Eye of newt, toe of frog, and a spoonful of sugar to boot

We're a society obsessed with the curative and the instantaneous. Liquid diets promise Gina she'll shed those Thanksgiving 2006 pounds in days. Herb just can't seem to make it with the ladies - if only he had that new Mustang convertible he keeps seeing advertised on the sidebars of his model train webring at 3 a.m. And where would Adrian be without constant, mobile Internet access on her Blackberry to save her the agonizing three minutes of waiting in line at the bank?

In honor of such "contributions" to the commercial market and the illusion they created, today's entry covers the word "nostrum."

Merriam-Webster.com defines nostrum as "a medicine of secret composition recommended by its preparer but usually without scientific proof of its effectiveness," or more generally, "a usually questionable remedy or scheme." The lack of FDA approval for a myriad of untested products makes the nostrum an omnipresent commodity in the good ol' U.S. of A.

Nostrum is also the neuter form of the Latin word "noster," meaning "our" or "our own" - in this case referring to a remedy brewed from a secret recipe all "our own." Its concoctors keep it under wraps for a reason - it often doesn't work, and the desperate will pay for even the hope of a cure. The word entered the English language to refer specifically to quack remedies peddled on the streets of 17th-century London as a plague cure.

America has a history of nostrums stretching back to British imports before the American Revolution and peaking in the 19th century, when charlatans sold such homemade, brand-named cure-alls as Duffy's Elixir,* Dalby's Carminative and Godfrey's Cordial. Most of these were little better than

Image via Wikipedia

alcohols sweetened with sugar, spices and opiates, and had no real curative effects.

Characteristic of the Manifest Destiny blend of quack remedies in particular is another American tradition - showmanship. Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn features a scene of how such scams sometimes ran - a traveling salesman would blow into town, deliver his spiel with volume and verve, and then a shill, or conman masquerading as a customer, would proclaim the medicine's efficacy. Once the swindler sold his inventory, he and the shill would hit the road before the unwitting townsfolk discovered the scam.

Synonyms for nostrum in common usage include "magic bullet,"** "quack remedy," "catholicon" (another word for cure-all***), "patent medicine," "quick fix," and the ever-popular "snake oil" - which, according to an article by Cynthia Graber of Scientific American, might not be so devoid of benefit after all.****

Working mothers at that time did find a use for nostrums such as Godfrey's Cordial, even if they didn't do what they professed to do. Sweet, opiate-based solutions were so palatable to children that those drugged during working hours in their infancy would self-medicate once they had the motor skills to open the bottle. No childproof caps for Reconstruction America, no sirree.

Until next time, this is your language investigator signing off. Have a wonderful evening!

Information purloined from merriam-webster.com, medicinenet.com, historyhouse.com and scientificamerican.com



* - featured in the ancient PC game Oregon Trail 2! Ah, nostalgia.
** - Might need to call Consumer Report about that blender
*** - Subtext: Catholicism will cure your ED
**** - I didn't think there was anyone crazy enough to try to catch a snake, flay it, and press the oil from its skin to test it either