Oh is beginning to change into ou, as nout and inou for noht and inoh.

O replaces a much oftener than before; lore, strong, and nohwer are examples; we find both naping and noping (pp. 165 and 181), both na mon and no tunge.

The diphthong œ was losing ground; thus so becomes sea, and ægðer becomes eider; but the combination ei has never been popular, at least in Teutonic words.

We sometimes find v substituted for ƒ at the beginning of a word, as vette for fette (page 81). It is the influence of the South Western shires that makes us write vixen and vat instead of the old fixen and fœt; it is a wonder that we do not also write vox. G is commonly

turned into y, but sometimes into w; thus folegede turns into folewed and laga into law; this is as yet

most rare.

France was now dictating much of our pronunciation, and many of the vowels must in this age have been sounded in the same way on either side of the Channel. Ch replaces c in countless instances. Cerran (verti) now becomes cherre; we still say 'on the jar," or ajar. We also find chirche, leche, diche, teache, biseche (beseech). The verb seche, which was elsewhere seke, shows whence comes our search; the derivation from chercher, given even in our latest dictionaries, must be wrong, for changer does not become sange in English. Still, the intruding r in search must be due to the French verb. Moreover we see, in

1 Pickwick will keep this alive for ever. can have been no student of Anglo-Saxon.

Mr. Justice Stareleigh

page 83, the two forms scine and schine (shine), the last being a new sound now creeping into English. So popular did it become, that we forced French verbs in ir to take the sound, as cherish and flourish. But the French cabus has become cabbage, just as Perusia became Perugia. The corrupt forms of 1120, swice, wice, and moche, now become swulc, swuche, and sulche (such); wilche, and hwiche; muche and muchel. The old gylt becomes gult in the South; our guilt is a combination of the two. We see a new form in hwilke time se eure (which time so ever). Elc (quisque) takes its modern shape of elche and eche; and an is fastened on to it, though as yet very seldom. Thus, at page 91, we read 'heo it delden elchun; that is, to each one. Latost (ultimus) is cut down to leste at page 143; and py las pe is shortened into leste, which we still keep. If and neor replace the old gif and neah; the first is the Scandinavian ef. Saule of him is put for his soul, simply to eke out a rime; and the of is sometimes used as an adverb, with a new spelling, as at page 29, 'zif þin hefet were offe.' The word purhut (throughout) now appears. Oðerlicor now becomes oder-weis (page 31); at page 165 we see evrema (evermore); at page 139 the avric (quisque) of Peterborough is found in its new shape, efri: the East Midland corruptions were already beginning to find their way to the South. What was before written on lif (in vitâ) is now seen as alive (page 161); yet our dictionary-makers, even to this day, will have it that alive is an adjective. We see such new forms as underling and fowertene niht (fortnight). When we find the word knave child applied to the infant Saviour at page

G

77, we get some idea of the degradation undergone by the word knave since the Twelfth century. Bicumelic now first appears for decorus, shortened by us into comely; bicuman is used for both decere and fieri (pages 45 and 47). Lot also gets a wholly new meaning; at page 31 we read of a 'pridde lot' (tertia pars). Geleafa now takes its modern form bileue, belief; just as gelitlian was to become to belittle.1 Hæs, geong, betst, sorh, deaw, peau, gescy, légere, and Sunnandag, now become heste, yung, best, sorewe, deu, pewe, sceos (shoes), lihzare (liar), and Sunnedei (Sunday). The old hwilke had not yet come to stand for the Neuter Relative, for we find zeten purh hwam' (gates through which), page 153. We see a new use of hwat in the sentence (page 145), we beoð in wawe, hwat for ure eldere werkes, hwat for ure azene gultes.' We still keep this idiom, but we should now employ with instead of for. At page 53, we see in two lines both the new alse feire alse and the old swa sone se. At page 33 we find a form, well known to English witnesses, 'swa me helpe Drihten.' Our forefathers used to express the Latin sinister by wynstre, something that was wanting in full strength. In these Homilies we find wynstre changed into luft (left), to which we still cling. There is a kindred word to this in Holland.

As to Verbs; the Participle iturned becomes iturnd at page 157, with the clipped pronunciation we still use, except at church. We sometimes find the Midland beon instead of the Southern beoth. At page 21, we scolden is used for we sculen, and the corruption still holds its

1 Even so the Sanscrit gigâmi is the same word as the Greek βίβημι.

ground. Another form for debemus, we agon, now becomes we achten (we ought), page 167. The old geworht is turned into iwrat (wrought). In page 173, we find hi walked eure. This is our modern sense of the old verb wealcan, which before meant nothing but to roll. The old scéadan (separare) now gets the sense of fundere (page 157); the former meaning still lingers in watershed. Stælwyrð used to mean 'worth stealing;' at page 25 it gets its new sense, validus: perhaps it was confounded with staðelferhð. The verb sceáwian loses its old meaning spectare, and gets its new sense monstrare, though we still call spectaculum a show. We know that the word afford has puzzled our antiquarians; we find it employed in these Homilies, page 37: 'do pine elmesse of pon pet pu maht ifordien.' Bishop Pecock uses avorthi in this sense three hundred years later. The old gefordian only meant to further or help.' Here, at least, we need not seek for help from France.' The substantive cachepol may be seen, in page 97, applied to St. Matthew's old trade. The verb catch is found for the first time with its Past Participle cauhte; this Mr. Wedgwood derives from the Picard cacher, meaning the same as chasser. There is hardly another instance of an English Verb, coming from the French, not ending with ed in the Past Participle.2 To put or pult, another dark word, is also met with; there is a Danish putten, but some point us to the French bouter, and to Celtic roots. It was long before put meant ponere as well as trudere.

This was first pointed out by Dr. Morris in the Athenæum.

2 Can cacher have got confounded with the Old English gelæccan, geleht, meaning the same?

The Norse skil (discretion) is first found at page 61; and the Norse cast (torquere) at page 47. At page 131 may be found our verb thrust, coming from the Norse prýsta : 'he to-pruste pa stelene gate.' At page 43, we see our smother (there called smorder), which is nearer related to the Low German of the mainland than to the Old English smorian. Siker, akin to securus,

now first appears.

We may often find an old pedigree for a word that is now reckoned slangy. We are told at page 15 that we ought to restrain the evil done by thieves; the verb used is wiðstewen, afterwards repeated in the Legend of St. Margaret. Hence comes the phrase, 'stow that nonsense;' this may be found in Scott and Dickens.1 Our verb lick, as used in polite society, can boast of the best of Teutonic pedigrees; as commonly used by schoolboys, it is but a corruption of the Welsh llachiaw (ferire). From this last may also come our flog, even as Lloyd and Floyd are due to one and the same source.

We may compare the Moral Ode of the date of these Homilies with its transcript a few years later. In this latter, W is much oftener employed for the old g or y in the middle of a word; as drawen, owen. Thanks to the corruption found in this last verb, we have two distinct forms for debeo: I owe money, and I ought to pay. The encroachment of w upon g or y may be remarked in another Southern work of about the same date, the Poem on the Soul and Body, printed from a Worcester manuscript by Sir Thomas Phillipps. In pages 2 and 6 of this work, we

' In Hard Times comes the phrase, 'Kidderminster, stow that;' i.e. be quiet.'