ignorance on the part of lexicographers. Johnson
derives "boy" from the German or Saxon
"bube," but admits that the etymology is
uncertain. No such word as boy occurs in
Bosworth's Anglo-Saxon dictionary, but it is
to be found in the Manx language, a branch of
the Celtic, with the orthography of bwoie.
"Girl" is a word that has puzzled the
dictionary makers quite as much as its
companion, boy, and they all seek its etymology
everywhere except in the right place. One
exceedingly wise person (in his own estimation),
named Minsheu, traces it from the Latin
garrula, because girls are garrulous and fond of
prating; and not being quite sure that he is
right, suggests that possibly it may be from the
Italian girella, a weathercock, "because of
their fickleness." The "r" in the word, which
is not usually pronounced, seems to have led
this learned noodle astray. The vulgar
pronunciation, "gal," points to its true source
in the Celtic caile and cailinn, pronounced
kala and kalinn, and to the Irish coleen.
Another possible derivation, which it would
be pleasant and flattering to the sex to
believe to be the correct one, is from the Gaelic
gaol, pronounced "gurl," without the "r,"
and signifying love. The Anglo-Saxon words
for "girl" were piga and maid, the latter of
which remains. Piga has been very properly
superseded, and only remains in the once
common public-house sign of "Pig and Whistle,"
perverted from "piga and wassail" i.e., a lass
and a glass. The word "grove" is another
word of which the grammarians, ignorant of the
original language of the British people, can
make nothing. Worcester, whose dictionary
is one of the best ever compiled, and who
does not wholly ignore the Celtic and Cymric
elements of the language, derives grove from
the Anglo-Saxon graef, a grave or ditch, and
quotes from Junius the explanation that
"groves are frequently protected by a ditch
thrown around them." "More probably,"
adds Richardson, "because a grove is cut out,
hollowed out of a thicket of trees: it is not the
thicket itself." But the word existed in England
for centuries before a Saxon set foot on
the soil, and is no other than the Celtic craobh,
pronounced kraov, a tree, and craobhach or
kraovag, abounding in trees. The words
"cuddle" and "fun," which the dictionaries
call low words, and scarcely attempt to define,
because they find no traces of them in Anglo-Saxon,
Greek, Latin, or French, are pure Celtic.
Cuddle is from cadail, to sleep; and
fun is from fonn, music; following the same
tone of thought which converted the Anglo-
Saxon "glee," which originally meant music,
into a synonym for the mirth and pleasure
which music produces. The slang word cove,
a man or fellow, comes from the Gaelic caomh,
pronounced kaov, gentle, courteous. "Dull"
and "tall" are Celtic words, of which the origin
was unsuspected and unknown at the time
when our first dictionaries were published, and
mean respectively "blind" and "high," which
are their Anglo-Saxon synonyms.

Many hundreds of such words might be cited,
but enough, perhaps, has been said, to prove
that the language has still a large percentage
of the original dialect of the Britons. The
patronymics of the English are Celtic to a
degree of which Mr. Mark Anthony Lower—
the only person who has devoted much time
to the subject, and who has compiled a large
volume about it— is utterly unconscious.
Omitting altogether the Welsh, the Irish, and the
Scottish names—the Ap's, the O's, and the
Mac's—a very large list of Celtic names in use
among the English might be compiled. Among
others, all the names that terminate in ton, don,
or ley are of Celtic or British origin, or sometimes
a compound of Saxon and Celtic. Ton
and don are the modern forms of "dun" or
town, a Celtic word that in Saxon or Anglo-
Saxon would be represented by berg, burgh,
and burg. Milton—compounded of a Saxon
and a Celtic word signifies mill, or windmill-
hill, or the mill on the downs, or down. Ley
or lie is the Celtic for place, whence Stanley,
a hybrid word, half Saxon, half Celtic,
signifying the stony place. Among other
Celtic patronymics cited at random are Capel,
from capul, a brood mare; Doran, an otter;
Braddon, a salmon; Lack and Lake, from,
lach, a wild duck; Phillimore, from the Gaelic
fille, a garment, or plait, and mor, great;
Ross, Roos, and Rouse, from ruis, the alder-
tree; Cowan and Cohen, from cuan, the ocean;
Muir and Moir, from muir, the sea; More and
Moore, from mor, great; Frith a forest;
Glen, glenn, and Glyn, a valley; Ennis, Innis,
and Inch, an island; Aird, a high place;
Belmore, from baile-mor, the great town; Bligh,
milk; Burt, sport, mockery; Cagger, a secret;
Campkin, from cam, crooked, and cean, head;
Camac, from camag, a curl; Cade, from cead,
permission; Carr and Kerr, from cearr, wrong,
awkward; Dallas, from dall, blind; Dana,
from dana, poetical; Dorsay, from daorsa,
captivity; Eyre, from eyrie, a high place;
Outram, from outram, light, giddy; Morley,
from ley, a place, and mor, great; Bain,
Bean, and Behan, from bean, white; Campbell,
from cam, crooked, and bille, mouth;
Egan, from eigim, violence; Turley, from tur,
a fortress or town, and ley, a place; Cadell,
from cadail, sleep; Mearns, from muirne, the
vine; Malthus—slow and silent—from mall,
slow, and thos, silent; and our very old and
familiar friend Smith, from simid or simit, a
hammer. This list might be largely extended,
and the subject is well worth the study of one
who aspires to give us a book that does not
yet exist—the true etymology and origin of the
patronymics of Great Britain.

Were I a judge on the bench, deciding on
the veracity of Gildas, on which alone rests
the story of the extermination of the British,
I should pronounce him guilty either of wilful
error, or fabrication, or of stupidity. Were
he and his reliability not in question, but only
the point whether the English are more of an
Anglo-Saxon than of a Celtic nation. I think I
should decide upon the evidence of local