gammer Gurton" (the work of a bishop), Chapman, Dryden, and many more, though bin seems to have been the common form. Whittier's accenting the first syllable of rom'ance finds an accomplice in Drayton among others, and, though manifestly wrong, is analogous with Romans. Of other Yankeeisms, whether of form or pronunciation, which I have met with I add a few at random. Pecock writes sowdiers (sogers, soudoyers), and Chapman and Gill sodder. This absorption of the l is common in various dialects, especially in the Scottish. Pecock writes also biyende, and the authors of Jack Jugler" and "Gammer Gurton" yender. The Yankee includes "yon the same category, and says "hither an' yen,' for 66 to and fro." (Cf. German jenseits.) Pecock and plenty more have wrastle. Tindal has agynste, gretter, shett, ondone, debytë, and scace. "Jack Jugler" has scacely (which I have often heard, though skurce is the common form), and Donne and Dryden make great rhyme with set. In the inscription on Caxton's tomb I find ynd for end, which the Yankee more often makes eend, still using familiarly the old phrase "right anend for "continuously." His stret (straight) along" in the same sense, which I thought peculiar to him, I find in Pecock. Tindal's debyte for deputy is so perfectly Yankee that I could almost fancy the brave martyr to have been deacon of the First Parish at Jaalam Centre. Jack Jugler further gives us playsent and sartayne. Dry

in

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den rhymes certain with parting, and Chapman and Ben Jonson use certain, as the Yankee always does, for certainly. The "Coventry Mysteries" have occapied, massage, nateralle, materal (material), and meracles, - all excellent Yankeeisms. In the "Quatre fils, Aymon (1504), is vertus for virtuous. Thomas Fuller called volume vollum, I suspect, for he spells it volumne. However, per contra, Yankees habitually say colume for column. Indeed, to prove that our ancestors brought their pronunciation with them from the Old Country, and have not wantonly debased their mother tongue, I need only to cite the words scriptur, Israll, athists, and cherfulness from Governor Bradford's "History." So the good man wrote them, and so the good descendants of his fellow-exiles still pronounce them. Brampton Gurdon writes shet in a letter to Winthrop. Purtend (pretend) has crept like a serpent into the "Paradise of Dainty Devices;" purvide, which is not so bad, is in Chaucer. These, of course, are universal vulgarisms, and not peculiar to the Yankee. Butler has a Yankee phrase, and pronunciation too, in "To which these carr'ings-on did tend." Langham or Laneham, who wrote an account of the festivities at Kenilworth in honor of Queen Bess, and who evidently tried to spell phonetically, makes sorrows into sororz. Herrick writes hollow for halloo, and perhaps pronounced it (horresco suggerens !) holló, as Yankees do. Why not, when it comes from holà? I find felaschyppe (fellowship) in the Coventry Plays. Spenser and his queen neither of them scrupled to write afore, and the former feels no inelegance even in chaw and idee. 'Fore was common till after Herrick. Dryden has do's for does, and his wife spells worse wosce. Afeared was once universal. Warner has ery for ever a; nay, he also has illy, with which we were once ignorantly reproached by persons more familiar with Murray's Grammar than with English literature. And why not illy? Mr. Bartlett says it is " a word used by writers of an inferior class, who do not seem to perceive that ill is itself an adverb, without the termination ly," and quotes Dr. Messer, President of Brown University, as asking triumphantly, "Why don't you say welly?" I should like to have had Dr. Messer answer his own question. It would be truer to say that it was used by people who still remembered that ill was an adjective, the shortened form of evil, out of which Shakespeare and the translators of the Bible ventured to make evilly. This slurred evil is "the dram of eale" in "Hamlet." I find illy in Warner. The objection to illy is not an etymological one, but simply that it is contrary to good usage, -a very sufficient reason. Ill as an adverb was at first a vulgarism, precisely like the rustic's when he says, "I was treated bad." May not the reason of this exceptional form be looked for in that tendency to dodge what is hard to pronounce, to which I have already alluded? If the 1 Cited in Collier. (I give my authority where I do not quote from the original book.

But

letters were distinctly uttered, as they should be, it would take too much time to say ill-ly, well-ly, and it is to be observed that we have avoided smally and tally in the same way, though we add ish to them without hesitation in smallish and tallish. We have, to be sure, dully and fully, but for the one we prefer stupidly, and the other (though this may have come from eliding the y before as) is giving way to full. The uneducated, whose utterance is slower, still make adverbs when they will by adding like to all manner of adjectives. We have had big charged upon us, because we use it where an Englishman would now use great. I fully admit that it were better to distinguish between them, allowing to big a certain contemptuous quality; but as for authority, I want none better than that of Jeremy Taylor, who, in his noble sermon On the Return of Prayer," speaks of "Jesus, whose spirit was meek and gentle up to the greatness of the biggest example. As for our double negative, I shall waste no time in quoting instances of it, because it was once as universal in English as it still is in the neo-Latin languages, where it does not strike us as vulgar. I am not sure that the loss of it is not to be regretted. surely I shall admit the vulgarity of slurring or altogether eliding certain terminal consonants? I admit that a clear and sharp-cut enunciation is one of the crowning charms and elegancies of speech. Words so uttered are like coins fresh from the mint, compared with the worn and dingy drudges of long service,-I do not mean American coins, for those look less badly the more they lose of their original ugliness. No one is more painfully conscious than I of the contrast between the rifle-crack of an Englishman's yes and no, and the wet-fuse drawl of the same monosyllables in the mouths of my countrymen. But I do not find the dropping of final consonants disagreeable in Allan Ramsay or Burns, nor do I believe that our literary ancestors were sensible of that inelegance in the fusing them together of which we are conscious. How many educated men pronounce the tin chestnut? how many say pentise for penthouse, as they should. When a Yankee skipper says that he is "boun' for Gloster" (not Gloucester, with the leave of the Universal Schoolmaster),2 he but speaks like Chaucer or an old ballad-singer, though they would have pronounced it boon. This is one of the cases where the d is surreptitious, and has been added in compliment to the verb bind, with which it has nothing to do. If we consider the root of the word (though of course I grant that every race has a right to do what it will with what is so peculiarly its own as its speech), the d has no more right there than at the end of gone, where it is often put by children, who are our best guides to the sources of linguistic corruption, and the best teachers of its processes. Cromwell, minister of Henry VIII., writes worle

1 The word occurs in a letter of Mary Boleyn, in Golding, and Warner. Milton also was fond of the word.

for world. Chapman has wan for wand, and lawn has rightfully displaced laund, though with no thought, I suspect, of etymology. Rogers tells us that Lady Bathurst sent him some letters written to William III. by Queen Mary, in which she addresses him as "Dear Husban." The old form expoun', which our farmers use, is more correct than the form with a barbarous d tacked on which has taken its place. Of the kind opposite to this, like our gownd for gown, and the London cockney's wind for wine, I find drownd for drown in the "Misfortunes of Arthur" (1584), and in Swift. And, by the way, whence came the long sound of wind which our poets still retain, and which survives in " winding a horn, a totally different word from winding" a kite-string? We say behind and hinder (comparative) and yet to hinder. Shakespeare pronounced kind kind, or what becomes of his play on that word and kin in Hamlet"? Nay, did he not even (shall I dare to hint it?) drop the final d as the Yankee still does? John Lilly plays in the same way on kindred and kindness.

But to come to some other ancient instances. Warner rhymes bounds with crowns, grounds with towns, text with sex, worst with crust, interrupts with cups; Drayton, defects with sex; Chapman, amends with cleanse; Webster, defects with checks; Ben Jonson, minds with combines; Marston, trust and obsequious, clothes and shows; Dryden gives the same sound to clothes, and has also inds with designs. Of course, I do not affirm that their ears may not have told them that these were imperfect rhymes (though I am by no means sure even of that), but they surely would never have tolerated any such had they suspected the least vulgarity in them. Prior has the rhyme first and trust, but puts it into the mouth of a landlady. Swift has stunted and burnt it, an intentionally imperfect rhyme, no doubt, but which I cite as giving precisely the Yankee pronunciation of burned. Donne couples in unhallowed wedlock after and matter, thus seeming to give to both the true Yankee sound; and it is not uncommon to find after and daughter. Worse than all, in one of Dodsley's Old Plays we have onions rhyming with minions, I have tears in my eyes while I record it. And yet what is viler than the univeral Misses (Mrs.) for Mistress? This was once a vulgar ism, and in "The Miseries of Inforced Marriage" the rhyme (printed as prose in Dodsley's Old Plays by Collier),

"To make my young mistress
Delighting in kisses,"

is put into the mouth of the clown. Our people say Injun for Indian. The tendency to make this change where i follows d is common. The Italian giorno and French jour from diurnus are familiar examples. And yet Injun is one of those depravations which the taste challenges peremptorily, though it have the authority

2 Though I find Worcester in the Mirror for Magis trates.

of Charles Cotton-who rhymes "Indies" with " cringes "-and four English lexicographers, beginning with Dr. Sheridan, bid us say invidgeous. Yet after all it is no worse than the debasement which all our terminations in tion and tience have undergone, which yet we hear with resignashun and payshunce, though it might have aroused both impat-i-ence and indigna-ti-on in Shakespeare's time. When George Herbert tells us that if the sermon be dull,

"God takes a text and preacheth pati-ence," the prolongation of the word seems to convey some hint at the longanimity of the virtue. Consider what a poor curtal we have made of Ocean. There was something of his heave and expanse in o-ce-an, and Fletcher knew how to use it when he wrote so fine a verse as the second of these, the best deep-sea verse I know,

"In desperate storms stem with a little rudder The tuinbling ruins of the ocean." Oceanus was not then wholly shorn of his divine proportions, and our modern oshun sounds like the gush of small-beer in comparison. Some other contractions of ours have a vulgar air about them. More 'n for more than, as one of the worst, may stand for a type of such. Yet our old dramatists are full of such obscurations (elisions they can hardly be called) of the th, making whe'r of whether, where of whither, here of hither, bro'r of brother, smo'r of smother, mo'r of mother, and so on. And dear Brer Rabbit, can I forget him? Indeed, it is this that explains the word rare (which has Dryden's support), and which we say of meat where an Englishman would use underdone. I do not believe, with the dictionaries, that it had ever anything to do with the Icelandic hrar (raw), as it plainly has not in rareripe, which means earlier ripe,-President Lincoln said of a precocious boy that "he was a rareripe.' And I do not believe it, for this reason, that the earliest form of the word with us was, and the commoner now in the inland parts still is, so far as I can discover, raredone. Golding has " egs reererosted," which, whatever else it mean, cannot mean raw-roasted. I find rather as a monosyllable in Donne, and still better, as giving the sound, rhyming with fair in Warner. There is an epigram of Sir Thomas Browne in which the words rather than make a monosyllable:

"What furie is 't to take Death's part And rather than by Nature, die by Art!" The contraction more 'n I find in the old play Fuimus Troes," in a verse where the measure is so strongly accented as to leave it beyond doubt,

"A golden crown whose heirs

More than half the world subdue."

It may be, however, that the contraction is in th' orld." It is unmistakable in the "Second Maiden's Tragedy:

marvel, which was once common, and which I find as late as Herrick? Nay, Herrick has gin (spelling it gen), too, as do the Scotch, who agree with us likewise in preferring chimly to chimney.

I will now leave pronunciation and turn tọ words or phrases which have been supposed peculiar to us, only pausing to pick up a single dropped stitch, in the pronunciation of the word supreme, which I had thought native till I found it in the well-languaged Daniel. I will begin with a word of which I have never met with any example in any English writer of authority. We express the first stage of withering in a green plant suddenly cut down by the verb to wilt. It is, of course, own cousin of the German welken, but I have never come upon it in literary use, and my own books of reference give me faint help. Graff gives welhèn, marcescere, and refers to weih (weak), and conjecturally to A.-S. hvelan. The A.-S. wealwian (to wither) is nearer, but not so near as two words in the Icelandic, which perhaps put us on the track of its ancestry, velgi, tepefacere (and velki, with the derivative), meaning contaminare. Wilt, at any rate, is a good word, filling, as it does, a sensible gap between drooping and withering, and the imaginative phrase "he wilted right down," like "he caved right in," is a true Americanism. Wilt occurs in English provincial glossaries, but is explained by wither, which with us it does not mean. We have a few words such as cache, cohog, carry (portage), shoot (chute), timber (forest), bushwhack (to pull a boat along by the bushes on the edge of a stream), buckeye (a picturesque word for the horse-chestnut); but how many can we be said to have fairly brought into the language, as Alexander Gill, who first mentions Americanisms, meant it when he said, "Sed et ab Americanis nonnulla mutuamur ut MAIZ et CANOA"? Very few, I suspect, and those mostly by borrowing from the French, German, Spanish, or Indian.1 "The Dipper for the "Great Bear" strikes me as having a native air. Bogus, in the sense of worthless, is undoubtedly ours, but is, I more than suspect, a corruption of the French bagasse (from low Latin bagasea), which travelled up the Mississippi from New Orleans, where it was used for the refuse of the sugar-cane. It is true, we have modified the meaning of some words. We use freshet in the sense of flood, for which I have not chanced upon any authority. Our New England cross between Ancient Pistol and Dugald Dalgetty, Captain Underhill, uses the word (1638) to mean a current, and I do not recollect it elsewhere in that sense. I therefore leave it with a? for future explorers. Crick for creek I find in Captain John Smith and in the dedication of Fuller's "Holy Warre," and run, meaning a small stream, in Waymouth's "Voyage (1605). Humans for men, which Mr. Bartlett includes in his "Dictionary of Americanisms," is Chapman's habitual phrase in his

1 This was written twenty years ago, and now (1890) I cannot open an English journal without coming upon an Americanism.