Words beginning with hyper- seem nowadays always to have a long y except that one sometimes hears ‘h[)y]perbole’ and ‘h[)y]perbolical’.  Of course both in hypo- and in hyper- the vowel is short in Greek, so that here at least the strange lengthening cannot be ascribed to the Grecians.  The false theory of a long y has not affected ‘cynic’ or ‘cynical’, while ‘Cyril’ has been saved by being a Christian name.  We may yet hope to retain y short in ‘cylinder’, ‘cynosure’, ‘lycanthropy’, ‘mythology’, ‘pyramid’, ‘pyrotechnic’, ‘sycamore’, ‘synonym’, ‘typical’.  As for ‘h[=y]brid’ it seems as much a caprice as ‘[=a]crid’, a pronunciation often heard.  Though ‘acrid’ is a false formation it ought to follow ‘vivid’ and ‘florid’.  The ‘alias’ rule enforces a long y in ‘hygiene’ and ‘hygienic’.

On the matter of Greek names the lettern and the pulpit are grievous offenders.  Once it was not so.  The clergymen of the old type and the scholars of the Oxford Retrogression said T[)i]m[=o]th[)e][)u]s, because they had a sense of English and followed, consciously or unconsciously, the ‘alias’ rule.  If there was ever an error, it was on the lips of some illiterate literate who made three syllables of the word.  Now it seems fashionable to say T[=i]m[)o]th[)e][)u]s.  The literate was better than this, for he at least had no theory, and frank ignorance is to be forgiven.  It is no shame to a man not to know that the second i in ‘Villiers’ is as mute as that in ‘Parliament’ or that Bolingbroke’s name began with Bull and ended with brook, but when ignorance constructs a theory it is quite another matter.  The etymological theory of pronunciation is intolerable.  Etymology was a charming nymph even when men had but a distant acquaintance with her, and a nearer view adds to her graces; but when she is dragged reluctant from her element she flops like a stranded mermaid.  The curate says ‘Deuteron[’o]my’, and on his theory ought to say ‘econ[’o]my’ and ‘etymol[’o]gy’.  When Robert Gomery—­why not give the reverend poetaster his real if less elegant name—­published his once popular work, every one called it ’The Omn[’i]presence of the De[:i]ty’, and Shelley had already written

  And, as I look’d, the bright omn[’i]presence
  Of morning through the orient cavern flowed.

It is true that Ken a century earlier had committed himself to

  Thou while below wert yet on high
  By Omnipr[’e]sent Deity,

and later Coleridge, perhaps characteristically, had sinned with

  There is one Mind, one omnipr[’e]sent Mind,

but neither the bishop nor the poet would have said ‘omnisc[’i]ence’, or ‘omnip[’o]tence’.

Another word to show signs of etymological corruption is ‘[)e]volution’.  It seems to have been introduced as a technical term of the art of war, and of course, like ‘d[)e]volution’, shortened the e.  The biologists first borrowed it and later seem desirous of corrupting it.  Perhaps they think of such words as ‘[=e]gress’, but the long vowel is right in the stressed penultimate.