14 



♦ KNOW^LEDGE ♦ 



[November 1, 1886. 



NOTES ON AMERICANISMS. 



By Richard A. Proctor. 



HE amazingly and amusingly false assertions 

 in the Saturday Review about my " Notes 

 on Americanisms," and especially the state- 

 ment (wittingly untrue, I fear) that I was 

 writing on a subject, in th-s aise, which I 

 had not studied, were, of course, corrected, 

 for all who know anything about America, 

 by the blundering sequel, in which the critic mistook at 

 least four of every five phrases which he undertook to 

 explain. But it occurred to me at the time that I might 

 present evidence from my note-books of travel to show that 

 American talk had received more than a mere passing 

 attention from me during my widely ranging travels 

 through the United States and Canada. On referring to 

 my notes, however, I found that they were scarcely suited 

 for such use, as the talk quoted ran for the most part into 

 mere scraps — useful enough in forming a glossary, but not 

 worth separate quotation. 



One case, however, seemed an exception. I found a 

 fairly connected conversation recorded (the morning after it 

 was heard) which not only illustrates one class of American 

 talk among the uncultured, but also a peculiarity of 

 Americixn manners — viz. the freedom with which in 

 America the ubiquitous "lout "is allowed to annoy and 

 interrupt persons who are unfortunate enough to be near 

 him. In places like the theatre, the concert-room, and the 

 lecture hall a noisy or ill-mannered neighbour is objection- 

 able even to a man who cares nothing for class distinctions. 

 In America one can never be quite sure that, instead of the 

 play or music or lecture one has paid for, one may not have 

 to endure the foolish chatter or the offensive manners of 

 some boor who has apparently come in for no other purpose 

 but to annoy his neighbours. In the old country, I know, 

 such a boor may find admission among respectable persons ; 

 but if he will not behave properly he will quickly be shown 

 the way out. It is otherwise in America. Freedom seems 

 to include the light to annoy every one within sight and 

 hearing, just as m\ich as any boors pi-esent may see fit. 

 At least, I have often seen a company enduring the mis- 

 conduct of such folk with only muttered comj)laints ; and I 

 have never seen even the most offensive person turned out. 



Occasionally an experience of this kind has its amusing 

 aspect. Instead of a play one may have a farce, which, 

 though not precisely what one has come to hear, may be 

 almost as entertaining. 



I wa.s amused, for instance, in this way, for a while at leaat, 

 one evening in 1880 at Haverley's Theatre, Chicago, where 

 I had gone to hear Paola Marie in the part of Serpolette. 

 Two men sat behind me, who could scarcely have come to 

 hear the " Cloches de Corneville," as neither of them under- 

 stood a word of French or listened to a note of the music. 

 They were accompanied by a quiet-looking Frenchwoman, of 

 middle age, who had probably come there expecting a plea.sant 

 evening in listening to her clever Countrywoman on the 

 stage. If th.it was her hope, I fear she was disappointed. 

 Her companions, of whom she seemed heartily ixshamed, 

 talked I'ambling nonsense nearly the whole time — nonsense 

 dreary enough in the recital, though it amused me at the 

 time, even in the midst of my annoyance at the loss of 

 Meziferes' good acting and Paola Marie's good acting and 

 singing. 



Here is the record of their conversation, as made at the 

 time. It is not quite continuous, for occasionally they went out 

 (" to see a man," as they explained to their companion), and 

 sometimes I was able for awhile to fix my attention wholly 

 on the stage, even while they talked. For convenience I 



call them P. I. and W. I. — for Partly Inebriate and Wholly 

 Inebriate : — 



P. I. " Them gals in tights is having a deal of chin-play." 



W. I. " What in Hades " (he was more moncsyllabic) " is 

 it all about, any way f (A pause.) That little one ain't got 

 no manners — not to saij manners — .she ain't." 



P. I. " You bet she ain't." 



W. I. " She's another fraud. Why in h — don't they get 

 one that can act like a lady should I " (Paola Marie was 

 impersonating Serpolette charmingly while thus apprecia- 

 tively criticised.) 



Exeunt P. I. and W. I. to " .see a man," as they explained 

 to the lady. It is customary now to say that the man is 

 " the person who dispenses cloves " ; but if my two philo- 

 sophic friends had allied on such a man, his cloves must 

 have been of inferior quality, for the smell of whisky which 

 diffused itself around them was not perceptibly tempered by 

 any foreign aroma. They had become more solemn than 

 before. In fact the amusement they gave me resided as 

 much, I suspect, in the melancholy gi-avity of their de- 

 meanour and the solemnity of their nasal tones, as in what 

 they actually said : — 



W. I. (Appare7itli/ continuhig a philosojjkic discussion.) 

 " A man only knows what he learns. . . . Yes, sir. . . . 

 Yes I ... a man has to learn if he wants to know." 



P.I. {As one suddenly enlightened.) " Thet's so." 



W. I. " Yes, sir. You may bet your bottom dollar on 

 that. . . . It's so (a pause as nfprofound mental labour). 

 Yes, sir. A man has to learn what he knows. ... A man 

 ain't got to ciire what Bob Ingersoll says ; nor yet what 

 Moses says ; nor what Beecher says. He's got to find it out 

 for himself. . . . It's so with every man. . . . He may be 

 bald like that old coot over there (pointini/), or be as thick 

 of wool as a nigger — or he may lie grey — or brown — or 

 black haired. ... I don't care (reflectively) if he's tiill or 

 short — or if his eyes is blue or black or grey. . . You bet 

 it's all one. . . . He's got to find out all he knows." 

 (Hiccoughs.) 



P. I. (Takinej advantage of a pause in the sluggish flow 

 of the others eloquerice.) " Say, old man, let's have another 

 drink." 



W. I. " Not now, I won't. I'll drink when I want to, 

 not else " (amjrily). 



Woman (gently). " Sh — sh ! you distarb ze peoples." 



W. I. " I don't cai-e a lamb's mother (one of the monosyl- 

 labic kind) for ze peoples. I didn't ask them to come — and 

 (gloomily) I don't cju-e a curse* how soon they go." 



P. I. (After a pause, during irhich he seemed to eye IF. /. 

 rather dviibtfully, as if thinking he miglit hy chance have 

 takenone drop too much.) " What are they laughing at now t " 



Just here there had been the usual by-play on the stage. 

 Serpolette pulls the pen from behind the Notary's ear, who 

 exclaims : " jVe me deplumez pas, mademoiselle ; ne me 

 deplutnez J}a8 ! " 



W. I. " If they'd talk in English we should know what it 

 was all about. How much is there of this thing any way 1 " 



W. I. tries to recall the subject he had been dealing with 

 before. Remembering it suddenly, he lesumes. 



W. I. " Well, I was a-saying ixs every man has to le;irn all 

 he knows. I remember I was down in Iowa once — down in 

 Iowa I was — and I met a man there — a Buckeye. Yes, sir, 

 he came from Chillicothe, Ohio. I had thirteen thousand 

 dollars, greenbacks — and he had fourteen thousand in bonds. 

 Well, sir, we got a- talking about jest this pint of philosophy, 

 and he says, ' Bloss,' he says — that's my given name, Bloss 



* Here the well-read reader recalls at once Chaucer's " He sette 

 not a kers." Our " curse ' used in this way is simply a profane 

 corruption for the old English " leers " for " cress ; " " he cared not a 

 cress," " he recked not a rush," and so on. 



