An acquaintance declares, that the derivation of AKER from the Latin and Greek, is “without the least foundation in the words as used in the Greek and Latin and in the English, and built entirely on the resemblance of sounds,” etc. The facts are the other way. In the Greek, and in the Latin, it meant simply a field, an open, cultivated spot. Now, this was the meaning of the word in English, until it was by statutes limited to a particular quantity (31 Ed. III.; 5 Ed. I., 24; Henry VIII., as quoted by Webster) and this is the meaning yet, of the word in German (_acker_) Swedish (_acker_) Dutch (_akker_). There is, therefore, ample foundation in the _use_ of the word; and the _sound_ our friend gives up.
In almost all the languages of the Teutonic family, of which ours is one, the word is still spelled with _k_; and so it is in the Asiatic languages, from which, probably, both the Teutonic and the Greek, alike borrowed it.
The spelling a_cre_, as also cent_re_, theat_re_ we, probably, derived from the French; to which language we owe the emasculation of many a noble Saxon word.
In the _New England Farmer_ our orthographical sins are thus set in order before us:
“The _Western Farmer and Gardener_, is an excellent journal—very. It has only one feature that we dislike, viz.—it spells ACRE _a-k-e-r_! We are somewhat surprised at Bro. Beecher, who usually evinces such good taste, as well as such good sense, should adopt such an ugly-looking substitute for an old word of so much better appearance, although supported in it by the prince of lexicographers.
“_A-k-e-r!_ Wheugh! Bro. editors, _hoot_ at it till it shall become obsolete. In Todd’s, Johnson’s, and Walker’s, and Worcester’s dictionaries, _fuel_ is spelled _fewel_, as the most correct way. This is odd enough and bad enough—but it is hardly so unsightly as _aker_.”
Nothing becomes obsolete until it has been in vogue. But pass that: what a sight will the hooting confraternity present! I imagine Maine Farmer Holmes—a plump, short, dapper gentleman, giving a long howl, that sounds so ludicrous, that he draws back from the open window to laugh. Our more sober Breck performs the euphonious duty with such conscientious heartiness, that up starts the man of Buckwheat from his (mis-spelled) Plo_ugh_man’s chair, as also does the Cultivator Cole—a trio not practiced to sing together. The uproar reaches Albany, and surprises him of the Cultivator, who hoots supplementary, with such voice as he happens, in his surprise, to have on hand. Next, toward the west, Dr. Lee shall give a scientific roar or hoot such as will make his laboratory jar again. Down across the lake the hooting (not _hunting_) chorus goes (what will the sailors think is to pay!) to Elliot of the yard-long-named Magazine, who, hoarse with lake fogs and winds, shall put in so bass a hoot, that Wight and Wright of the _Prairie Farmer_ will howl of mere fright, if for nothing else.