 | Phœnixiana; or, Sketches and burlesques |  |
A NEW SYSTEM OF ENGLISH GRAMMAR.
I have often thought that the adjectives of the English language
were not sufficiently definite for the purposes of description.
They have but three degrees of comparison—a
very insufficient number, certainly, when we consider that
they are to be applied to a thousand objects, which, though
of the same general class or quality, differ from each other by
a thousand different shades or degrees of the same peculiarity.
Thus, though there are three hundred and sixty-five days in a
year, all of which must, from the nature of things, differ from
each other in the matter of climate,—we have but half a
dozen expressions to convey to one another our ideas of this
inequality. We say—“It is a fine day;” “It is a very fine
day;” “It is the finest day we have seen;” or, “It is an
unpleasant day;” “A very unpleasant day;” “The most
unpleasant day we ever saw.” But it is plain, that none of
these expressions give an exact idea of the nature of the day;
and the two superlative expressions are generally untrue. I
and (in the ordinary English language) indescribable day,
that it was “most preposterous weather.” He came nearer
to giving a correct idea of it, than he could have done by any
ordinary mode of expression; but his description was not
sufficiently definite.
Again:—we say of a lady—“She is beautiful;” “She is
very beautiful,” or “She is perfectly beautiful;”—descriptions,
which, to one who never saw her, are no descriptions
at all, for among thousands of women he has seen, probably
no two are equally beautiful; and as to a perfectly beautiful
woman, he knows that no such being was ever created—unless
by G. P. R. James, for one of the two horsemen to fall
in love with, and marry at the end of the second volume.
If I meet Smith in the street, and ask him—as I am
pretty sure to do—“How he does?” he infallibly replies—
“Tolerable, thank you”—which gives me no exact idea of
Smith's health—for he has made the same reply to me on a
hundred different occasions—on every one of which there
must have been some slight shade of difference in his physical
economy, and of course a corresponding change in his
feelings.
To a man of a mathematical turn of mind—to a student
and lover of the exact sciences these inaccuracies of expression—this
inability to understand exactly how things are,
must be a constant source of annoyance; and to one who,
like myself, unites this turn of mind to an ardent love of
truth, for its own sake—the reflection that the English
is peculiarly painful. For this reason I have, with
some trouble, made myself thoroughly acquainted with every
ancient and modern language, in the hope that I might find
some one of them that would enable me to express precisely
my ideas; but the same insufficiency of adjectives exist in
all except that of the Flathead Indians of Puget Sound,
which consists of but forty-six words, mostly nouns; but to
the constant use of which exists the objection, that nobody
but that tribe can understand it. And as their literary and
scientific advancement is not such as to make a residence
among them, for a man of my disposition, desirable, I have
abandoned the use of their language, in the belief that for
me it is hyas. cultus., or as the Spaniard hath it, no me vale
nada.
Despairing, therefore, of making new discoveries in
foreign languages, I have set myself seriously to work to
reform our own; and have, I think, made an important discovery,
which, when developed into a system and universally
adopted, will give a precision of expression, and a consequent
clearness of idea, that will leave little to be desired, and will,
I modestly hope, immortalize my humble name as the promulgator
of the truth and the benefactor of the human
race.
Before entering upon my system I will give you an account
of its discovery (which, perhaps I might with more
modesty term an adaptation and enlargement of the idea of
another), which will surprise you by its simplicity, and like
of printing, gunpowder and the mariner's compass—
prove another exemplification of the truth of Hannah More's
beautifully expressed sentiment:
Large aches from little toe-corns grow.”
During the past week my attention was attracted by a
large placard embellishing the corners of our streets, headed
in mighty capitals, with the word “Phrenology,” and illustrated
by a map of a man's head, closely shaven, and laid off
in lots, duly numbered from one to forty-seven. Beneath
this edifying illustration appeared a legend, informing the
inhabitants of San Diego and vicinity that Professor Dodge
had arrived, and taken rooms (which was inaccurate, as he
had but one room) at the Gyascutus House, where he would
be happy to examine and furnish them with a chart of their
heads, showing the moral and intellectual endowments, at
the low price of three dollars each.
Always gratified with an opportunity of spending my
money and making scientific researches, I immediately had
my hair cut and carefully combed, and hastened to present
myself and my head to the Professor's notice. I found him
a tall and thin Professor, in a suit of rusty, not to say seedy
black, with a closely buttoned vest, and no perceptible shirt-collar
or wristbands. His nose was red, his spectacles were
blue, and he wore a brown wig, beneath which, as I subsequently
ascertained, his bald head was laid off in lots, marked
upon his advertisement. Upon a small table lay many
little books with yellow covers, several of the placards, pen
and ink, a pair of iron callipers with brass knobs, and six
dollars in silver. Having explained the object of my visit,
and increased the pile of silver by six half-dollars from my
pocket—whereat he smiled, and I observed he wore false
teeth—(scientific men always do; they love to encourage
art) the Professor placed me in a chair, and rapidly manipulating
my head, after the manner of a sham pooh (I am
not certain as to the orthography of this expression), said
that my temperament was “lymphatic, nervous, bilious.”
I remarked that “I thought myself dyspeptic,” but he made
no reply. Then seizing on the callipers, he embraced with
them my head in various places, and made notes upon a
small card that lay near him on the table. He then stated
that my “hair was getting very thin on the top,” placed in my
hand one of the yellow-covered books, which I found to be
an almanac containing anecdotes about the virtues of Dodge's
Hair Invigorator, and recommending it to my perusal, he
remarked that he was agent for the sale of this wonderful
fluid, and urged me to purchase a bottle—price two dollars.
Stating my willingness to do so, the Professor produced it
from a hair trunk that stood in a corner of the room, which
he stated, by the way, was originally an ordinary pine box,
on which the hair had grown since “the Invigorator” had
been placed in it—(a singular fact) and recommended me to
be cautious in wearing gloves while rubbing it upon my head,
from the ends of the fingers, if used with the bare hand. He
then seated himself at the table, and rapidly filling up what
appeared to me a blank certificate, he soon handed over the
following singular document.
“Phrenological Chart of the head of M. John Phœnix, by
Flatbroke B. Dodge, Professor of Phrenology, and inventor and
proprietor of Dodge's celebrated Hair Invigorator, Stimulator of
the Conscience, and Arouser of the Mental Faculties:
Temperament,—Lymphathic, Nervous, Bilious.
| Size of Head, 11. | Imitation, 11. |
| Amativeness, 11½. | Self-Esteem, ½. |
| Caution, 3. | Benevolence, 12. |
| Combativeness, 2½. | Mirth, 1. |
| Credulity, 1. | Language, 12. |
| Causality, 12. | Firmness, 2. |
| Conscientiousness, 12. | Veneration, 12. |
| Destructiveness, 9. | Philoprogenitiveness, 0. |
| Hope, 10.” |
Having gazed on this for a few moments in mute astonishment—during
which the Professor took a glass of brandy
and water, and afterwards a mouthful of tobacco—It turned
to him and requested an explanation.
“Why,” said he, “it's very simple; the number 12 is the
maximum, 1 the minimum; for instance, you are as benevolent
as a man can be—therefore I mark you, Benevolence, 12.
You have little or no self-esteem—hence I place you, Self-esteem,
½. You've scarcely any credulity—don't you see?”
I did see! This was my discovery. I saw at a flash
how the English language was susceptible of improvement,
and, fired with the glorious idea, I rushed from the room and
buy more of his Invigorator; heedless of his alarmed cry that
I would pay for the bottle I'd got; heedless that I tripped
on the last step of the Gyascutus House, and smashed there
the precious fluid (the step has now a growth of four inches
of hair on it, and the people use it as a door-mat); I rushed
home, and never grew calm till with pen, ink and paper before
me, I commenced the development of my system.
This system—shall I say this great system—is exceedingly
simple, and easily explained in a few words. In the first
place, “figures won't lie.” Let us then represent by the
number 100, the maximum, the ne plus ultra of every human
quality—grace, beauty, courage, strength, wisdom, learning—
every thing. Let perfection, I say, be represented by 100,
and an absolute minimum of all qualities by the number 1.
Then by applying the numbers between, to the adjectives
used in conversation, we shall be able to arrive at a very
close approximation to the idea we wish to convey; in other
words, we shall be enabled to speak the truth. Glorious, soul-inspiring
idea! For instance, the most ordinary question
asked of you is, “How do you do?” To this, instead of replying,
“Pretty well,” “Very well,” “Quite well,” or the
like absurdities—after running through your mind that perfection
of health is 100, no health at all, 1—you say, with a
graceful bow, “Thank you, I'm 52 to day;” or, feeling poorly,
“I'm 13, I'm obliged to you,” or “I'm 68,” or “75,” or
“87½,” as the case may be! Do you see how very close in
this way you may approximate to the truth; and how clearly
to arrive at—your exact state of health?
Let this system be adopted into our elements of grammar,
our conversation, our literature, and we become at once an
exact, precise, mathematical, truth-telling people. It will
apply to every thing but politics; there, truth being of no
account, the system is useless. But in literature, how admirable!
Take an example:
As a 19 young and 76 beautiful lady was 52 gaily tripping
down the sidewalk of our 84 frequented street, she accidently
come in contact—100 (this shows that she came in
close contact) with a 73 fat, but 87 good-humored looking
gentleman, who was 93 (i. e. intently) gazing into the window
of a toy-shop. Gracefully 56 extricating herself, she received
the excuses of the 96 embarrassed Falstaff with a 68
bland smile, and continued on her way. But hardly—7—had
she reached the corner of the block, ere she was overtaken
by a 24 young man, 32 poorly dressed, but of an 85 expression
of countenance; 91 hastily touching her 54 beautifully
rounded arm, he said, to her 67 surprise—
“Madam, at the window of the toy-shop yonder, you
dropped this bracelet, which I had the 71 good fortune to
observe, and now have the 94 happiness to hand to you.”
Of course the expression “94 happiness” is merely the young
man's polite hyperbole.)
Blushing with 76 modesty, the lovely (76, as before, of
course), lady took the bracelet—which was a 24 magnificent
diamond clasp—(24 magnificent, playfully sarcastic; it was
84 hesitatingly drew from her beautifully 38 embroidered reticule
a 67 port-monnaie. The young man noticed the action,
and 73 proudly drawing back, added—
“Do not thank me; the pleasure of gazing for an instant
at those 100 eyes (perhaps too exaggerated a compliment),
has already more than compensated me for any trouble that
I might have had.”
She thanked him, however, and with a 67 deep blush and
a 48 pensive air, turned from him, and pursued with a 33 slow
step her promenade.
Of course you see that this is but the commencement of
a pretty little tale, which I might throw off, if I had a mind
to, showing in two volumes, or forty-eight chapters of thrilling
interest, how the young man sought the girl's acquaintance,
how the interest first excited, deepened into love, how
they suffered much from the opposition of parents (her
parents of course), and how, after much trouble, annoyance,
and many perilous adventures, they were finally married—
their happiness, of course, being represented by 100. But I
trust that I have said enough to recommend my system to
the good and truthful of the literary world; and besides, just
at present I have something of more immediate importance to
attend to.
You would hardly believe it, but that everlasting (100)
scamp of a Professor has brought a suit against me for stealing
a bottle of his disgusting Invigorator; and as the suit
comes off before a Justice of the Peace, whose only principle
thinks has any money—(because if he don't he has to take
his costs in County Scrip,) it behooves me to “take time by
the fore-lock.” So, for the present, adieu. Should my system
succeed to the extent of my hopes and expectations, I
shall publish my new grammar early in the ensuing month,
with suitable dedication and preface; and should you, with
your well known liberality, publish my prospectus, and give
me a handsome literary notice, I shall be pleased to furnish
a presentation copy to each of the little Pioneer children.
P. S. I regret to add that having just read this article
to Mrs. Phœnix, and asked her opinion thereon, she replied,
that “if a first-rate magazine article were represented by 100,
she should judge this to be about 13; or if the quintessence
of stupidity were 100, she should take this to be in the
neighborhood of 96.” This, as a criticism, is perhaps a little
discouraging, but as an exemplification of the merits of my
system it is exceedingly flattering. How could she, I should
like to know, in ordinary language, have given so exact and
truthful an idea—how expressed so forcibly her opinion
(which, of course, differs from mine) on the subject?
As Dr. Samuel Johnson learnedly remarked to James
Boswell, Laird of Auchinleck, on a certain occasion—
“Sir, the proof of the pudding is in the eating thereof.”
| Phœnixiana; or, Sketches and burlesques | |