Deformities of Samuel Johnson, Selected from his Works Part 5

HEAR THE DOCTOR ON MUSIC.

Music. '1. The science of _harmonical_ sounds. 2. Instrumental, or vocal _harmony_.' Harmony. 'Just proportion of sound.' Melody. 'Music; _harmony_ of sound.' Tune. '_Tune_ is a diversity of notes put together.' _Locke_, _Milton_, _Dryden_. Tenour, _s._ 'A _sound_ in music.'

One requires little skill in music to see that the Doctor knows nothing of that science. He confounds _melody_ with _harmony_; the one consisting in a succession of agreeable sounds, and the other arising from coexisting sounds. His account of a _tune_ is curious. And we may say in his own stile, that his dictionary is 'a diversity of _words_ put together.' His numerous omissions on this head will neither afflict, nor surprise us; but we must be mortified and amazed to reflect on the partial and injurious distribution of fame. For his book exhibits in every page, perhaps without a single exception, a variety of errors and absurdities. They are clear to the darkest ignorance. They are level to the lowest understanding, and yet our language is exhausted in praise of _their_ author. _p.r.o.nis animis audiendum!_

Poem. 'The work of a poet; a _metrical_ composition.' Poet. 'An inventor; an author of fiction; a writer of poems; one who writes in measure.' Poetess. 'A _she_ poet.' Poetry. '_Metrical_ composition; the art or practice of writing poems. 2. Poems, poetical pieces.' _To circ.u.mscribe poetry by a_ DEFINITION _will only shew the narrowness of the definer_[123]. Tragedy. 'A dramatic representation of a _serious_ action.' Comedy. 'A dramatic representation of the _lighter faults_ of mankind.' Eclogue. 'A pastoral poem, so called, because Virgil called his pastorals eclogues.' Tragic-comedy. 'A drama compounded of _merry_ and _serious_ events.' Farce. 'A dramatic representation written _without_ regularity.' Elegy. '1. A mournful song. 2. A funeral song. 3.

A short poem, without points or turns.' Idyl. 'A small short poem.'

Epigram. 'A short poem terminating in a _point_.' Epic, _a._ 'Narrative; comprising narrations, not acted, but rehea.r.s.ed. It is usually supposed to be heroic.' Epistle. 'A letter;' and a letter again is 'an epistle.'

Ode. 'A poem written to be _sung_ to music; a lyric poem.' Ballad. 'A song.' Song. 'A poem to be _modulated_ by the voice.' Catch. 'A song sung in _succession_.'

I believe that Dr Johnson has written better verses than any man now alive in England. He is said to be the first critic in that country, and therefore we had the highest reason to expect elegant entertainment and philosophical instruction, when the poet and critic was to speak in his own character.

But here, as in the rest of this work, the native vigour of his mind seems entirely to leave him. We look around us in vain for the well known hand of the Rambler, for the sensible and feeling historian of Savage, the caustic and elegant imitator of Juvenal, the man of learning, and taste, and genius. The reader's eye is repelled from the Doctor's pages, by their hopeless sterility, and their horrid nakedness.

Most of the definitions in this work may be divided into three cla.s.ses; the erroneous, oenigmatical, and superfluous. And of the nineteen last quoted, every one comes under some, or all of these heads.

A poem is said to be the work of a _poet_: And so were Dryden's prefaces. Again it is _a metrical composition_. No age had ever a greater profusion of rhimes than the present. In Oxford there are two thousand persons all of whom can occasionally make verses. Yet in this abundance of _metrical composition_, we have very few poems.

A poet is--1. '_An inventor_,' but so was Tubal Cain. 2. '_An author of fiction_,' but so was Des Cartes. 3. '_A writer of poems_;' but as he has not been able to point out what a poem is, the definition goes for nothing. 4. 'One who writes _in measure_.' But in Cowley's life, the Doctor himself speaks of men, who thought they were writing _poetry_, when they were only writing _verses_. We are still exactly where we set out.

The third definition is superfluous, and the fourth is very clumsy. The fifth and sixth are still worse, for comedy[124] is frequently very _serious_ and tender, as well as tragedy; and that again represents the _lighter_ faults of mankind, as well as comedy. By the way, what are these _lighter_ faults, which our comedy is said to represent. In our comic scenes, adultery, and profaneness, appear to be the chief pulse of merriment. What the Doctor says of a farce is not true, nor is elegy _always_ mournful[125]. What can he mean by a poem without points or turns? An Idyll is a small short poem. An Epigram is a _short_ poem; but so is an Epitaph, or a Sonnet, and often an Ode, a Fable, &c. An Epigram terminates in a _point_. Wonderful! Of the rest of these definitions, the reader will determine whether they be not every one of them pitiful; and if it was possible for the Doctor, or any other man, to convey _less_ information, on so plain a subject.

'In comparing this with other dictionaries of the same kind, it will be found that the senses of each word are more _copiously_ enumerated, and more _clearly_ explained[126].'

Of his _clear_ and _copious_ explanations, here is an additional specimen.

Beast. 'An animal distinguished from birds, insects, fishes, and man.'

It is also distinguished from _reptiles_, though the Doctor cannot tell us _how_. A Reptile is (but sometimes only) '_An animal that creeps upon many feet_.' A Snail is 'A slimy animal that creeps upon plants.' Many animals creep on plants besides a Snail. He dare not venture to say that a Snail is _a Reptile_, for he had said that a Reptile creeps upon many feet, and a Snail has none. Locke is quoted to prove that a _Bird_ is a _fowl_, and we are edified by hearing that a _fowl_ is a '_bird_, or a _winged_ animal.' But this may be the b.u.t.terfly, the bat, or the flying fish. He should have said a _feathered_ animal. We are informed from Creech and Shakespeare, that a fish is _an animal that inhabits the water_. But besides amphibious animals, from the crocodile down to the water-mouse, we have seen _Erucae Aquaticae_, or Water Caterpillars, which are truly aquatic animals, yet are perfectly different from all fish.

Insects are 'so called from a separation in the middle of their bodies, whereby they they are cut into two parts, which are joined together by a small ligature, as we see in common flies.'

_Quere._ How many insects answer this description?

Dr. Johnson had certainly no great occasion to quote Peacham and Swift before he durst tell us, (as he does) that a _Lily_ is a _flower_, and _Posteriors_ the _hinder_ parts. He forgot to introduce the Dean when affirming, that a T----d is _excrement_; but both Pope and Swift (among others) are cited for P--ss and F--t.

His learning and his ignorance amaze us in every page. Pox are, '1.

_Pustules_; _efflorescencies_; _exanthematous_ eruptions. 2. The venereal disease.' A particular species of it _only_. The first part of this _clear_ explanation would puzzle every old woman in England, though most of them know more of small pox than the Rambler himself.

Day. '1. The time between the rising and the setting of the sun, called the _artificial_ day. 2. The time from noon to noon, called the _natural_ day.' Natural. 'What is produced by nature,' therefore as the day from sunrise to sunset is 'produced by nature,' _that_, and that only, must be the _natural_ day. Artificial. 'Made by _art_, not natural, fict.i.tious, not genuine.' The day from noon to noon is certainly _not_ natural, and of consequence, _that_, and that only, must be the _artificial_ day.

Night is, '1. The time of darkness. 2. The time between sunset, and sunrise.' When the Doctor acquires the first elements of geography, he will learn, that in no climate of the world is the time between sunset and sunrise all of it a time of _darkness_. Even at the equator, night does not succeed till half an hour after sunset. If he has ever seen the sun rise here, he must also have seen that we have always day light long before the sun appears. In June our nights are never entirely dark.

Neither is _night_, when it really comes on, constantly the 'time of darkness,' for the Doctor may frequently see to read his own mistakes by moonshine. Of this profound period, the first part contradicts the second, and every body sees the absurdity of both. What are we to think of such a definer of 'scientific terms,' when his errors have not even the negative merit of consistency.

s...o...b..oth, _s._ (_snow_ and _broth_) 'very cold liquor.' And Shakespeare is quoted; but when the poet said[127] that the blood of an old courtier was as cold as _s...o...b..oth_, he meant _melted snow_. Now it is somewhat odd that every body can see Shakespeare's idea exactly, except this learned commentator. Lion. 'The fiercest and most magnanimous of four-footed beasts.' But fierceness cannot consist with magnanimity[128]. Other animals exceed the Lion in fierceness; and a Horse, an Elephant, or a Dog, equal his magnanimity. This definition contains nothing but a glaring contradiction, of which neither end is true! Thunder 'Thunder is a most _bright flame_ rising on a sudden, moving with great violence, and with a very _rapid_ velocity, through the air, _according_ to any determination, and commonly ending with a loud noise or rattling.' _Shakespeare._ _Milton._

It is needless to say that the learned and ingenious Pensioner has confounded thunder with lightning. The inelegance and tautology of this definition I pa.s.s by; but why should he profane the names of Milton and Shakespeare to support such monstrous nonsense?

Stone. 'Stones are bodies insipid, hard, not _ductile_ or _malleable_, nor _soluble_ in water.' This definition answers wood, or gla.s.s, or the bones of an animal. One. 'Less than two; single; denoted by an unit.'

_Raleigh._

Without consulting Raleigh, we know that a man may have 'less than _two_' guineas in his pocket, and yet have more than _one_. But still we are not sure, that he has even a single farthing. One is _single_, but we are only where we started, for _single_ (_more Lexiphanico_) is '_one_, not double; not more than one.' The matter is little mended, when he subjoins that one is _that which is expressed by an unit_, for this may be the numerator of _any_ fraction. Take his book to pieces, put it into the scales of common sense, and see how it kicks the beam.

A circle is, '1. A line continued till it ends where it began. 2. The s.p.a.ce inclosed in a _circular_ line. 3. A round body, an orb.'

The first of these definitions does not distinguish a circle from a triangle, or any other plain figure. He might have found a circle properly defined in Euclid, and a hundred other books. What are we to think of the rest of his mathematical definitions? Well, but he clears up this point, for a circle is 'the _s.p.a.ce inclosed_ in a _circular_ line,' The third definition is no less erroneous than the second, for if a man were to mention the circle of the earth, we could not suspect that he meant the globe itself.

Botany and the electrical fluid, are not inserted. Electricity he terms _a property_ in bodies. From this expression, and from all he says on the subject, we can ascertain his ignorance of that most curious and important branch of natural philosophy. _Electricity_ in general signifies 'the operations of a very subtile fluid, commonly invisible, but sometimes the object of our sight and other senses. It is one of the chief agents employed in producing the phaenomena of nature.' Its ident.i.ty with lightning was discovered in 1752, three years before the publication of Dr. Johnson's folio dictionary. For the author then to talk of it as 'a _peculiar_ property, supposed once to belong chiefly to amber,' is shameful. It shews us the depth of his learning, and the degree of attention which he thought proper to bestow on his _great_ work.

Elasticity. 'Force in bodies, by which they endeavour to _restore_ themselves.' To what? To their former figure, after some external pressure? And without adding some words like these the definition conveys no meaning.

Of Water, we get a very long winded account, which neither Dr. Johnson nor any body else can comprehend, for he sinks into mere jargon. Canst thou conceive (gentle reader) what are 'small, _smooth_, hard, _porous_, spherical particles' of water! _Water_, says Newton, 'is a fluid tasteless salt, which nature changes by heat, into vapour, and by cold into ice, which is a hard fusible brittle stone, and this stone returns into water by heat[129].' Boerhaave calls water, 'a kind of gla.s.s that melts at a heat any thing greater than 32 degrees of Farenheit's thermometer. The boundary between water and ice[130].'

Claw. 'The _foot_ of a beast or bird armed with sharp nails.' Nail. 'The talons of birds or beasts.' Talon. 'The claw of a bird of prey.' _Dict.

4th edit._

Here a _nail_ is _talons_; Talons are a _claw_; and a claw is said to be a _foot_ (alias a _nail_) armed with _nails_. The quotations are literal and complete. The words are all plain English. And if you cannot comprehend _a nail armed with nails_, wait upon Dr. Johnson, and perhaps he will explain it.

Legion. 'A body of Roman soldiers, consisting of about _five_ thousand.'

This is not accurate. The number of men in a Roman legion rose by degrees from about 3200 to about 7000.

Decemvirate. 'The dignity and office of the _ten_ governors of Rome.'

Tribune. 'An officer of Rome chosen by the people.' Censor. 'An officer of Rome, who had the power of correcting manners.' Consul. 'The chief magistrate in the Roman republic.'

Wherein did the Decemviri differ from the King, the Consul, the Dictator, the Triumvir, the Military Tribune, the Caesar, and the Emperor, for all these were likewise 'Governors of Rome?' The Decemviri were also an inferior set of men appointed to take care of the Sybil's books, to conduct colonies, &c. So that this definition is very incompleat. A Tribune was 'chosen by the people.' But this does not distinguish him from many other magistrates. The Censor had 'the power of correcting manners;' but he had other powers beside that, and every magistrate had that power as well as he, though it was a province more peculiarly his. The Censor is an officer still known in Venice, and in countries where the liberty and abuse of the press are unknown, the licensers of books are called Censors, though the Doctor does not give us these two explanations of the word. A Consul is 'the chief magistrate in the Roman republic.' He was a magistrate long after the republic was dissolved; for Caligula made his horse a Consul! But tho' the Consul was commonly _one_ of the chief magistrates in Rome, he was never the _chief_, as the Doctor roundly expresses it, for he had always a colleague. The Censor was at least his equal, and the Dictator was by law his superior. What we learn of the Centurion, the Triumvir, and the Lictor, is very trifling. Innumerable words which puzzle the plain reader of a Roman historian are wanting, such as an aedile, a Praetor, a Quaestor, a Caesar, a Military Tribune, the Hastati, Principes, Triarii, Velites, the Labarum, or Imperial Standard, the Balistae, the Balearians, &c. A _Maniple_ is 'a small band of soldiers.' And a Cohort is 'a troop of soldiers, containing about 500 foot.' A Cohort was in general the tenth part of the foot in a Roman Legion, consequently their number varied, and the Praetorian Cohort, or that to which the standard was intrusted, contained, at least in latter ages, many more men than any of the rest. But in the very page where this concise author thus blunders about a Cohort, he takes care to tell us, that _Coition_, is _copulation_; _the act of generation_. That cold is '_not hot_, not warm, chill, having sense of cold, having cold qualities.' That _coldly_ is '_without heat_.' that coldness is '_want of heat_;' and a heap of similar jargon. Blot. 'A blur.' Blur. 'A blot.'

The Doctor's admirers will answer, that in so large a work there was no room for full definitions. I reply, that his account of Whipgrafting, of Will-with-a-Wisp, of a Wood-louse, and of the Stool of Repentance, are very full; that if he was to say no more of a Roman Consul, he should have said nothing at all; but that there are other books of the same kind, and of half the price too, which find room for copious and useful definitions. Pardon's dictionary is not much less than the Doctor's octavo, though its price is only six shillings; (7th edition) and of many useful articles, such as the Roman Legion, there is a very clear and full explanation. Besides which, it contains a description of the counties, the cities, and the market towns in England; and in the end of the book there is inserted a list of near 7000 proper names, none of which are to be found in the Doctor's dictionary. With what then has Dr.

Johnson filled his book? With words of his own coining, with roots, and authorities often ridiculous, and always useless; or with definitions impertinent and erroneous. A Bashaw he calls 'the viceroy of a province;' and he might as well have said that every man in England is six feet high. A Condoler is 'one who _compliments_ another upon his misfortunes.'

From the Rambler's _accurate_ and _profound_ knowledge of anatomy, we must form very high expectations as to his knowledge of medicine, and we are not disappointed; for ARTHRITIS is 'the Gout' and the GOUT is 'Arthritis; a _periodical_ disease attended with great pain.' The first part of this definition is not true; and the second will not distinguish the Gout from the Gravel, the Tooth-ach, &c. &c. GRAVEL is 'sandy matter concreted in the kidneys,' and as often in the bladder too. His account of a Gonnorhoea is no less incomplete. A _Headach_ is 'a pain in the head.' _Jaundice_ is 'a distemper from obstructions of the glands of the liver, which prevent the gall being duly separated from the blood.' The Doctor seems to have borrowed his system of anatomy from the antients; for the moderns have discovered that the liver (which he ingeniously calls 'one of the entrails') is itself an indivisible gland. The Jaundice arises from an obstruction in the biliary ducts. Tympany is 'a kind of obstructed _flatulence_, that swells the body like a drum.'

_Flatulence_ is not inserted; but Flatulency is said to be 'windiness; fulness of wind.' And what does he mean by an obstructed fullness of wind, or by his elegant simile of a drum? His descriptions of the Rickets, Rupture, Rheumatism, Scrophula, Dropsy, Scurvy, &c. are equally perspicuous and perfect. The Doctor had no great occasion to attest, that '_the_ English dictionary was written with little a.s.sistance of the _learned_[131].' For in almost every department of learning, from astronomy down to the first principles of grammar, his ignorance seems amazing. His book is a ma.s.s of words without ideas. Through the whole there runs a radical corruption of truth and common sense. It is most astonishing that the _Idler_ has hardly ever been attacked in this quarter by any of his innumerable invidious and inveterate enemies.

I antic.i.p.ate the answer of his admirers, viz. That 'the _nature_ of his work did not admit of a copious explanation for every word.' But let them first tell why he gave such a strange jumble of quotations, to support a word of which he himself knows not the meaning, and are we to be told that the _nature_ of _any_ work whatever, can ent.i.tle its author to write nonsense, or to write on a subject of which he knows nothing.

Indeed the Doctor himself has repeatedly declared, that his book is deformed by a profusion of errors, and those who decline to credit my a.s.sertion, ought, PERHAPS, to credit _his own_. He says, 'I cannot hope, in the warmest moments to preserve so much caution through so long a work, as not OFTEN _to sink into negligence_, or to obtain so much knowledge of all its parts as not FREQUENTLY _to fail by ignorance_. I expect that sometimes the desire of accuracy will urge me to superfluities, and sometimes the fear of prolixity betray me to _omissions_; that in the extent of such variety, I shall be OFTEN _bewildered_, and in the mazes of such _intricacy_[132], be _frequently entangled_, &c.[133]' Here is a beautiful confession, which he afterwards recants: for 'despondency has never so far prevailed, as to depress me to _negligence_,' &c.[134] But his recantation is in effect immediately _re-recanted_, and we are informed, 'That a few _wild blunders_, and RISIBLE _absurdities_, from which no work of such multiplicity was ever free, _may_ for a time furnish folly with laughter, and harden ignorance into contempt[135].' That this distrust of his own merit did not arise from want of pride or vanity we discover within a few lines: For 'in this work' (_the_ English dictionary, as its author modestly terms it) 'when it shall be found that _much is omitted_, let it not be forgotten that _much_ likewise _is performed_.

If our language is not here fully displayed, I have only failed in an attempt, which no human powers have hitherto completed.--I may surely be contented without the praise of perfection, which _if_ I could obtain, in this gloom of solitude' (_London_, or its neighbourhood) 'what would it avail me[136]?' And again, 'I have devoted this book, the labour of years, to the honour of my country[137].' _Item._ 'I cannot but have some degree of parental fondness.' But after all this parental fondness, this zeal for the honour of his country, the Doctor's extraordinary preface concludes in perhaps the most extraordinary language that ever flowed from an author's pen. 'Success and miscarriage are _empty sounds_, I therefore dismiss it' (his dictionary) 'with frigid tranquillity, having little to fear or _hope_ from censure, or from praise.' All this is surely despicable. The booksellers had paid their workman on the nail, or the Doctor would have had something to hope and fear. But an honest and sensible tradesman, though paid before-hand, will always wish and endeavour to please his employers. From this writer's own words, it would appear that he is incapable of a sentiment so generous.

Bawd 'A Procurer, or Procuress.' To bawd, _v. n._ 'To procure.' Bawdily (from _bawdy_) 'obscenely.' Bawdiness (from _bawdy_) 'obsceneness.'

Bawdry, _s._ '1. A wicked practise of procuring and bringing wh.o.r.es and _rogues_ together. 2. Obscenity.' Bawdy, _a._ (from _bawdy_) 'Obscene, unchaste.' Bawdyhouse. 'A house where traffic is made by wickedness and debauchery.' Baggage. 'A worthless woman.' b.i.t.c.h. '1. The female of the _canine_ kind. 2. A name of reproach for a woman.' Blackguard[138]. 'A dirty fellow.' Block. 'A Blockhead.' Blockhead. 'A stupid fellow; a dolt; a man without parts,' Blunderer. 'A blockhead.' Blockhead 'A stupid fellow' Bloodletter. '_A Phlebotomist._' Suds. '_A Lixivium_ of soap and water.' Sun. 'The luminary that makes the day.'

_The_ English dictionary is prodigiously defective--_Nervi desunt._ It has no force of thought. This wilderness of words displays a mind, patient, but almost incapable of reasoning; ignorant, but oppressed by a load of frivolous ideas; proud of its own powers, but languishing in the last stage of hopeless debility. We have long extolled it with the wildest luxuriance of adulation, and we pretend to despise the worshippers of _the golden calf_.

No man has done more honour to England, than Mr Locke. What would he have said or thought, had Dr Johnson's dictionary been published in his days? We can easily determine his opinion from several pa.s.sages in his works. I select the following, because it is both short and decisive; and he who feels any respect for Mr Locke will retain little for the author of the Rambler. His words are these: 'If any one asks _what this solidity is_[139], I send him to his senses to inform him. Let him put a flint, or a football between his hands, and then endeavour to join them _and he will know_. If he thinks this not a sufficient explication of _solidity_, what it is, and wherein it consists, I promise to tell him, what it is, and wherein it consists, when he tells me, what _thinking_ is, or wherein it consists, or explains to me what _extension_ or _motion_ is, which perhaps seems much easier. The simple ideas we have are such as experience teaches them us; but _if, beyond that, we endeavour by words to make them clearer_ in the mind, we shall succeed no better, than if we went about to clear up the darkness of a blind man's mind by talking, and discourse into him the ideas of light and colours[140].'

In the t.i.tle page of his octavo, we learn, that 'the words are deduced from their originals.' And in the preface, he adds, that 'the etymologies and derivations, whether from foreign languages or native roots, are more diligently traced, and more distinctly noted, than in other dictionaries of the same kind.' Mr Whitaker a.s.sures us that in this single article the Doctor has committed upwards of _three thousand_ errors: And the historical pioneer produces abundant evidence in support of his a.s.sertion[141]. But independent of this curious circ.u.mstance, let us ask the Doctor what he means by crouding such trifles into an abstract, which is, he says, intended for those who are 'to gain degrees of knowledge suitable to lower characters, or necessary to the common business of life.' To tell such people, that the word _porridgepot_ is compounded of _porridge_, and _pot_, is to insult their understandings; and of his Greek and Saxon roots, not one individual in a thousand can read even a single letter. The preface commences with a pitiful untruth.

Having mentioned the publication of his folio dictionary, he subjoins, 'it has _since_ been considered that works of that kind are by no means necessary for the bulk of readers.' Here he would insinuate that the _abstract_ was an _after-thought_: But every body sees, that its publication was delayed, only to accelerate the sale of his folio dictionary. There is not room now left, to dissect every sentence in the preface to his octavo. I shall therefore conclude that subject with one particular, wherein the Doctor's taste, learning, and genius, blaze in their meridian.

In the t.i.tle page to his octavo dictionary, we are informed, that the words are 'authorised by the names of the writers in whose works they are found.' And this tale is repeated at greater length in the preface, where 'it will be found that truth requires him to say less[142]': For under letter A only, there are between four and five hundred words, for which the _Idler_ has not a.s.signed any authority--and of these one hundred and eighty are to be found in no language under heaven. He boasts indeed that his dictionary 'contains many words not to be found in any other.' But it also contains many words, not to be found at all in any other book. If we compute that letter A has a thirteenth part of these _recruits_, we shall find that the whole number scattered through his compilation exceeds two thousand. A purchaser of his _abstract_ has a t.i.tle to ask the Doctor, why the work is loaded with such a profusion of trash, which serves only to testify the folly of him who collected or created it. Men of eminent learning have been consulted, who disown all acquaintance (in English) with most articles in the following list:

Abacus, Abandonement, Abarticulation, Abcedarian, Abcedary, Aberrant, Aberuncate, Abject, _v. a._ Ablactate, Ablactation, Ablation, Ablegate, Ablegation, Ablepsy, Abluent, Abrasion, Abscissa, Absinthiated, Abitention, Absterge, Accessariness, Accidentalness, Accipient, Acclivious, Accolent, Accompanable, Accroach, Accustomarily, Acroamatical, Acronycal, Acroters, or Acroteria, Acuate, Aculerate, Addulce, Addenography, Ademption, Adiaphory, Adject.i.tious, _Adition_, Abstergent, Acceptilation, Adjugate, Adjument, Adjunction, Adjunctive, Adjutor, Adjutory, Adjuvant, Adjuvate, Admensuration, Adminicle, Adminicular, Admix, Admonishment, _Admurmuration_, Adscit.i.tious, Adstriction, Advesperate, Adulator, Adulterant, Adulterine, Adumbrant, Advolation, Advolution, Adustible, Aerology, Aeromancy, Aerometry, Aeroscopy, Affabrous, Affectuous, Affixion, Afflation, Afflatus, Agglomerate, Agnation, Agnition, Agreeingness, Alate, Abb, Alegar, Alligate, Alligation, Allocution, Amalgmate, Amandation, Ambidexterity, Ambilogy, Ambiloquous, Ambry, Ambustion, Amende, Amercer, Amethodical, _Amphibological_, _Amphibologically_, Amphisch, Amplificate, Amygdalate, Amygdaline, Anacamptick, Anacampticks, _Anaclacticks_, Anadiplosis, Anagogetical, Anagrammatize, Anamorphosis, Anaphora, Anastomosis, Anastrope, Anathematical, Androgynal, Androgynally, Androgynus, Anemography, Anemometer, _Anfractuousness_, Angelicalness, _Angiomonospermous_, Angularity, Angularness, Anhelation, Aniented, Anileness, Anility, Animative, Annumerate, Annumeration, Annunciate, Anomalously, Ansated, Antaphroditick, Antapoplectick, Antarthritick, Antasthmatick, Anteact, Auscultation, Antemundane, Antepenult, Antepredicament, Anthology, Anthroposophy, Anthypnotick, Antichristianity, Auxiliation, Antinephritick, Antinomy, Antiquatedness, Apert, Apertly, Aphilanthrophy, Aphrodisiacal, Aphrodosiack, Apocope, Apocryphalness, Apomecometry, Appellatory, Apsis, Aptate, Aptote, Aqua, Aquatile, Aqueousness, Aquose, Aquosity, Araignee, Aratory, Arbuscle, Archchanter, Archaiology, Archailogick, Archeus, Arcuation, Arenose, Arenulous, Argil, Argillaceous, Argute, Arietate, Aristocraticallness, Armental, Armentine, Armigerous, Armillary, Armipotence, Arrentation, Arrept.i.tious, Arrison, Authentickness, Arrosion, Articular, Articulateness, Austral, Arundinaceous, Arundineous, Asbestine, Ascript.i.tious, Asinary, Asperation, Asperifolious, Aspirate, _v. a._ a.s.sa.s.sinator, a.s.sumptive, Astonishingness, Astrography, Attiguous, Attinge, Aucupation, Avowee.