A Georgian glossary
It probably sounds a bit trite to say that writing starts with the words, but for me this has always been true in the most literal sense. There are writers I love who are primarily concerned with plot and character development, and I sometimes wish I was one of them; but, for better or worse, it’s not the way my brain works. First and foremost, writing for me is connected to the joy I feel in thinking about individual words, and the power they release when pressed into strange combinations.
Quite a few books have been written in a modern approximation of eighteenth-century English (Thomas Pynchon’s Mason & Dixon being one especially monumental example). His Devilish Art doesn't go that far; but I did want to use some phrasing and vocabulary of the period, and I especially wanted to make sure that the words I was choosing to tell the story were ones that were actually used at the time. This excluded many that would otherwise have been useful, but that’s a welcome puzzle to wrestle with. As always, it’s the terms that look familiar that turn out to be the trickiest: when Frances Burney is offended by someone saluting her, or when Joshua Reynolds is praised for being a master of both the pencil and the pen, we cannot understand what is meant unless we know that saluting, in the eighteenth century, meant kissing, and that a pencil was what we’d now call a paintbrush.
Not all of the unfamiliar words in the book are in this list (they may not be uniquely eighteenth-century). And certainly not all of the words listed here were used in the book. Rather, this is a version of the wordlist that I compiled while I was researching, and which served as a storehouse to draw from when I was imagining scenes and interactions. It was a time when the English language was at its most extravagant and creative – as challenging, playful and exciting as the people that were using it.
A
Abington cap, n.
A type of hat popularized by the actress Frances Abington, who was a fixture of high society painted to spectacular effect (on more than one occasion) by Joshua Reynolds. She was a frequent trend-setter when it came to fashion and hairstyles; the Abington cap, which was essentially a type of large bonnet or ‘mob cap’, was something worn when she played Kitty in James Townley’s comedy High Life Below Stairs (1759). It was soon in the window of every hatter’s in London.
Abord, n.
The act of approaching something, or arriving somewhere. ‘He entered with an air so immensely conceited and affected, and, at the same Time, so uncommonly bold,’ records Frances Burney in her diaries, of one unfortunate acquaintance, ‘that I could scarce stand his Abord.’
Addict, v. (refl.)
To ‘addict oneself to’ something was, in the eighteenth century, to devote oneself to it. In Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, Lady Vane complains: ‘Lord B— addicted himself so much to hunting, and other male diversions, that I began to think he neglected me.’
Address, n.
The main eighteenth-century term for ‘skill, ability, resourcefulness’, used in many contexts where it seems unfamiliar today. ‘There needs no small degree of address to gain the reputation of Benevolence without incurring the expence,’ is one typically aphoristic comment from Sheridan’s A School for Scandal. In John Moore’s Zeluco, we hear that ‘the warmth of Father Pedro's constitution had formerly drawn him into some scrapes from which it required all his address to disengage himself’. In the plural, the word could also mean an approach made from one person to another, typically with amorous intentions: see pay one's addresses.
Afflictive, adj.
Causing pain or distress. Pope’s translation of the Iliad, for example, refers to ‘Jove’s afflictive hand’.
Agitate, v.
To debate or discuss. Wollstonecraft, in her Rights of Men, recalls a time when ‘a bill for the regency was agitated’.
Air, n.
In eighteenth-century science, this was the usual term for gas. The investigation of known gases, and the discovery of new ones, was one of Priestley’s most productive areas of research, taking in alkaline air (ammonia), nitrous air (nitrous oxide), marine acid air (hydrogen chloride), along with many far older and more established gases like fixed air (carbon dioxide). Much of Priestley’s fame rests on his gradual awareness that water must in fact be a compound of inflammable air (hydrogen) with a new substance which he called dephlogisticated air (oxygen).
Allapeen, n.
Etymologically, allapeen is an ‘Aleppine’ fabric, i.e. one from Aleppo. The term denotes a fine textile made from a mixture of wool, cotton, and either silk or mohair. See also grogram.
Alpian, adj.
A pleasing alternative to Alpine. The infamous Harris’s List of Covent-Garden Ladies promotes one Georgian sex worker with the comment that ‘her thighs are of the most tempting softness and white as Alpian snow’.
Amusive, adj.
This had two different meanings in the eighteenth century. It could indicate something that was diverting or entertaining, as when the naturalist Gilbert White refers to swifts as ‘amusive birds’ to watch. An older meaning was ‘illusory’, as when James Thompson in The Seasons refers to a rainbow as ‘th’amusive arch’.
Animal heat, n.
The heat generated by the bodies of living animals – a concept that played a significant role in various early scientific debates. Studying animal heat led French researchers to make important breakthroughs in the understanding of respiration and the role therein of (what would come to be called) oxygen.
Antelucan, adj.
Before the dawn. One of many Dantisms that come readily to Fuseli’s mind while he's in Italy.
Antigallican, adj.
Anti-French. Gibbon, who was educated in French-speaking Switzerland and published his first book in that language, spoke of attracting ‘some anti-Gallican clamour’ from the English establishment.
Anti-phlogistian, n.
Someone who did not believe in the theory of phlogiston, a putative substance which was said to be released from bodies through combustion. These people were right.
Appropriate, v.
To be suitable to something. Helen Maria Williams’s Julia includes a description of ‘a number of gloomy subterraneous apartments with vaulted roofs, the use of which imagination was left to guess, and could only appropriate to punishment and horror’.
Area, n.
Area formerly had a very specific meaning, indicating the open space below ground level giving on to the basement of a house, usually set off from the pavement above by a set of railings. In Georgian buildings these were very common, and they remain so in streets where such housing still stands. In Helen Maria Williams’s Julia, for example, the heroine is given a shilling – ‘which she was taking home, when it escaped from her hand, and fell down the area of a house’.
Argand lamp, n.
A type of oil lamp used, among other things, for certain effects in late eighteenth-century stagecraft.
Arret, n.
An official royal decree in France. Like the even more infamous lettre de cachet, the arret was often seen as an example of continental arbitrary power, as opposed to traditional English freedoms. In Letters from France, Helen Maria Williams uses the example of an angry father who acquires ‘an arret, which, on the fourth of June, 1776, he had obtained from the parliament of Rouen against’ his own son’s marriage, which he disapproves of.
Aurelian, adj.
Golden; literally, the colour of an aurelia, or butterfly’s chrysalis. Darwin’s The Economy of Vegetation includes a description of a god dispersing ‘soft showers of roses from aurelian wings’.
B
Bag wig, n.
A type of wig very characteristic of the eighteenth century, in which the hair was gathered into a little bag at the back of the head. See also scratch wig.
Bating, prep.
Apart from (the fact that); except. In Richardson’s Clarissa, our heroine criticizes a man for speaking ill of a family ‘which was as good as his own, bating that it was not allied to the peerage’.
Bedlamite, n.
A lunatic. The heroine of Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, in a fit of anger, is said to have ‘raved like a Bedlamite’, while William Hickey in his memoirs recalls an irate boatman who ‘began to stamp his feet and roar like a bedlamite’.
Beforehand in the world, adj.
Comfortably off. ‘I almost starved myself,’ says a character in Wollstonecraft’s Wrongs of Woman, ‘till I once more got before-hand in the world.’ Austen uses the term in Sense and Sensibility, much of which was written in the 1790s.
Bibliopole, n.
A bookseller. Samuel Johnson (in Boswell’s Life) asserts this occupation very strongly of one man, who, he says, ‘was a member of the Stationers' company, kept a shop in the face of mankind, purchased copyright, and was a bibliopole, Sir, in every sense’.
Bishop, n.
A hot drink made from port, sugar, nutmeg and roast oranges. In the Life of Johnson, Boswell refers to ‘that liquor called Bishop, which Johnson had always liked’.
Blue bag, n.
A bag used for cleaning clothes. It was so called because the type of alkaline laundry powder then in use was typically blue in colour. ‘Nolly, Nolly,’ Nollekens’s doctor says to him (according to JT Smith’s biography), ‘I wish your maid would stop your foolish mouth with a blue-bag.’
Book muslin, n.
A type of fine muslin that was sold folded up like the pages of a book. In Jane Austen’s juvenilia of the 1790s, we read of one character lying ‘wrapped in a book muslin bedgown’.
Box keeper, n.
A type of attendant at the theatre who was in charge of the boxes. William Hickey in his memoirs mentions, in passing, a woman at one performance ‘who desired a box-keeper to open the door of Mrs Pott's box’.
Break, v.
To ‘go broke’ or run out of money. ‘He broke did not he?’ a character asks of a bankrupt in Austen’s juvenilia.
Brewer's fart, n.
The charming Georgian term for what we’d now call a shart. The fuller, more alarmingly descriptive expression – ‘to let a brewer’s fart, grains and all’ – was, as Francis Grose specified in his Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (1785), ‘said of one who has bewrayed his breeches’.
Brighthelm-stone, prop. n.
The contemporaneous name for Brighton.
Bristol water, n.
A type of medicinal spa water. The warm springs at Clifton, outside Bristol, were a popular spa destination in the eighteenth century; Evelina in Frances Burney’s eponymous novel was one visitor. See also Pyrmont-water.
Buckish, adj.
Foppish, like a dandy. Boswell’s diaries make note of ‘two genteelish ladies and their husbands, one a clergyman of buckish cast’.
C
Calash, n.
A type of silk ladies’ hood stiffened by whalebone. JT Smith refers to the madam of one London brothel in passing as ‘an elderly lady, in a green calash’.
Cardinal, n.
A short cloak with a hood, worn by women. ‘My cardinal and veil are in her room,’ cries a character in Sheridan’s The Duenna.
Carmelite, n.
A modish type of fine woollen material. JT Smith, in Nollekens and His Times, refers to a dress that was ‘of a fashionable Carmelite, a rich purple brown’.
Casino, n.
Literally a ‘small house’, casino had in this period not yet acquired the sense of a place for gambling – that would come in the Victorian age. Instead it indicated a small building for pleasure more broadly: a summer house or holiday home, though often with somewhat disreputable connotations. Hester Thrale Piozzi, for example, refers in her diaries to an Italian cardinal who was ‘highly skilled in making his Casino comfortable to all the Wits & Blues as we now call them in London’, while Boswell, in his journals, takes disapproving notes on Lord Pembroke, who ‘instead of living respectably with his charming Countess, had Baccelli, the superannuated dancing courtesan, in a casino in the neighbourhood’.
Chip hat, n.
A hat made of thin strips of wood. It was a fairly cheap article of clothing, but one worn by both men and women.
Cicisbeo, n.
At its most chaste interpretation, a cicisbeo was simply a man who escorted a married woman to social functions, her husband being unavailable. This was a common custom in eighteenth-century Italy, and often fascinated foreign visitors. Hester Thrale Piozzi, who spent much time there, makes mention in her diaries of ‘My old Cicisbee’ who ‘is (or was poor fellow!) a famous Scholar’, without any sense of disreputability. Generally, though, the meaning shaded towards a man whose duties included sexual ones, and often simply indicated a married woman’s lover. ‘The office of Cicisbeo,’ concludes Thomas Holcroft in Anna St. Ives, ‘is however an intolerably expensive one; especially to our countrymen.’
Cit, n.
(Slang) A citizen, or townsperson.
Colour up, v.
To blush. ‘Alice had already begun to colour up and was beginning to speak,’ writes Jane Austen in her juvenilia of 1790.
Commodious, adj.
Profitable, advantageous. The eponymous antihero of John Moore’s Zeluco talks about being pursued by one woman who ‘fixed her eyes on him as a commodious match for her niece’.
Commodity, n.
The female genitals. A word much used in the booming eighteenth century pornography industry, despite its manifest unsexiness.
Confine, v.
To border on, to have a common border with. In Boswell’s Life of Johnson, he records the lexicographer insisting that ‘such parts of Sclavonia as confine with Germany, will borrow German words; and such parts as confine with Tartary will borrow Tartar words’.
Consternat-ed, adj.
Dismayed. A Miss Georgiana in Burney’s diaries is said to be ‘looking a little consternated.’
Contradict-ive, adj.
Contradictory. Helen Maria Williams, in Julia, diagnoses ‘a perverse and contradictive spirit in man, which makes the whole sex odious’. And who could disagree.
Cropsick, adj.
Feeling sick from having indulged in too much food or drink. In effect, it often indicated a hangover.
D
Dangler, n.
Someone who literally hangs around after women; generally a derogatory term for a kind of obsequious flirt. ‘You see what a Herd of Danglers flutter around you!’ France Burney records someone saying in her journals.
Democratist, n.
The more usual term for what we’d now call a democrat (i.e., in the context of the 1790s, someone opposing the rule of the aristocratic class over the common people). ‘You will smile here at the consistency of those democratists,’ writes Burke.
Diffusive, adj.
Expansive; verbose. Gibbon describes Burke as a ‘diffusive and ingenious orator’.
Disanimat-ing, adj.
Dispiriting, disheartening. Darwin’s The Economy of Vegetation waxes poetic about ‘Despair’s disanimating sigh’.
Drysalter, n.
A tradesman in various chemicals used in the arts, such as oils, preservatives and the like. Their stock also typically included preserved food like pickles and salted meats, giving them an unusually diverse selection of wares. Boswell in his diaries records his admiration of a man ‘who had risen from nothing to a great fortune, as a dry-salter in London’.
Dusthole, n.
A rubbish bin, or similar receptacle for refuse. JT Smith, in Nollekens and His Times, describes one charming locale in the following terms: ‘The kitchen was paved with off bits of stone, close to the dust-hole, which was infested with rats.’
Dutch feast, n.
A dinner where the host gets drunk before his guests do. ‘As I wished to avoid making a Dutch feast of it,’ William Hickey says, recalling one of his innumerable parties, ‘I acted with caution and kept tolerably sober.’ One is inclined to have doubts.
E
Eclaircisse-ment, n.
A revelation or enlightenment. In one of the many farcical episodes of Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, a man bumping into someone in the dark discovers that the stranger is his own mother: ‘Their mutual astonishment was unspeakable at this éclaircissement,’ Smollett writes. Sometimes the word had a milder sense of ‘explanation, clarification’. ‘If you wish for any further eclaircissement, apply to me,’ one character says reassuringly in John Moore’s Zeluco.
Educe, v.
To bring forth, to elicit. Wollstonecraft writes that a belief in God’s justice must be founded on a conviction ‘that evil is educing good for the individual’.
Effossion, n.
The digging-up of something out of the ground. Pope uses this somewhere, and Johnson includes it in his Dictionary, but it was always an elevated and obscure term.
Eleve, n.
No longer used in English, this French word for ‘student, pupil’ was not uncommon in the eighteenth century. ‘I had the honour of being a favourite eleve of his,’ one character remarks in John Moore’s Zeluco – ‘and in some instances, have improved on his ideas.’
Emergence, n.
An emergency. When Burney is visiting France, a local English merchant is recommended to her as ‘a person capable, in any emergence, to afford me assistance’.
Enascent, adj.
Nascent; coming into being. In The Economy of Vegetation, Darwin conjures ‘the new annals of enascent Time’.
EO, n.
A game of chance, in which a ball falls into one of several ditches marked (for obscure reasons) ‘E’ or ‘O’. ‘Witness your pitiful behaviour at the E. O. table, when that officer bullied you out of twenty guineas,’ sneers a character in Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle; and in Maria Edgeworth’s Belinda, we are told cattishly of one man that ‘He likes the lady's EO table better than the lady’.
Étourderie, n.
Thoughtlessness; a thoughtless act. ‘Some sudden etourderie not at all in harmony with my feelings,’ writes Charlotte Smith in Desmond, ‘has suddenly dissolved the charm’. In Austen’s Mansfield Park, Henry is said to be blameless ‘in spite of a moment's étourderie’.
Exceptious, adj.
Taking exception; captious, complaining. When a group of people are happy with events in Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, he describes them as ‘not at all exceptious’.
Exuberate, v.
To grow or develop into. Samuel Johnson, in Boswell’s Life, says facetiously of one doubter that ‘He might have exuberated into an Atheist’.
F
Ferae naturae, n. pl.
Wild beasts – literally, in Latin, ‘belonging to wild nature’. ‘I am not muzzled yet,’ a character vows in Holcroft’s Anna St. Ives: ‘they shall find me one of the feræ naturæ.’
Fetch way, v.
To come away, come loose. William Hickey, remembering a tempestuous sea journey, says that the vessel he was on ‘rolled so deep that almost everything fetched way, and a dismal night I passed’.
Figure away, v.
To show off. Burney, in her journals, takes note of someone who ‘came in, & figured away to his own satisfaction before Mr. Garrick’. In Wollstonecraft’s novel Mary, a woman on her sickbed is said to feel that she ‘still expected to recover, and figure away in the gay world’.
Find in, v.
To ‘find someone in something’ was to supply them with that thing. It was common for servants to be ‘found in food and lodgings’ as part of their employment. Of one down-at-heel character in Austen’s early story ‘Catharine’, we hear that ‘her Mother was obliged to find her in Cloathes’.
Fiveteen, n.
A variant of fifteen, still just about in use in the eighteenth century, though usually in jocular or archaic contexts. Burney employs it when a friend talks of having read a five-volume work three times: ‘“O terrible!” cried I, – “to make them fiveteen! – ”’
Flasher, n.
Someone reputed to be brilliant or accomplished. ‘Mr Yorke of D'Affrenalli has been introduced to me as a Wit & a Flasher,’ notes Hester Thrale Piozzi doubtfully: ‘it was supposed that we were to admire one another's Abilities,—but I fancy the Project failed on both Sides…’
Flip, n.
A hot drink made from beer mixed with alcoholic spirits. Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle contains a description of a dinner at which is provided ‘vast quantities of strong beer, flip, rumbo, and burnt brandy, with plenty of Barbadoes water for the ladies’. It must have been a cheap option, since Hickey in his memoirs talks of habitually drinking ‘port, strong ales, and punch, and when our funds were low as sometimes happened, hot flip’.
Frisic, adj.
Frisian. Samuel Johnson, while working on his Dictionary, is reported by Boswell to have ‘made all possible enquiry with respect to the Frisick language, and [found] that it has been less cultivated than any other of the northern dialects’.
Frontignac, n.
A type of muscat wine from Frontignan. A not untypical entry from Boswell’s diary of 1789 includes the note that he ‘took soup at Birch's; dined tête-à-tête with Dilly and drank a bottle of frontignac’.
Furor uterinus, n.
A putative medical condition (literally ‘madness of the uterus’) causing excessive sexual urges in women; nymphomania. Harris’s List of Covent-Garden Ladies, which you would think might be broadly supportive of such a complaint, in fact recommends one woman with the remark that she ‘is not stimulated with any violent passions, that border upon the furor uterinus.’
G
Gag, v.
To deceive. ‘I gagged the Gentleman with as much ease as my very little ease would allow me to assume,’ Burney writes in a letter of 1777. This is apparently not related to the word gag meaning ‘to stop up someone’s mouth’, although no one knows where it does come from.
Georgian star, prop. n.
The planet Uranus. A literal translation of Herschel’s proposed name for the planet (Georgium Sidus), in honour, naturally, of George III. Darwin’s Loves of the Plants mentions the ‘fair beams, which issuing from afar / Play with new lustres round the Georgian star’.
Glass coach, n.
Not – as in Cinderella – a coach made of glass, but simply a coach with glass in the windows. This was considered a luxurious accessory at one point, especially associated with private carriages for hire. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Nollekens took me one Sunday morning with them in a glass-coach,’ JT Smith recalls proudly, in Nollekens and his Times, ‘to pass a day with their friend Mrs. Haycock.’
Go backwards, v.
To defecate. Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle makes passing mention of a Frenchman who could communicate using unusually expressive sign-language: ‘one day he expressed his desire of going backwards with such natural imitation of his purpose, that every body in the room firmly believed he had actually overshot himself, and fortified their nostrils accordingly’. See also brewer’s fart.
Grecian, n.
Although it could refer to someone from Greece, the more usual meaning in this period was of a scholar of the ancient Greek language or culture. Boswell recalls recommending to Samuel Johnson the services of one ‘Mr. Harris, of Salisbury,’ who was, he says, ‘a very learned man, and in particular an eminent Grecian’.
Green-box, n.
This was the name for an upper (and therefore more expensive) box at the theatre; in Drury Lane, they were originally covered in green baize. ‘There was I a hopeful sprig of thirteen, stuck up in a green box with a blazing whore,’ recalled William Hickey of a formative night out with a lady of the town.
Grimace, n.
Although this sometimes had the meaning we’re familiar with – of a contorted facial expression – far the more common meaning in the eighteenth century was the abstract one of ‘pretence, affectation’. It was widely employed in a range of dismissive contexts, often coming across as a politer historical equivalent of ‘bullshit’. The eponymous protagonist of John Moore’s Zeluco, for example, waves away a woman’s protestations as ‘mere affectation and grimace’, while in Helen Maria Williams’s Julia, one woman faced with a potential suitor declares herself to be ‘equally insensible to all his fashionable grimace, and indifferent to his conversation’.
Grogram, n.
A coarse fabric made from a blend of silk, mohair and wool. ‘Madam in her Grogram gown’ features in Swift’s Baucis and Philemon.
Gulosity, n.
Greed. Boswell describes one of Samuel Johnson’s issues of the Rambler (no. 206, to be precise) as ‘a masterly essay against gulosity’.
H
Half joe, n.
A Portuguese gold coin, sometimes referenced in various historical contexts. William Hickey remembers his father being paid in ‘half-Joes, or six-and-thirty shilling pieces, at that time made current in Great Britain’.
Hanger, n.
A shortsword worn hung at the side. Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle includes a description of someone whose ‘shoulder was graced with a broad buff belt, from whence depended a huge hanger with a hilt like that of a backsword’. In The Interesting Narrative of former slave Olaudah Equiano, he relates how he was threatened by one owner: ‘he swore I should not move out of his sight; and if I did he would cut my throat, at the same time taking his hanger’.
Hangman, n.
An important secondary meaning in the art world was of a man whose job it was to hang pictures in a gallery. JT Smith, in Nollekens and His Times, complains of one painting that ‘the hangmen at the Exhibition have not hung it in a conspicuous situation; it is placed in an ante-room, and pretty high’.
Hans in kelder, n.
An unborn child (from Dutch, meaning literally ‘Hans in the cellar’). When someone in Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle announces that he’s having a baby, we hear that ‘his companions drank to the Hans en kelderr’.
Have done, v.
To stop. This was the most natural way of expressing the idea in this period.
Hectic, adj.
Consumptive; feverish. In Wollstonecraft’s early novel Mary, the heroine’s friend Ann has ‘a hectic cough, and many unfavourable prognostics’.
Heartwhole, adj.
Not in love; romantically unattached. Peregrine Pickle, in Smollett’s novel, ‘made no scruple of declaring himself heart-whole’ to one potential partner, despite the assurances given to the virtuous Emilia.
High Dutch, prop. n.
High German, i.e. Standard German. A character in Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle ‘swore in high Dutch’, while Swift in Gulliver’s Travels repeats the old anecdote of Charles V, that ‘if he were to speak to his Horse, it should be in High-Dutch’. The use of Dutch (i.e. Deutsch) for ‘German’ survives in the name of the Pennsylvania Dutch language (which, incidentally, is remarkably similar to the Alemannic dialects spoken in Switzerland).
Horse, v.
To horse someone was to tie them down to a wooden horse (or similar object) and flog them. After one’s of Peregrine Pickle’s pranks, in Smollett’s novel, we hear that ‘our unfortunate hero was publickly horsed, in terrorem of all whom it might concern’. Few literary heroes have deserved it more.
Hyaline, adj.
Glassy; transparent. In The Economy of Vegetation, Darwin describes a river-nymph braiding her ‘hyaline hair’. See vitrescent.
Hydropic, adj.
Suffering from or pertaining to dropsy. In Boswell’s Life of Johnson, a medical recovery is indicated with the comment: ‘Of the hydropick tumour there is now very little appearance: the asthma is much less troublesome, and seems to remit something day after day.’
Hylozoism, n.
The theory that life is simply a property of nature, rather than being an endowment of some religious or supernatural force. Priestley was a hylozoist, or at least this was an accusation often levelled at him.
Hypped, adj.
Afflicted with the ‘hyp’, i.e. melancholy. ‘Thou that art not afraid of an acute death, a sword's point, to be so plaguily hypped at the consequences of a chronical one!’, as Lovelace writes disparagingly to Belford in Richardson’s Clarissa.
I
Imprescript-ible, adj.
Absolute, inalienable. Wollstonecraft refers to freedom as ‘the natural and imprescriptible right of man’.
Imprudency, n.
An imprudent act. ‘The rival and the admirer would certainly avoid amending imprudencies, by which they were both equally likely to profit,’ writes Amelia Opie wisely in Dangers of Coquetry; while Jane Austen, in her early story ‘History of England’, assures the reader that her heroine has ‘never been guilty of anything more than Imprudencies into which she was betrayed by the openness of her Heart, her Youth, and her Education’.
Indeprivable, adj.
That you cannot be deprived of; inalienable. ‘Birth,’ Hester Thrale Piozzi suggests, ‘may be really the sole indeprivable Good, I can think of nothing else which one cannot lose by Folly or by Accident—Virtue excluded, and that is a Quality that Italians do not trouble themselves to think of.’
Inexpress-ibles, n. pl.
Breeches or trousers. Gibbon, who suffered in later life from a chronically swollen testicle, wrote to a friend, ‘Have you never observed, through my inexpressibles, a large prominency, circa genitalia?’ A sentence that only gets more amazing the more times you read it.
In my way, phr.
The normal way of expressing ‘on my way’ in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Clarissa, in Richardson’s novel, is at one point said to have stopped ‘at Islington church, in her way home’; further examples abound.
Ironmaster, n.
The normal (and pleasingly commanding) contemporary term for an iron manufacturer.
J
Jack whore, n.
A prostitute, probably with connotations of being well-built or in some way masculine. William Hickey, in an uncharacteristically ungenerous passage, refers to one Mrs Cuyler as ‘a great jack whore, without pretensions to manners or beauty of face or person’.
James's powder, n.
A type of medicinal powder used to bring on a fever, named after its (somewhat quackish) inventor Dr Robert James. This was one of the most popular patent medicines of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century.
Jemmy, adj.
Neat, elegant. William Hickey, in his memoirs, recalls being struck by the sight of a friend of his ‘driving up the avenue in a very jemmy equipage’.
Jill-flirt, n.
A flirtatious woman, especially a fickle one. Sometimes (as in John Gay’s Polly, written in the 1720s) spelled gil-flirt.
K
Keep measures, v.
To keep measures with someone or something was to act with due consideration for them, or for it. In Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, the wayward Lady Vane’s father reprimands her for her behaviour with the injunction to ‘for the future keep measures with the world’, i.e. to maintain a good reputation.
Kennel, n.
Writing of the period makes frequent reference to kennels in the streets of London. This is not an indication that the Georgians were great dog-lovers (in fact, that word is unrelated); rather, the kennel was the gutter running along the edge of the street (and frequently overwhelmed by refuse). To take one example of many, Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle includes a description of someone violently pushing a passing sedan chair, ‘which was immediately overturned in the kennel’.
L
Laughable, adj.
This described not something ridiculous, but something amusing, in a positive sense. ‘A very laughable incident occurred,’ William Hickey will write, when introducing a funny story.
Lay figure, n.
A kind of mannequin used by sculptors and other artists, with adjustable arms and legs so that it could be put into a variety of poses for reference. In Nollekens and His Times, JT Smith remembers one elderly (and presumably near-sighted) visitor to the artist’s studio who began making polite smalltalk to Nollekens’s mannequin, ‘mistaking his lay-figure for a living model of the highest sort’.
Long robe, n.
The legal profession. Peregrine Pickle, in Smollett’s novel, ‘contracted intimacies in some families of good fashion, especially those of the long robe,’ who he hopes can help him out of difficulties if he gets into trouble. JT Smith, in his gossipy memoir of the period, mentions seeing ‘two brothers of the long robe involuntarily stop and heartily enjoy’ a Punch & Judy performance involving an executioner ‘who was about to hang Punch for the murder of his wife and his innocent babe’.
Look after, v.
To look for, to seek out. ‘I have sent my intended husband to look after my lover,’ explains one broadminded lady in Sheridan’s The Duenna.
Lovesome, adj
Amorous, in love. ‘The Lady seems Lovesome,’ Hester Thrale Piozzi says of one woman’s behaviour towards a gentleman, ‘& I fancy lends him Money from Time to Time.’
Lumber, n.
Lumber in this period was old furniture, or sometimes bric-a-brac more generally. When, in Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, Lady Vane mentions ‘a poor little dining-room filled with lumber, and lighted with two bits of tallow-candle’, we must not imagine felled redwoods but old dressers and battered side-tables. William Cowper makes the meaning clearer in one of his letters: ‘We made all haste down stairs, and soon threw open the street door, for the reception of as much lumber, of all sorts, as our house would hold, brought into it by several who thought it necessary to move their furniture.’
M
Mackerel breeze, n.
A strong breeze that ruffles the surface of the water, apparently so-called because it created good conditions for mackerel fishing. ‘They tacked to and fro in the river, under the impulse of a mackerel breeze,’ says Smollett in Peregrine Pickle.
Make up to, v.
To come up to (someone), to approach. ‘They in their turns made up to her, and expressed their surprize and concern,’ Smollett writes in Peregrine Pickle; and in Olaudah Equiano’s Interesting Narrative, the memoirist recalls men who ‘made up to me, and were about to handle me; but I told them to be still and keep off’.
Malverse, adj.
Unfavourable, untimely. ‘Never was fellow so pestered with malverse accidents as I am,’ rants a character in Thomas Holcroft’s Anna St. Ives.
Mammet, n.
A weakling, a fool. ‘Torpid, blockish, brainless mammet!’ is a comprehensive insult hurled at a character in Holcroft’s Anna St. Ives.
Maniéré, adj.
Mannered, affected. It was (and sometimes still is) applied disparagingly to artworks which were thought to be trying too hard.
Mercury, n.
A go-between; someone carrying messages between two lovers.
Messalinian, adj.
Reminiscent of the Roman Empress Messalina; hence, scheming and licentious. Wollstonecraft writes scathingly of Marie-Antoinette’s ‘messalinian feasts at Trianon’ (a pleasure palace).
Meteor, n.
Any atmospheric or meteorological phenomenon, including winds, various kinds of precipitation, and even rainbows. At this period the meaning was becoming increasingly associated with ‘the meteors call'd fire-balls’, as Darwin describes them.
Modesty bit, n.
A length of lace or other material worn over the top part of a woman’s dress, to cover her cleavage. It was also called a modesty piece. Burney’s diaries – always reliable for the notice they take of clothing – record in somewhat pejorative terms a woman wearing ‘a thin muslin short sacque and Coat lined throughout with Pink, – a modesty bit – and something of a very short cloak half concealed about half of her old wrinkled Neck’.
Monachism,
Monasticism. ‘Monachism, one of the corruptions of Christianity,’ as Priestley gloomily describes it.
Morning gown, n.
A dressing gown for men or women. When a character in Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle is forced out of bed, we hear that, ‘wrapping himself in his morning-gown, [he] was supported down stairs, rubbing his eye, yawning fearfully, and grumbling all the way’.
Mountain, n.
A wine from Malaga, the grapes for which were grown on a mountainside. Boswell, in his journals from the 1790s, notes a dinner where he feasted on ‘mutton broth and mackerel and drank mountain and old port moderately’. Though ‘moderately’ for Boswell could mean anything short of total blackout.
Muller, n.
A flat, heavy stone used to grind artists’ pigments (among other things).
Muzz, v.
To hang around, to loiter. ‘If You but knew, cried I [Burney, in her journals, recalls], to whom I am going to Night! and who I shall see to Night! – you would not dare keep me muzzing here!’
N
Nants, n.
Brandy – technically, a variety produced in Nantes, France. In Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, there is talk of setting someone up with ‘a small parcel of fine tea, or a few anchors of right Nantz’. (An anchor, or anker, was about ten gallons.)
National, adj.
Nationalistic, patriotic. In Boswell’s Life of Johnson, the Scots are accused of this vice: ‘Come, come, don't deny it: they are really national. Why, now, the Adams are as liberal-minded men as any in the world: but, I don't know how it is, all their workmen are Scotch.’
Nectary, n.
(Botany) A gland that produces nectar. Another term coined by eighteenth-century botanists and seized upon by Erasmus Darwin.
Negligée, n.
Not yet, in this period, a lacy piece of nightwear, but rather a type of loose, informal gown worn by women. Burney in her journals recalls meeting one acquaintance who was wearing ‘a lilac Negligee, Gause Cuffs trimmed richly, with Flowers and spangles, spangled shoes, Bows of Gause and Flowers, and a Cap!’ The exclamation mark suggests that even for the time, this was quite an ensemble.
Nervous, adj.
An important false friend: in the 1700s, the principal meaning was to do with having prominent ‘nerves’ or sinews; hence, being strong or powerful. ‘Nervous, clear, and striking, was almost all that he uttered,’ says Burney of one accomplished public speaker.
Night house, n
A pub, tavern or similar establishment that’s open during the night. Smollett, surveying the music halls of Amsterdam in Peregrine Pickle, concludes his discussion by saying, ‘To one of these night-houses did our travellers repair.’
Nihility, n.
Something that does not exist; a nothing. ‘Della Crusca,’ notes diarist Hester Thrale Piozzi, with some suspicion, ‘says all past Actions are Nihilities; & that the immediate Instant is the whole of human Existence—A bad Accᵗ of it surely!’
O
Obumbrated, adj.
Literally, overshadowed. In Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, the faces of certain downcast individuals are said, rather facetiously, to have ‘begun to be a little obumbrated’.
October, n.
A type of ale, traditionally brewed in that month. In Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, for instance, characters look forward to ‘drinking a glass of his October at the door’.
Odd's niggers, interj.
An (alarming) exclamation of surprise or anger. The term is unrelated to the racial slur; it’s a corruption of God’s diggers, i.e. God’s fingernails. From Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle: ‘The landlord, starting up at the well known sound, cried, “Odd's niggers! there is the commodore with his company, as sure as I live!”’ The phrase recurs in the following century in, among other things, one of Arthur Conan Doyle’s books.
Of all conscience, adv.
In all conscience; in fairness. Lady Evans in Elizabeth Inchbald’s A Simple Story, when asked whether someone is tall or short, gives the admirably offhanded reply, ‘Oh, tall enough of all conscience.’
Of course, adv.
This meant something subtly different in the eighteenth century, roughly: ‘In due course; as a natural result’. ‘He inspired love and emulation wherever he appeared,’ Smollett writes in Peregrine Pickle; ‘envy and jealous rage followed of course.’ Consider also the following sentence from Wollstonecraft's Vindication of the Rights of Men: ‘Not tarrying long enough in the brain to be subject to reflection, the next sensations, of course, obliterate them.’
Offskip, n.
The background (of a view, picture etc.). Hester Thrale Piozzi, describing her beloved property in Wales, says that ‘The Snowdonia rises with vast Dignity in the Offskip, while a blue Expanse of Ocean leads the Eye on our right hand to immeasurable Distance’.
On foot, adj.
Underway; in progress, in preparation. In John Moore’s Zeluco, we hear of rumours that ‘a treaty of marriage was on foot between Zeluco and the young lady in question’.
Ordinary, n.
A basic set-price meal at a public inn, or similar establishment. In Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, the hero, while travelling in France, meets the well-informed Mr Jolter, who is said to be ‘a connoisseur in ordinaries, from twelve to five and thirty livres’; William Hickey remembers staying at one inn specifically because it had ‘an excellent ordinary daily at two o'clock, at which I might dine or not as I pleased’. From there the word came also to mean the inn itself; it’s used in this sense in Fielding’s Tom Jones.
Otaheite, prop. n.
Tahiti; or a Tahitian. Boswell in the Life of Johnson refers in passing to the ‘custom of eating dogs at Otaheite’. The word could also mean the Tahitian language: Frances Burney mentions listening to her brother (who sailed to Tahiti with Cook) ‘talking Otaheite as fast as possible’.
P
Parleyvoo, n.
(Slang) A Frenchman. ‘One of these d—d Parlivoos will go farther with some women in a day, than an Englishman in a month,’ complains a character in John Moore’s Zeluco.
Participate, v.
Now only intransitive, in the eighteenth century this was also a transitive verb, meaning to share or take part in. In Charlotte Smith’s Desmond we read of the need for a character to find ‘companions who understand him, and can participate his pleasure’.
Partie quarrée, n.
Also referred to, in more modern spelling, as a partie carrée – or in its English form, a square party – this is simply a group of four people, especially two couples.
Parthognom-ic, adj.
Pertaining to the way emotions are betrayed by one’s facial expressions. This became a useful term in physiognomy, as a way of distinguishing those features that reveal one’s inner character from those that merely express fleeting emotions.
Pay one's addresses, v.
To approach someone with a view to a romantic relationship; to begin to court someone. ‘I would be glad to know,’ a woman is asked in John Moore’s Zeluco, ‘whether this maid was in your service at the time you mention when Signor Zeluco paid his addresses to you?’
Peduncle, n.
(Botany) The stalk of a fruit or flower. This was a word coined in the early eighteenth century, and used in various ways by anatomists and zoologists; but botany is what most concerned me here.
Petit souper, n.
A light supper, especially when it constitutes an informal dinner party. In Helen Maria Williams’s Julia, Mrs Chartres is said to have ‘given a card-assembly, and a petit-souper’, and later tells her son, ‘with an air of triumph, that the evening had gone off remarkably well’.
Phoca, n.
A seal. Darwin’s Loves of the Plants contains the following couplet: ‘With tangled fins, behind, huge Phocæ glide, / And Whales and Grampi swell the distant tide.’
Phosphorical, adj.
Luminous; hence, glittering, sparkling. ‘If a relish for the broad mirth of fun characterize the lower class of english,’ writes Wollstonecraft in her history of the Revolution, ‘the french of every denomination are equally delighted with a phosophorical, sentimental gilding.’
Physical, adj.
Pertaining to physic or physicians; medical, medicinal. In Wollstonecraft’s novel Mary, a man who has fallen from a horse is not expected to recover ‘by the physical tribe’, i.e. by his doctors.
Pigtail, n.
A type of tobacco twisted into a string. JT Smith remembers one of Nollekens’s visitors plying him with ‘the very best pig-tail tobacco, which he had most carefully cut in very small pieces purposely for him’.
Piss-kitchen, n.
(Slang) A kitchenmaid. When a commodore in Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle takes against a woman, we hear that he ‘did not scruple to damn her for a squinting, block-faced, chattering piss-kitchen’.
Planet-struck, adj.
Originally a term from astrology used to describe someone under the baleful influence of a planet, by the eighteenth century this generally had the broader sense of ‘flabbergasted, shocked, amazed’. ‘I was planet-struck!’ exclaims a character in Thomas Holcroft’s Anna St. Ives. William Hickey writes about attending a particularly rowdy courtroom, where the judges ‘seemed quite planet-struck when the riot commenced, and more frightened than any other of the spectators!’
Poissarde, n.
A French fishwife. The poissardes gained notoriety across Europe for the role they played in the early stages of the French Revolution, leading a crowd of rioters on Versailles to protest the spiralling bread prices. They became symbolic of a type of militant, ‘unfeminine’, but powerful womanhood: ‘the Amazons were but the poissardes of the Day,’ Burney writes in her diaries.
Powdering gown, n.
This is what you’d put on to protect your clothes while your hair or wig was being powdered (as most then were).
Pozzolana, n.
A type of volcanic ash, used in Italy to make mortar. Goethe, in his Italian Journey (about travels in the 1780s, though not published until three decades later), describes how pozzolana was strewn across the streets to stop horses slipping on the smooth paving.
Pressman, n.
In the Victorian age, this would come to mean a journalist; but in the eighteenth century it could only denote the more laborious occupation of a man who operated a printing press.
Public walk, n.
A popular footpath or promenade in a town, where you might go to see and be seen. Smollett tells us that Peregrine Pickle ‘frequented public walks, concerts and assemblies, became remarkably rich and fashionable in his cloaths, gave entertainments to the ladies, and was in the utmost hazard of turning out a most egregious coxcomb’.
Puff, n.
Now only really found in the compound form ‘puff-piece’, a puff was a laudatory advert, or a run of salesman’s patter, especially when it was thought to be overly adulatory or unjustified. Booksellers printed puffs to promote their books, as did theatres for their latest productions.
Puisne, adj.
Petty or insignificant. In Richardson’s Clarissa, Lovelace dismisses the ‘puisne gallantries’ of the heroine’s brother. The modern word puny (which is how this is pronounced) is essentially just a variant spelling of this.
Pump, v.
To pump someone was to hold them under a water pump and soak them, as a punishment.
Pyrmont-water, n.
Another well-known natural spa water, this one from Bad Pyrmont in Lower Saxony. See also Bristol-water.
Q
Quarter day, n.
In Georgian England, a quarter day was the first day of each quarter of the year, namely Lady Day (25 March), Midsummer Day (24 June), Michaelmas (29 September) and Christmas Day (25 December). (Dates were slightly different in Scotland.) It was customary to use these days for the beginning or end of tenancies, legal agreements, or for the dates of various meetings and assemblies – and, crucially, it was when rents and other payments were typically due. In Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, we hear of a mortgager who ‘laid strong injunctions on his steward to pay the interest punctually at quarter-day’.
R
Rappee, n.
A rough, strong type of snuff tobacco. In Smollett’s Humphrey Clinker, a dandy is dismissed with the observation that he ‘wears a solitaire, uses paint, and takes rappee with all the grimace [q.v.] of a French marquis’.
Receiver, n.
In early science, this had the specific meaning of an airtight receptacle, as used in various experiments. Boswell (who liked a scientific metaphor) comments portentously in the Life of Johnson: ‘A man can live in thick air, but perishes in an exhausted receiver.’
Re infecta, adv.
‘With the matter unfinished.’ A piece of typically eighteenth-century Latinism. Caesar having once crossed the Rubicon (as a correspondent in Richardson’s Clarissa writes), ‘had he retreated, re infecta, intimidated by a senatorial edict, what a pretty figure would he have made in history!’
Relaxed, adj.
Subtly different from the modern meaning, relaxed in this period indicated that something was soft, weak or feeble. When Boswell records, in his diary, ‘It was a very wet morning. I woke relaxed and melancholy as in the country,’ he means that he feels enervated and listless.
Relume, v.
To relight or rekindle. This was usually used in figurative senses. James Thomson’s The Seasons refers to the Greek poet Aratus as someone who ‘relum'd the Soul / Of fondly lingering Liberty’, while Wollstonecraft’s novel Mary describes a man who, coming out of a swoon, ‘opened his eyes again…and love relumed them’.
Reprobate, v.
To censure or condemn. One of many verbs that now exist only as nouns or adjectives.
Rider, n.
The eighteenth-century equivalent of a travelling salesman. A rider would travel around with samples of goods, and try to win orders. Boswell, in his diary from 1790, records setting out on a coach journey ‘with a Paisley manufacturer and a London rider, the latter of whom I envied for his smartness and self-complacency’.
Ridicule, n.
A net handbag. This is a variant of the more common form reticule. One of the characters in Austen’s Emma uses a ‘purple and gold ridicule’ to conceal a mysterious letter.
Romanist, n., adj.
Catholic. Often in effect a derogatory word.
Roturier, n.
A commoner or plebeian; specifically, in pre-Revolutionary France, this described the social class comprising all those who were not nobles or clergy.
Roundhouse, n.
A small lockup or local jail. At the end of one of William Hickey’s anecdotes about people getting steaming drunk, ‘the two heroes were carried off to the round-house, and there lodged for the night’.
Rowley rag, n.
Not a dance, but a type of hard paving stone – perhaps basalt – associated especially with the Birmingham area.
Rumbo, n.
A rum punch, or some similar type of ‘grog’. ‘He and my good master Hatchway come hither every evening, and drink a couple of canns of rumbo apiece,’ says one character in Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle.
S
Sagathy, n.
A type of rough woollen textile, not dissimilar to serge.
Salute, n., v.
A kiss; to kiss. This was the classic (and almost exclusively) eighteenth-century use of ‘salute’. People in writings of the time are continually saluting one another; you have to put all notions of military gesturing out of your mind. When Lovelace, in Clarissa, writes, ‘Twice indeed with rapture, which once she called rude, did I salute her,’ he is describing a much more intimate physical assault than might be obvious to modern readers. Burney complains in similar terms of a man taking leave of her at a ball: ‘he gave me a most ardent salute! I have seldom been more surprised. I had no idea of his taking such a freedom.’
Salutiferous, adj.
Healthy, health-giving. In Boswell’s Life of Johnson, we hear the sensible suggestion that ‘when warm water is impregnated with salutiferous substances, it may produce great effects as a bath’ – a belief to which the many visitors to Bath itself attested.
Scotch fiddle, n.
Scabies, or an itch in general. When a Scotsman in John Moore’s Zeluco praises a woman’s ability on the piano, another character rounds on him with the accusation, ‘Your countrywomen prefer the Scotch fiddle!’ This is considered (by himself at least) ‘a bon-mot’.
Scratch wig, n.
Apparently a type of ‘small, short wig’ (per the OED of 1911), although the range of different wigs at this period makes it sometimes difficult to grasp the exact differences between them.
Self-sufficient, adj.
This was often a negative word in the eighteenth century, indicating arrogance or overconfidence. Peregrine Pickle in Smollett’s novel is said to be ‘too self-sufficient to think he should find any difficulty in obtaining forgiveness’ for his various sins.
Sexual, adj.
‘The sex’, in the eighteenth century, simply meant ‘women’; ‘sexual’, therefore, typically meant something like ‘female, feminine’. When Mary Wollstonecraft insists, in Rights of Woman, that ‘the sexual should not destroy the human character’, she is not talking about sexuality as we understand it, but rather saying that being a woman does not preclude being a human.
Shalloon, n.
A woollen material, used especially for lining things.
Sightly, adj.
The opposite of unsightly: attractive. ‘If their schemes were perfectly consistent in all their parts,’ writes Burke, ‘it would make only a more fair and sightly vision.’
Signalize, v.
This could mean ‘to distinguish, make noteworthy’, as when Gibbon suggests that the Tudor age was ‘signalized by the valour of our soldiers and sailors’. It could also refer to displaying something or drawing attention to it, as with the character in Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle who sees combat as an ‘opportunity of signalizing his personal prowess’.
Sign manual, n.
A signature, especially a monarch’s signature as used to validate a legal document. (‘Manual’ here is an adjective.) Gibbon refers in passing to ‘the King’s sign manual’ which constrained him to military service.
Sit, v.
To bear or endure (something). In Amelia Opie’s Dangers of Coquetry, we hear that Louisa, who ‘had but ill born the commencement of this conversation, could sit it no longer’.
Slop shop, n.
A shop selling cheap, ready-made clothes. William Hickey and his friends, after a wild night out, find themselves ‘under the necessity of sending to a slop shop and each purchasing a shirt, etc.’; while the heroine of Wollstonecraft’s Wrongs of Woman has a stepmother whose friend ‘kept a slop-shop in Wapping’.
Small-coal man, n.
‘Small coal’ was coal broken down into small pieces; hence, someone who sold coal on a small scale.
Slammerkin, n.
A loose robe or dressing gown for women. It could also mean ‘slut, slatternly woman’, as when William Hickey refers to a man who ‘sought comfort for himself in the arms of a vulgar, huge, coarse Irish slammerkin, Miss Prendergast’. The loose gown / loose woman double meaning proved suggestive: Emma Donoghue has used Slammerkin as the title of one of her novels set in this period. (She also published an excellent study of eighteenth-century lesbianism.) See also morning gown.
Snift, v.
To sniff. Burney in her diaries sketches a quick description of one of her father’s visitors, who ‘snifted at her Flowers with a sort of extatic eagerness, and then let them fall’.
Soberize, v.
To make sober. ‘The instant I beheld her, I was soberized into awe and reverence,’ recalls Lovelace in Richardson’s Clarissa.
Solution, n.
Dissolution, melting. In The Loves of the Plants, Darwin discusses ‘the very rapid vegetation in the northern latitudes, after the solution of the snows’.
Soupe maigre, n.
A thin vegetable soup, thought to have health-giving properties. In Richardson’s Clarissa, a character speaks of falling ill ‘in spite of water-gruel and soupe-maigre’; and one of Peregrine Pickle’s many juvenile pranks in Smollett’s eponymous novel is to spoil ‘many a pot of excellent soup maigre, by slily conveying into it handfuls of salt or soot’.
Spatterdash, n.
A type of long gaiter worn to protect your trousers or stockings from getting dirty, when for example riding a horse.
Speculation, n.
The act of looking at something; observation. ‘The expression of exultation and content on their faces,’ we read in Charlotte Smith’s Desmond, ‘is one of my most delicious speculations.’
Sphere, n.
The sphere, in eighteenth-century astronomy, was the outer limit of the heavens, imagined as a kind of hollow globe within which all the celestial bodies seemed to be embedded. ‘Resistless rolls the illimitable sphere,’ writes Darwin, ‘And one great circle forms the unmeasured year.’
Sprunt, v.
To make quick, convulsive movements; to jerk. Hester Thrale Piozzi, recalling an uninspiring theatrical performance in Padua, says that ‘the Actors struggled & bounced, and sprunted as if in Convulsions’.
Squab, adj.
Plump, bulky. ‘So on his Nɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ through the evening fog / Flits the squab fiend o'er fen, and lake, and bog,’ Darwin wrote, with reference to Fuseli’s most famous painting.
Squeeze, n.
A squeeze was a cast or mould made of an inscription, sculpture or similar artwork. Typically, the technique involved wet paper, pressed onto the object and later peeled off when dry. JT Smith, in Nollekens and His Times, records that the ‘cunning’ Fleet Street hatter William White ‘had turned his wine-cellars into manufactories for the produce of cast coins, and modern squeezes from Roman lamps’.
Stirrup stocking,
A style of stocking that ends at the ankle, with just a strap going round the bottom of the foot. Lovelace obtains a pair at one point in Clarissa.
Storge, n.
(Pronounced in two syllables, with a hard G.) The natural affection felt by parents towards their children.
Strong-water, n.
Alcoholic liquor. A character in Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera complains, timelessly, ‘Strong-Waters are apt to give me the Head-ache.’
Swisserland, prop. n.
One of several ways to describe Switzerland at the time.
Syllab, n.
An obsolete short form of ‘syllable’. ‘I never heard a syllab of the matter,’ one character objects in Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle.
T
Take air, v.
To become known; to be made public. In Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, an elopement is precipitated on account of the lovers’ secret relationship ‘having taken air’.
Take water, v.
To travel by boat. In Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, Frances, Lady Vane, talks about travelling via the river during a secret love affair, in order that she cannot be observed on the streets: ‘I…frequently took water from the Bridge, that my motions might not be discovered.’
Tonish, adj.
Having ‘ton’, which was the trendy (i.e. French) term for style; hence, stylish, modish, fashionable. ‘She saw that his conversation, and his shoe-buckles, his manners, and his toupee, were all perfectly tonish,’ Helen Maria Williams relates of a character in her novel Julia. It was sometimes spelled with two Ns, to make the pronunciation more clear.
To-year, adv.
This year. The word was already on the way out by the end of the 1700s, but it had been common through much of the century. A character in John Gay’s ever-popular Beggar’s Opera says, ‘Betty hath brought more Goods into our Lock to-year than any five of the Gang.’
U
Unavailable, adj.
Unavailing; ineffective. Lovelace is warned in Clarissa that to complain about his treatment ‘would be as exasperating as unavailable’.
Underbred, adj.
Like the more familiar ill-bred, this indicated someone who was vulgar, impolite, or lacking in proper manners – a very serious charge in the eighteenth century. Lovelace writes off servants as ‘under-bred varlets’ in Richardson’s Clarissa.
Unvirgin, v.
To take the virginity of. Harris’s List of Covent-Garden Ladies introduces one ‘buxon crummy widow’ with the note that she ‘was legally unvirgined by an East India officer’.
Usher, n.
An assistant teacher, especially an assistant to a headteacher. Smollett tells us that Peregrine Pickle was left ‘in the particular care and inspection of the usher’ at his school, while Boswell records that Samual Johnson first took Latin lessons from one ‘Mr. Hawkins, usher, or under-master of Lichfield school’.
V
Vellicating, adj.
Irritating. During a discussion of arsenic in Peregrine Pickle, Smollett refers – somewhat mildly, one feels – to ‘the vellicating particles of that pernicious mineral’.
Venice turpentine, n.
The name given by artists’ suppliers to larch resin. It was used to make varnishes for oil paintings.
Vertù/virtù, n.
The fine arts; or, more generally, informed knowledge of art and antiquities. In John Moore’s Zeluco, a man ‘of distinguished taste in virtù’ is hired in order to ‘explain the antiquities brought from Herculaneum and Pompeia’.
Vibratiuncle, n.
A tiny vibration. A delightful term of early science, of the kind practised by Priestley.
Violency, n.
An act of violence. In her diary, Hester Thrale Piozzi notes that Cardinal d’Orini ‘exclaimed against these Innovations & Violencies, by which his Fortune like that of many other Ecclesiastics had been impaired’.
Visibility, n.
Something worth seeing; a sight. Johnson in Boswell’s Life talks of having ‘seen all the visibilities of Paris, and around it’.
Vis inertiæ, n.
A scientific term coined by Isaac Newton to describe the natural resistance of matter to forces acting upon it. In practice, though, it was used in a looser sense to indicate inertia, apathy, or general indolence. ‘I would have something that can dissipate the vis inertiæ and give elasticity to the muscles,’ writes Boswell in the Life of Johnson; in Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle, we hear of attempts ‘to overcome the languor and vis inertiæ’ of someone’s brother.
Vitrescent, adj.
Like glass, glassy. Darwin refers to ‘vitrescent waves’ in The Economy of Vegetation. See hyaline.
Vituline, adj.
Pertaining to calves (young cows), or to veal. I made a note of this one because veal is so common in Switzerland, especially in the Zurich region. In the end, though, I don’t think I ever found an excuse to work it in.
Volatilize, v.
To make evaporate. The heroine of Wollstonecraft’s Wrongs of Woman finds that some good fresh air after a meal ‘volatilized the humours that improper food might have generated’.
W
Watch, v.
To be on the lookout for. A woman in John Moore’s Zeluco ‘had reason to dread that her husband had formed a very criminal project of being revenged on Zeluco, and watched an opportunity of putting it in execution’.
Wycherley comb, n.
A tortoiseshell comb. It was, for reasons I’ve been unable to establish, apparently associated with the seventeenth-century playwright William Wycherley.