the reunion and visiting Slang. English officers, civilians, and their families, who have resided long in India, have contributed many terms from the Hindostanee to our language. Several of these, such as CHIT, a letter, or TIFFIN, lunch, are fast losing their Slang character, and becoming regularly-recognised English words. JUNGLE, as a term for a forest or wilderness, is now an English phrase; a few years past, however, it was merely the Hindostanee JUNKUL. The extension of trade in China, and the English settlement at Hong Kong, have introduced among us several examples of Canton Jargon, that exceedingly curious Anglo-Chinese dialect spoken in the seaports of the Celestial Empire. While these words have been carried as it were into the families of the upper and middle classes, persons in a humbler rank of life, through the sailors, soldiers, Lascar and Chinese beggars that haunt the metropolis, have also adopted many Anglo-Indian and Anglo-Chinese phrases. As this Dictionary would have been incomplete without them, they are all carefully recorded in its columns. Concerning the Slang of the fashionable world, a writer in Household Words curiously, but not altogether truthfully, remarks, that it is mostly imported from France; and that an unmeaning gibberish of Gallicisms runs through English fashionable conversation, and fashionable novels, and accounts of fashionable parties in the fashionable newspapers. Yet, ludicrously enough, immediately the fashionable magnates of England seize on any French idiom, the French themselves not only universally abandon it to us, but positively repudiate it altogether from their idiomatic vocabulary. If you were to tell a well-bred Frenchman that such and such an aristocratic marriage was on the tapis, he would stare with astonishment, and look down on the carpet in the startled endeavour to find a marriage in so unusual a place. If you were to talk to him of the beau monde, he would imagine you meant the world which God made, not half-a-dozen streets and squares between Hyde Park

The thé dansante* would be

Corner and Chelsea Bun House. completely inexplicable to him. If you were to point out to him the Dowager Lady Grimgriffin acting as chaperon to Lady Amanda Creamville, he would imagine you were referring to the petit Chaperon rouge-to little Red-Riding Hood. He might just understand what was meant by vis-à-vis, entremets, and some others of the flying horde of frivolous little foreign slangisms hovering about fashionable cookery and fashionable furniture; but three-fourths of them would seem to him as barbarous French provincialisms, or, at best, but as antiquated and obsolete expressions, picked out of the letters of Mademoiselle Scuderi, or the tales of Crebillon the "younger." Servants, too, appropriate the scraps of French conversation which fall from their masters' guests at the dinner table, and forthwith in the world of flunkeydom the word "know" is disused, and the lady'smaid, in doubt on a particular point, asks John whether or no he SAVEYS it?* What, too, can be more abominable than that heartless piece of fashionable newspaper Slang, regularly employed when speaking of the successful courtship of young people in the fashionable world :

MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. We understand that a marriage is

&c. &c.

ARRANGED (!) betwixt the Lady, &c. &c., and the Honourable,

ARRANGED! Is that cold-blooded Smithfield or Mark-Lane term for a sale or a purchase the proper word to express the hopeful, joyous, golden union of young and trustful hearts? Which is the proper way to pronounce the names of great people, and what the correct authority? Lord Cowper, we are often assured, is Lord Cooper—on this principle Lord Cowley would certainly be Lord Cooley and Mr Carew, we are told, should be Mr

* The writer is quite correct in instancing this piece of fashionable twaddle. The mongrel formation is exceedingly amusing to a polite Parisian.

+ Savez-vous cela?

Carey, Ponsonby should be Punsunby, Eyre should be Aire, Cholmondeley should be Chumley, St John Singen, Majoribanks Marshbanks, and Powell should always be Poel. I don't know that these lofty persons have as much cause to complain of the illiberality of fate in giving them disagreeable names as did the celebrated Psyche, (as she was termed by Tom Moore,) whose original name, through her husband, was Teague, but which was afterwards altered to Tighe. The pronunciation of proper names has long been an anomaly in the conversation of the upper classes of this country. Hodge and Podge, the clodhoppers of Shakspeare's time, talked in their mug-houses of the great Lords Darbie, Barkelie, and Bartie. In Pall Mall and May Fair these personages are spoken of in exactly the same manner at the present day, whilst in the City, and amongst the middle classes, we only hear of Derby, Berkley, &c., -the correct pronunciations, if the spelling is worth aught. A costermonger is ignorant of such a place as Birmingham, but understands you in a moment if you talk of Brummagem. Why do not Pall Mall join with the costermongers in this pronunciation? It is the ancient one.*

Parliamentary Slang, excepting a few peculiar terms connected with "the House," (scarcely Slang, I suppose,) is mainly composed of fashionable, literary, and learned Slang. When members, however, get excited, and wish to be forcible, they are often not very particular which of the street terms they select, providing it carries, as good old Dr South said, plenty of "wild-fire" in it. Sir Hugh Cairns very lately spoke of "that homely but expressive phrase, DODGE." Out of "the House," several Slang terms are used in connexion with Parliament or members of Parliament. If Lord Palmerston is known by name to the

* At page 24 of a curious old Civil-War tract, entitled, The Oxonian Antippodes, by I. B., Gent., 1644, the town is called BRUMMIDGHAM, and this was the general rendering in the printed literature of the seventeenth century.

tribes of the Caucasus and Asia Minor as a great foreign diplomatist, when the name of our Queen Victoria is an unknown title to the inhabitants of those parts-as was stated in the Times a short time ago—I have only to remark that amongst the costers and the wild inhabitants of the streets he is better known as PAM. I have often heard the cabmen on the "ranks" in Piccadilly remark of the late Chancellor of the Exchequer, when he has been going from his residence at Grosvenor Gate to Derby House in St James's Square, "Hollo, there! de yer see old DIZZY doing a stump?" A PLUMPER is a single vote at an election-not a SPLIT-TICKET; and electors who have occupied a house, no matter how small, and boiled a pot in it, thus qualifying themselves for voting, are termed POT-WALLOPERS. A quiet WALK OVER is a re-election without opposition and much cost. A CAUCUS meeting refers to the private assembling of politicians before an election, when candidates are chosen, and measures of action agreed upon. The term comes from America. A JOB, in political phraseology, is a government office or contract obtained by secret influence or favouritism. Only the other day the Times spoke of "the patriotic member of Parliament POTTED OUT in a dusty little lodging somewhere about Bury Street." The term QUOCKERWODGER, although referring to a wooden toy figure which jerks its limbs about when pulled by a string, has been supplemented with a political meaning. A pseudo-politician, one whose strings of action are pulled by somebody else, is now often termed a QUOCKERWODGER. The term RAT, too, in allusion to rats deserting vessels about to sink, has long been employed towards those turncoat politicians who change their party for interest. Who that occasionally passes near the Houses of Parliament has not often noticed stout or careful M.P.s walk briskly through the Hall, and on the curb-stone in front, with umbrella or walking cane uplifted, shout to the cabmen on the rank, FOUR-WHEELER! The term is a useful one, but I am afraid

we must consider it Slang, until it is stamped with the mint mark of lexicographical authority.*

Military, or Officers' Slang, is on a par, and of a character, with Dandy Slang. Inconvenient friends, or elderly and lecturing relatives, are pronounced DREADFUL BORES. Four-wheeled cabs are called BOUNDERS; and a member of the Four-in-hand Club, driving to Epsom on the Derby Day, would, using fashionable phraseology, speak of it as TOOLING HIS DRAG DOWN TO THE DERBY. A vehicle, if not a DRAG (or dwag) is a TRAP, or a CASK; and if the TURN OUT happens to be in other than a trim condition, it is pronounced at once as not DOWN THE ROAD. Your City swell would say it is not UP TO THE MARK; whilst the costermonger would call it WERY DICKEY. In the army a barrack or military station is known as a LOBSTER-BOX; to "cram " for an examination is to MUG-UP; to reject from the examination is to SPIN; and that part of the barrack occupied by subalterns is frequently spoken of as the ROOKERY. In dandy or swell Slang, any celebrity, from Paul Bedford, to the Pope of Rome, is a SWELL. Wrinkled-faced old professors, who hold dress and fashionable tailors in abhorrence, are called AWFUL SWELLS,—if they happen to be very learned or clever. I may remark that in this upper-class Slang, a title is termed a HANDLE; trousers, INEXPRESSIBLES; or, when of a large pattern, or the inflated Zouave cut, HOWLING BAGS; a superior appearance, EXTENSIVE; a four-wheeled cab, a BIRDCAGE; a dance, a HOP; dining at another man's table, "sitting under his MAHOGANY; anything flashy or showy, LOUD; the peculiar make or cut of a coat, its BUILD; full dress, FULL-FIG; wearing clothes which re

* From an early period politics and partyism have attracted unto themselves quaint Slang terms. Horace Walpole quotes a party nickname of February 1742, as a Slang word of the day:-"The Tories declare against any further prosecution, if Tories there are, for now one hears of nothing but the BROAD-BOTTOM; it is the reigning Cant word, and means the taking all parties and people, indifferently, into the Ministry." Thus BROAD-BOTTOM in those days was Slang for coalition.