The Court of Peeves, Crotchets & Irks opens its autumn assizes with a Motion in Alternatimus from Janet Foster of Concord, N.C. She asks for a simple rule on when to use "different from" and when to use "different than."

A simple rule? No way! With one exception, on this recurring issue the authorities tergiversate. (The court has not used that lovely verb since it appraised the candidates in 1988 and just remembered it.) Let us be forthright: There is no simple rule on different "from" or different "than." Ultimately the choice depends upon a writer's ear -- upon what sounds right.

The editors of Webster's Dictionary of English Usage struggle with the problem for three columns and get nowhere. In defense of "different than" they cite such authors as Flannery O'Connor. In defense of "different from," they also cite Flannery O'Connor. In the first cite, from 1958, O'Connor uses "different than." In 1959 her ear whispered to her, "different from."

Lexicographer Bryan Garner says that writers should generally prefer "different from" -- but in certain constructions, "different than" works better. The late Theodore Bernstein, first lord of usage at The New York Times, was equally ambivalent. "Different from" is normal, he decreed, except when it produces a clumsy sentence. The great Henry Fowler merely blathered on the usage. His successor in title, R.W. Burchfield, added little to the blather. William and Mary Morris (1985) reported that "different from" is more common, but "different than" is "becoming more popular among careful writers." Jacques Barzun (1975) remarked that American readers expect "from," though it often results in awkward constructions.

The court's less than exhaustive search turned up only one authority, Eric Partridge (1995), who didn't waffle. He said, "The impeccably correct construction is 'different from.'" Enough! The court dismisses Ms. Foster's motion without prejudice and hopes never to hear of it again.

Lar Hothem of Lancaster, Ohio, asks the court to rule on a question that has puzzled lexicographers for many years: When does a word wear out its original meaning? His example is a familiar one: to decimate. Once upon a time, 20 centuries ago, decimation was a punishment reserved for disobedient Roman legions: Every 10th member, by lot, was put to death. These days "decimation" conveys only a sense of massive destruction, e.g., "Ian decimated his breakfast." (Ian is the court's newest great-grandson.)

The court knows of no rule of thumb on the obsolescence of language. Some words are like some machines: They wear out sooner than others. Everybody used to have an "icebox." Grandmother sat in the "tonneau." One's sister once played a "uke." A widow was a "relict." Definitions are like magazine subscriptions. Usually we renew, but look at Look and Ladies' Home Companion. Sometimes they just expire.

Beulah Testa of Las Vegas petitions the court for one more Order of Expulsion for "got." Granted! "Got" is the second-ugliest verb in the English language. Except as an auxiliary of urgency or euphony, the guttural "got" offends both eye and ear. The court has banned it annually for 22 years, and now bans it again. Go, got! Begone!

Bobbie Smith of Seattle asks for a declaratory judgment on "thusly." The court is happy to oblige: This ill-begotten adverb was invented by some hack around 1865. It was an abomination then. It remains an abomination today, even if William F. Buckley Jr. and the late, great Vermont Royster have recklessly employed it. The court consigns it to Outer Darkness and takes a week's recess.

(Readers are invited to send dated citations of usage to Mr. Kilpatrick in care of this newspaper. His e-mail address is kilpatjj@aol.com.)

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