Chapter III (4)

“(182) Write out the prayer used at the advancement of a Mark Master Mason. _Almighty Ruler of the Universe and Architect of all worlds, we beseech Thee to accept this our brother whom we have this day received into the most honorable company of Mark Master Masons. Grant him to be a worthy member of our brotherhood; and may he be in his own person a perfect mirror of all Masonic virtues. Grant that all our doings may be to Thy honor and glory, and to the welfare of all mankind._

“This prayer was written off instantaneously and very rapidly. For the benefit of those who are not members of the craft, I may say that no prayer in the slightest degree resembling it is made use of in the Ritual of any Masonic degree; and yet it contains more than one strictly accurate technicality connected with the degree of Mark Mason. My wife has never seen any Masonic prayers, whether in ‘Carlile’ or any other real or spurious Ritual of the Masonic Order.”

There was so much of this kind of untruthful evasion, and it was so unlike anything in Mrs. Newnham’s character, that observers less sober-minded would assuredly have fancied that some Puck or sprite was intervening with a “third intelligence” compounded of aimless cunning and childish jest. But Mr. Newnham inclines to a view fully in accordance with that which this paper has throughout suggested.

“Is this _third intelligence_,” he says, “analogous to the ‘dual state,’ the existence of which, in a few extreme and most interesting cases, is now well established? Is there a latent potentiality of a ‘dual state’ existing in every brain? and are the few very striking phenomena which have as yet been noticed and published only the exceptional developments of a state which is inherent in most or in all brains?”

And alluding to a theory, which has at different times been much discussed, of the more or less independent action of the two cerebral hemispheres, he asks:—

“May not the untrained half of the organ of mind, even in the most pure and truthful characters, be capable of manifesting tendencies like the hysterical girl’s, and of producing at all events the _appearance_ of moral deficiencies which are totally foreign to the well-trained and disciplined portion of the brain which is ordinarily made use of?”

In this place, however, it will be enough to say that the real cause for surprise would have been if our secondary self had _not_ exhibited a character in some way different from that which we recognize as our own. Whatever other factors may enter into a man’s character, two of the most important are undoubtedly his store of memories and his _cænesthesia_, or the sum of the obscure sensations of his whole physical structure. When either of these is suddenly altered, character changes too—a change for an example of which we need scarcely look further than our recollection of the moral obliquities and incoherences of an ordinary dream. Our personality may be dyed throughout with the same color, but the apparent tint will vary with the contexture of each absorptive element within. And not graphic automatism only, but other forms of muscular and vocal automatism must be examined and compared before we can form even an empirical conception of that hidden agency, which is ourselves, though we know it not. In the meantime I shall, I think, be held to have shown that, in the vast majority of cases where spiritualists are prone to refer automatic writing to some unseen intelligence, there is really no valid ground for such an ascription. I am, indeed, aware that some cases of a different kind are alleged to exist—cases where automatic writing has communicated facts demonstrably not known to the writer or to any one present. How far these cases can satisfy the very rigorous scrutiny to which they ought obviously to be subjected is a question which I may perhaps find some other opportunity of discussing.

But for the present our inquiry must pause here. Two distinct arguments have been attempted in this paper: the first of them in accordance with recognized physiological science, though with some novelty of its own; the second lying altogether beyond what the consensus of authorities at present admits. For, _first_, an attempt has been made to show that the unconscious mental action which is admittedly going on within us may manifest itself through graphic automatism with a degree of complexity hitherto little suspected, so that a man may actually hold a written colloquy with his own waking and responsive dream; and, _secondly_, reason has been given for believing that automatic writing may sometimes reply to questions which the writer does not see, and mention facts which the writer does not know, the knowledge of those questions or those facts being apparently derived by telepathic communication from the conscious or unconscious mind of another person.

Startling as this conclusion is, it will not be novel to those who have followed the cognate experiments on other forms of thought-transference detailed in the “Proceedings” of the Society for Psychical Research.[33] And be it noted that our formula, “Mind can influence mind independently of the recognized organs of sense,” has been again and again foreshadowed by illustrious thinkers in the past. It is, for instance, but a more generalized expression of Cuvier’s _dictum_, “that a communication can under certain circumstances be established between the nervous systems of two persons.” Such communication, indeed, like other mental phenomena, may be presumed to have a _neural_ as well as a _psychical_ aspect; and if we prefer to use the word _mind_ rather than _brain_, it is because the mental side is that which primarily presents itself for investigation, and in such a matter it is well to avoid even the semblance of _theory_ until we have established _fact_.

Before concluding, let us return for a moment to the popular apprehensions to which my opening paragraphs referred. Has not some reason been shown for thinking that these fears were premature? that they sprang from too ready an assumption that all the discoveries of psycho-physics would reveal us as smaller and more explicable things, and that the analysis of man’s personality would end in analysing man away? It is not, on the other hand, at least possible that this analysis may reveal also faculties of unlooked-for range, and powers which our conscious self was not aware of possessing? A generation ago there were many who resented the supposition that man had sprung from the ape. But on reflection most of us have discerned that this repugnance came rather from pride than wisdom; and that with the race, as with the individual, there is more true hope for him who has risen by education from the beggar-boy than for him who has fallen by transgression from the prince. And now once more it seems possible that a more searching analysis of our mental constitution may reveal to us not a straitened and materialized, but a developing and expanding view of the “powers that lie folded up in man.” Our best hope, perhaps, should be drawn from our potentialities rather than our perfections; and the doubt whether we are our full selves already may suggest that our true subjective unity may wait to be realized elsewhere.—_Contemporary Review._

SCIENTIFIC _VERSUS_ BUCOLIC VIVISECTION.

BY JAMES COTTER MORISON.

To judge from appearances, we are threatened with a new agitation against vivisection. The recent controversy carried on in the columns of the _Times_ revealed an amount of heat on the subject which can hardly fail to find some new mode of motion on the platform, or even in Parliament. It is evident that passions of no common fervor have been kindled, at least, in one party to the controversy, and efforts will probably be made to work the public mind up to a similar temperature. The few observations which follow are intended to have, if possible, a contrary effect. The question of vivisection should not be beyond the possibility of a rational discussion. When antagonism, so fierce and uncompromising, exists as in the present case, the presumption is that the disputants argue from incompatible principles. Neither side convinces or even seriously discomposes the other, because they are not agreed as to the ultimate criteria of the debate.

It is evident that the first and most important point to be decided, is: “What is the just and moral attitude of man towards the lower animals?” or to put the question in another form: “What are the rights of animals as against man?” Till these questions are answered with some approach to definiteness, we clearly shall float about in vague generalities. Formerly, animals had no rights; they have very few now in some parts of the East. Man exercised his power and cruelty upon them with little or no blame from the mass of his fellows. The improved sentiment in this respect is one of the best proofs of progress that we have to show. Cruelty to animals is not only punished by law, but reprobated, we may believe—in spite of occasional brutalities—by general public opinion. The point on which precision is required is, how far this reformed sentiment is to extend? Does it allow us to use animals (even to the extent of eating them) for our own purposes, on the condition of treating them well on the whole, of not inflicting upon them unnecessary pain; or should it logically lead to complete abstention from meddling with them at all, from interfering with their liberty, from making them work for us, and supplying by their bodies a chief article of our food? Only the extreme sect of vegetarians maintains this latter view, and with vegetarians we are not for the moment concerned; and I am not aware that even vegetarians oppose the labor of animals for the uses of man. Now, what I would wish to point out is, that if we do allow the use of animals by man, it is a practical impossibility to prevent the occasional, or even the frequent infliction of great pain and suffering upon them, at times amounting to cruelty; that if the infliction of cruelty is a valid argument against the practice of vivisection, it is a valid argument against a number of other practices, which nevertheless go unchallenged. The general public has a right to ask the opponents of vivisection why they are so peremptory in denouncing one, and relatively a small form of cruelty, while they are silent and passive in reference to other and much more common forms. We want to know the reason of what appears a very great and palpable inconsistency. We could understand people who said, “You have no more right to enslave, kill, and eat animals than men; _à fortiori_, you may not vivisect them.” But it is not easy to see how those who do not object, apparently, to the numberless cruel usages to which the domesticated animals are inevitably subjected by our enslavement of them, yet pass these all by and fix their eyes exclusively on one minute form of cruelty, singling _that_ out for exclusive obloquy and reprobation. Miss Cobbe (_Times_, Jan. 6) says, “The whole practice (of vivisection) starts from a wrong view of the use of the lower animals, and of their relations to us.” That may be very true, but I question if Miss Cobbe had sufficiently considered the number of “practices” which her principles should lead her to pronounce as equally starting from a wrong view of the use of the lower animals, and of their relation to us.

It is clear that the anti-vivisectionists are resolute in refusing the challenge repeatedly made to them, either to denounce the cruelties of sport or to hold their peace about the cruelties of vivisection. One sees the shrewdness but hardly the consistency or the courage of their policy in this respect. Sport is a time-honored institution, the amusement of the “fine old English gentleman,” most respectable, conservative, and connected with the landed interest; hostility to it shows that you are a low radical fellow, quite remote from the feeling of good society. Sport is therefore let alone. The lingering agony and death of the wounded birds, the anguish of the coursed hare, the misery of the hunted fox, even when not aggravated by the veritable _auto da fé_ of smoking or burning him out if he has taken to earth, the abominable cruelty of rabbit traps; these forms of cruelty and “torture,” inasmuch as their sole object is the amusement of our idle classes, do not move the indignant compassion of the anti-vivisectionist. The sportsman may steal a horse when the biologist may not look over a hedge. The constant cruelty to horses by ill-fitting harness, over-loading, and over-driving must distress every human mind. A tight collar which presses on the windpipe and makes breathing a repeated pain must in its daily and hourly accumulation produce an amount of suffering which few vivisectionists could equal if they tried. Look at the forelegs of cab horses, especially of the four-wheelers on night service, and mark their knees “over,” as it is called, which means seriously diseased joint, probably never moved without pain. The efforts of horses to keep their feet in “greasy” weather on the wood pavement are horrible to witness. To such a nervous animal as the horse the fear of falling is a very painful emotion; yet hundreds of omnibuses tear along at express speed every morning and evening, with loads which only the pluck of the animals enables them to draw, and not a step of the journey between the City and the West End is probably made without the presence of this painful emotion. Every day, in some part of the route, a horse falls. Then occurs one of the most repulsive incidents of the London streets, the gaping crowd of idlers, through which is heard the unfailing prescription to “sit on his head,” promptly carried out by some officious rough, who has no scruples as to the “relations of the lower animals to us.” Again, in war the sufferings and consumption of animals is simply frightful. Field-officers—some of whom, it appears, are opposed to vivisection—are generally rather proud, or they used to be, of having horses “shot under them.” But this cannot occur without considerable torture to the horses. The number of camels which slipped and “split up” in the Afghan war has been variously stated between ten and fifteen thousand. In either case animal suffering must have been on a colossal scale. Now the point one would like to see cleared up is, why this almost boundless field of animal suffering is ignored and the relatively minute amount of it produced in the dissecting-rooms of biologists so loudly denounced.

But what I wish particularly to call attention to is the practice of vivisection as exercised by our graziers and breeders all over the country on tens of thousands of animals yearly, by an operation always involving great pain and occasional death. In a review intended for general circulation the operation I refer to cannot be described in detail, but every one will understand the allusion made. It is performed on horses, cattle, sheep, pigs, and fowls. With regard to the horses the object is to make them docile and manageable. The eminent Veterinary-Surgeon Youatt, in his book on the Horse (chap. xv.), speaks of it as often performed “with haste, carelessness, and brutality:” but even he is of opinion “that the old method of preventing hæmorrhage by temporary pressure of the vessels while they are seared with a hot iron _must not perhaps be abandoned_.” He objects strongly to a “practice of some farmers,” who, by means of a ligature obtain their end, but “not until the animal has suffered sadly,” and adds that inflammation and death frequently ensue.

With regard to cattle, sheep, and pigs, the object of the operation is to hasten growth, to increase size, and to improve the flavor of the meat. The mutton, beef, and pork on which we feed are, with rare exceptions, the flesh of animals who have been submitted to the painful operation in question. In the case of the female pig the corresponding operation is particularly severe; while as to fowls, the pain inflicted was so excruciating in the opinion of an illustrious young physiologist, whom science still mourns, that he on principle abstained from eating the flesh of the capon.

Now there is no doubt that here we have vivisection in its most extensive and harsh form. More animals are subjected to it in one year than have been vivisected by biologists in half-a-century. It need not be said that anæsthetics are not used, and if they were or could be they would not assuage the suffering which follows the operation. It will surely be only prudent for the opponents of scientific vivisection to inform us why they are passive and silent with regard to bucolic vivisection. They declare that knowledge obtained by the torture of animals is impure, unholy, and vitiated at its source, and they reject it with many expressions of scorn. What do they say to their daily food which is obtained by the same means? They live by the results of vivisection on the largest scale—the food they eat—and they spend a good portion of their lives thus sustained in denouncing vivisection on the smallest scale because it only produces knowledge. It is true that they are not particular to conceal their suspicion that the knowledge claimed to be derived from vivisection is an imposture and a sham. Do they not, by the inconsistencies here briefly alluded to, their hostility to alleged knowledge, and their devotion to very substantial beef and mutton, the one and the other the products of vivisection, expose themselves to a suspicion better founded than that which they allow themselves to express? They question the value of vivisection, may not the single-mindedness of their hostility to it be questioned with better ground? Biology is now the frontier science exposed for obvious reasons to the _odium theologicum_ in a marked degree. The havoc it has made among cherished religious opinions amply accounts for the dislike which it excites. But it is difficult to attack. On the other hand, an outcry that its methods are cruel, immoral, and revolting may serve as a useful diversion, and even give it a welcome check. The Puritans, it was remarked, objected to bear-baiting, not because it hurt the bear, but because it pleased the men. May we not say that vivisection is opposed, not because it is painful to animals, but because it tends to the advancement of science?

The question recurs, What is our proper relation to the lower animals? May we use them? If so, abuse and cruelty will inevitably occur. May we not use them? Then our civilisation and daily life must be revolutionised to a degree not suggested or easy to conceive.—_Fortnightly Review._

FOOTNOTES:

[26] _The Empire of the Hittites._ By WILLIAM WRIGHT, B.A., D.D. James Nisbet and Co.

[27] A distinguished French _savant_, writing in the _Revue Philosophique_ for December 1884 has described some ingenious experiments for detecting the indications of telepathic influence—of the transference of thought from mind to mind which may be afforded by the movements communicated to a table by the unconscious pressure of the sitters. Dr. Richet’s investigations, though apparently suggested, in part at least, by those of the Society for Psychical Research, have followed a quite original line, with results of much interest.

[28] In a paper on “The Stages of Hypnotism” in _Mind_ for October 1884, Mr. E. Gurney, describes an experiment where this persistent influence of an impressed idea could in a certain sense, be detected in the muscular system. “A boy’s arm being flexed” (and the boy having been told that he _cannot_ extend it), “he is offered a sovereign to extend it. He struggles till he is red in the face; but all the while his triceps is remaining quite flaccid, or if some rigidity appears in it, the effect is at once counteracted by an equal rigidity in the biceps. The idea of the impossibility of extension—_i.e._, the idea of continued flexion—is thus acting itself out, even when wholly rejected from the mind.”

[29] M. Taine, in the preface to the later editions of his “De l’Intelligence,” narrates a case of this kind, and adds, “Certainement on constate ici un dédoublement du moi; la présence simultanée de deux séries d’idées parallèles et indépendantes, de deux centres d’action, ou si l’on veut, de deux personnes morales juxtaposées dans le même cerveau.”

[30] It is obvious that in an argument which has to thread its way amid so much of controversy and complexity, no terminology whatever can be safe from objection. In using the word _self_ I do not mean to imply any theory as to the metaphysical nature of the self or ego.

[31] It is worth noticing in this connection that in one case of Brown-Séquard’s an aphasic patient _talked in his sleep_.

[32] “Mirror-writing” is not very rare with left-handed children and imbeciles, and has been observed, in association with aphasia, as a result of hemiplegia of the right side. If (as Dr. Ireland supposes, “Brain,” vol. iv. p. 367) this “Spiegel-schrift” is the expression of an _inverse verbal image_ formed in the _right hemisphere_; we shall have another indication that the _right hemisphere_ is concerned in some forms of _automatic_ writing also.

[33] Records of carefully conducted experiments in automatic writing are earnestly requested, and may be addressed to the Secretary, Society for Psychical Research, 14 Dean’s Yard, Westminster.

NOTES ON POPULAR ENGLISH.

BY THE LATE ISAAC TODHUNTER.

I have from time to time recorded such examples of language as struck me for inaccuracy or any other peculiarity; but lately the pressure of other engagements has prevented me from continuing my collection, and has compelled me to renounce the design once entertained of using them for the foundation of a systematic essay. The present article contains a small selection from my store, and may be of interest to all who value accuracy and clearness. It is only necessary to say that the examples are not fabricated: all are taken from writers of good repute, and notes of the original places have been preserved, though it has not been thought necessary to encumber these pages with references. The italics have been supplied in those cases where they are used.

One of the most obvious peculiarities at present to be noticed is the use of the word _if_ when there is nothing really conditional in the sentence. Thus we read: “If the Prussian plan of operations was faulty the movements of the Crown Prince’s army were in a high degree excellent.” The writer does not really mean what his words seem to imply, that the excellence was contingent on the fault: he simply means to make two independent statements. As another example we have: “Yet he never founded a family; if his two daughters carried his name and blood into the families of the _Herreras_ and the Zuñigos, his two sons died before him.” Here again the two events which are connected by the conditional _if_ are really quite independent. Other examples follow: “If it be true that Paris is an American’s paradise, symptoms are not wanting that there are Parisians who cast a longing look towards the institutions of the United States.” “If M. Stanilas Julien has taken up his position in the Celestial Empire, M. Léon de Rosny seems to have selected the neighboring country of Japan for his own special province.” “But those who are much engaged in public affairs cannot always be honest, and if this is not an excuse, it is at least a fact.” “But if a Cambridge man was to be appointed, Mr.—— is a ripe scholar and a good parish priest, and I rejoice that a place very dear to me should have fallen into such good hands.”

Other examples, differing in some respects from those already given, concur in exhibiting a strange use of the word _if_. Thus we read: “If the late rumors of dissension in the Cabinet had been well founded, the retirement of half his colleagues would not have weakened Mr. Gladstone’s hold on the House of Commons.” The conditional proposition intended is probably this: if half his colleagues were to retire, Mr. Gladstone’s hold on the House of Commons would not be weakened. “If a big book is a big evil, the _Bijou Gazetteer of the World_ ought to stand at the summit of excellence. It is the tiniest geographical directory we have ever seen.” This is quite illogical: if a big book is a big evil, it does not follow that a little book is a great good. “If in the main I have adhered to the English version, it has been from the conviction that our translators were in the right.” It is rather difficult to see what is the precise opinion here expressed as to our translators; whether an absolute or contingent approval is intended. “If you think it worth your while to inspect the school from the outside, that is for yourself to decide upon.” The decision is not contingent on the thinking it worth while: they are identical. For the last example we take this: “...but if it does not retard his return to office it can hardly accelerate it.” The meaning is, “This speech cannot accelerate and may retard Mr. Disraeli’s return to office.” The triple occurrence of _it_ is very awkward.

An error not uncommon in the present day is the blending of two different constructions in one sentence. The grammars of our childhood used to condemn such a sentence as this: “He was more beloved but not so much admired as Cynthio.” The former part of the sentence requires to be followed by _than_, and not by _as_. The following are recent examples:—“The little farmer [in France] has no greater enjoyments, if so many, as the English laborer.” “I find public-school boys generally more fluent, and as superficial as boys educated elsewhere.” “Mallet, for instance, records his delight and wonder at the Alps and the descent into Italy in terms quite as warm, if much less profuse, as those of the most impressible modern tourist.” An awkward construction, almost as bad as a fault, is seen in the following sentence:—“Messrs.—— having secured the co-operation of some of the most eminent professors of, and writers on, the various branches of science....”

A very favorite practice is that of changing a word where there is no corresponding change of meaning. Take the following example from a voluminous historian:—“Huge pinnacles of bare rock shoot up into the azure firmament, and forests overspread their sides, in which the scarlet rhododendrons sixty feet in _height_ are surmounted by trees two hundred feet in _elevation_.” In a passage of this kind it may be of little consequence whether a word is retained or changed; but for any purpose where precision is valuable it is nearly as bad to use two words in one sense as one word in two senses. Let us take some other examples. We read in the usual channels of information that “Mr. Gladstone has issued invitations for a full-dress Parliamentary _dinner_, and Lord Granville has issued invitations for a full-dress Parliamentary _banquet_.” Again we read: “The Government proposes to divide the occupiers of land into four categories;” and almost immediately after we have “the second class comprehends...”: so that we see the grand word _category_ merely stands for _class_. Again: “This morning the _Czar_ drove alone through the Thiergarten, and on his return received Field-Marshals Wrangel and Moltke, as well as many other general officers, and then gave audience to numerous visitors. Towards noon the _Emperor Alexander_, accompanied by the Russian Grand Dukes, paid a visit....” “Mr. Ayrton, according to _Nature_, has accepted Dr. Hooker’s explanation of the letter to Mr. Gladstone’s secretary, at which the First Commissioner of Works took umbrage, so that the dispute is at an end.” I may remark that Mr. Ayrton is identical with the First Commissioner of Works. A writer recently in a sketch of travels spoke of a “Turkish gentleman with his _innumerable_ wives,” and soon after said that she “never saw him address any of his _multifarious_ wives.” One of the illustrated periodicals gave a picture of an event in recent French history, entitled, “The National Guards Firing on the People.” Here the change from _national_ to _people_ slightly conceals the strange contradiction of guardians firing on those whom they ought to guard.

Let us now take one example in which a word is repeated, but in a rather different sense: “The Grand Duke of Baden sat _next_ to the Emperor William, the Imperial Crown Prince of Germany _next_ to the Grand Duke. _Next_ came the other princely personages.” The word _next_ is used in the last instance in not quite the same sense as in the former two instances; for all the princely personages could not sit in contact with the Crown Prince.

A class of examples may be found in which there is an obvious incongruity between two of the words which occur. Thus, “We are more than doubtful;” that is, we are _more than full_ of doubts: this is obviously impossible. Then we read of “a man of more than doubtful sanity.” Again we read of “a more than questionable statement”: this is I suppose a very harsh elliptical construction for such a sentence as “a statement to which we might apply an epithet more condemnatory than _questionable_.” So also we read “a more unobjectionable character.” Again: “Let the Second Chamber be composed of elected members, and their utility will be _more than halved_.” To take the _half_ of anything is to perform a definite operation, which is not susceptible of more or less. Again: “The singular and almost _excessive impartiality_ and power of appreciation.” It is impossible to conceive of excessive impartiality. Other recent examples of these impossible combinations are, “more faultless,” “less indisputable.” “The high antiquity of the narrative cannot reasonably be doubted, and almost as little its _ultimate_ Apostolic _origin_.” The ultimate origin, that is the _last beginning_, of anything seems a contradiction. The common phrase _bad health_ seems of the same character; it is almost equivalent to _unsound soundness_ or to _unprosperous prosperity_. In a passage already quoted, we read that the Czar “gave _audience_ to numerous _visitors_,” and in a similar manner a very distinguished lecturer speaks of making experiments “_visible_ to a large _audience_.” It would seem from the last instance that our language wants a word to denote a mass of people collected not so much to hear an address as to see what are called experiments. Perhaps if our savage forefathers had enjoyed the advantages of courses of scientific lectures, the vocabulary would be supplied with the missing word.

_Talented_ is a vile barbarism which Coleridge indignantly denounced: there is no verb _to talent_ from which such a participle could be deduced. Perhaps this imaginary word is not common at the present; though I am sorry to see from my notes that it still finds favor with classical scholars. It was used some time since by a well-known professor, just as he was about to emigrate to America; so it may have been merely evidence that he was rendering himself familiar with the language of his adopted country.

_Ignore_ is a very popular and a very bad word. As there is no good authority for it, the meaning is naturally uncertain. It seems to fluctuate between _wilfully concealing_ something and _unintentionally omitting_ something, and this vagueness renders it a convenient tool for an unscrupulous orator or writer.

The word _lengthened_ is often used instead of _long_. Thus we read that such and such an orator made a _lengthened_ speech, when the intended meaning is that he made a _long_ speech. The word _lengthened_ has its appropriate meaning. Thus, after a ship has been built by the Admiralty, it is sometimes cut into two and a piece inserted: this operation, very reprehensible doubtless on financial grounds, is correctly described as _lengthening_ the ship. It will be obvious on consideration that _lengthened_ is not synonymous with _long_. _Protracted_ and _prolonged_ are also often used instead of _long_; though perhaps with less decided impropriety than _lengthened_.

A very common phrase with controversial writers is, “we _shrewdly_ suspect.” This is equivalent to, “we acutely suspect.” The cleverness of the suspicion should, however, be attributed to the writers by other people, and not by themselves.

The simple word _but_ is often used when it is difficult to see any shade of opposition or contrast such as we naturally expect. Thus we read: “There were several candidates, _but_ the choice fell upon—— of Trinity College.” Another account of the same transaction was expressed thus: “It was understood that there were several candidates; the election fell, _however_, upon—— of Trinity College.”

The word _mistaken_ is curious as being constantly used in a sense directly contrary to that which, according to its formation, it ought to have. Thus: “He is often mistaken, but never trivial and insipid.” “He is often mistaken” ought to mean that other people often mistake him; just as “he is often misunderstood” means that people often misunderstand him. But the writer of the above sentence intends to say that “He often makes mistakes.” It would be well if we could get rid of this anomalous use of the word _mistaken_. I suppose that _wrong_ or _erroneous_ would always suffice. But I must admit that good writers do employ _mistaken_ in the sense which seems contrary to analogy; for example, Dugald Stewart does so, and also a distinguished leading philosopher whose style shows decided traces of Dugald Stewart’s influence.

I shall be thought hypercritical perhaps if I object to the use of _sanction_ as a verb; but it seems to be a comparatively modern innovation. I must, however, admit that it is used by the two distinguished writers to whom I alluded with respect to the word _mistaken_. Recently some religious services in London were asserted by the promoters to be _under the sanction_ of three bishops; almost immediately afterwards letters appeared from the three bishops in which they qualified the amount of their approbation: rather curiously all three used _sanction_ as a verb. The theology of the bishops might be the sounder, but as to accuracy of language I think the inferior clergy had the advantage. By an obvious association I may say that if any words of mine could reach episcopal ears, I should like to ask why a first charge is called a _primary_ charge, for it does not appear that this mode of expression is continued. We have, I think, second, third, and so on, instead of _secondary_, _tertiary_, and so on, to distinguish the subsequent charges.

Very eminent authors will probably always claim liberty and indulge in peculiarities; and it would be ungrateful to be censorious on those who have permanently enriched our literature. We must, then, allow an eminent historian to use the word _cult_ for worship or superstition; so that he tells us of an _indecent cult_ when he means an _unseemly false religion_. So, too, we must allow another eminent historian to introduce a foreign idiom, and speak of a _man of pronounced opinions_.

One or two of our popular writers on scientific subjects are fond of frequently introducing the word _bizarre_; surely some English equivalent might be substituted with advantage. The author of an anonymous academical paper a few years since was discovered by a slight peculiarity—namely, the use of the word _ones_, if there be such a word: this occurred in certain productions to which the author had affixed his name, and so the same phenomenon in the unacknowledged paper betrayed the origin which had been concealed.

A curious want of critical tact was displayed some years since by a reviewer of great influence. Macaulay, in his Life of Atterbury, speaking of Atterbury’s daughter, says that her great wish was to see her _papa_ before she died. The reviewer condemned the use of what he called the _mawkish word papa_. Macaulay, of course, was right; he used the daughter’s own word, and any person who consults the original account will see that accuracy would have been sacrificed by substituting _father_. Surely the reviewer ought to have had sufficient respect for Macaulay’s reading and memory to hesitate before pronouncing an off-hand censure.

Cobbett justly blamed the practice of putting “&c.” to save the trouble of completing a sentence properly. In mathematical writings this symbol may be tolerated because it generally involves no ambiguity, but is used merely as an abbreviation the meaning of which is obvious from the context. But in other works there is frequently no clue to guide us in affixing a meaning to the symbol, and we can only interpret its presence as a sign that something has been omitted. The following is an example: “It describes a portion of Hellenic philosophy: it dwells upon eminent individuals, inquiring, theorising, reasoning, confuting, &c., as contrasted with those collective political and social manifestations which form the matter of history....”

The examples of confusion of metaphor ascribed to the late Lord Castlereagh are so absurd that it might have been thought impossible to rival them. Nevertheless the following, though in somewhat quieter style, seems to me to approach very nearly to the best of those that were spoken by Castlereagh or forged for him by Mackintosh. A recent Cabinet Minister described the error of an Indian official in these words: “He remained too long under the influence of the views which he had imbibed from the Board.” To imbibe a view seems strange, but to imbibe anything from a Board must be very difficult. I may observe that the phrase of Castlereagh’s which is now best known, seems to suffer from misquotation: we usually have, “an ignorant impatience of taxation”; but the original form appears to have been, “an ignorant impatience of the relaxation of taxation.”

The following sentence is from a voluminous historian: “The _decline_ of the material comforts of the working classes, from the effects of the Revolution, had been incessant, and had now reached an alarming _height_.” It is possible to ascend to an alarming height, but it is surely difficult to decline to an alarming height.

“Nothing could be more one-sided than the point of view adopted by the speakers.” It is very strange to speak of a point as having a side; and then how can _one-sided_ admit of comparison? A thing either has one side or it has not: there cannot be degrees in one-sidedness. However, even mathematicians do not always manage the word _point_ correctly. In a modern valuable work we read of “a more extended point of view,” though we know that a point does not admit of extension. This curious phrase is also to be found in two eminent French writers, Bailly and D’Alembert. I suppose that what is meant is, a point which commands a more extended view. “Froschammer wishes to approach the subject from a philosophical standpoint.” It is impossible to _stand_ and yet to _approach_. Either he should _survey_ the subject from a _stand_-point, or _approach_ it from a _starting_-point.

“The most scientific of our Continental theologians have returned back again to the relations and ramifications of the old paths.” Here _paths_ and _ramifications_ do not correspond; nor is it obvious what the _relations_ of _paths_ are. Then _returned back again_ seems to involve superfluity; either _returned_ or _turned back again_ would have been better.

A large school had lately fallen into difficulties owing to internal dissensions; in the report of a council on the subject it was stated that measures had been taken to _introduce more harmony and good feelings_. The word _introduce_ suggests the idea that harmony and good feeling could be laid on like water or gas by proper mechanical adjustment, or could be supplied like first-class furniture by a London upholsterer.

An orator speaking of the uselessness of a dean said that “he wastes his sweetness on the desert air, and stands like an engine upon a siding.” This is a strange combination of metaphors.

The following example is curious as showing how an awkward metaphor has been carried out: “In the _face_ of such assertions what is the puzzled _spectator_ to do.” The contrary proceeding is much more common, namely to drop a metaphor prematurely or to change it. For instance: “Physics and metaphysics, physiology and psychology, thus become united, and the study of man passes from the uncertain light of mere opinion to the region of science.” Here _region_ corresponds very badly with _uncertain light_.

Metaphors and similes require to be employed with great care, at least by those who value taste and accuracy. I hope I may be allowed to give one example of a more serious kind than those hitherto supplied. The words _like lost sheep_ which occur at the commencement of our Liturgy always seem to me singularly objectionable, and for two reasons. In the first place, illustrations being intended to unfold our meaning are appropriate in explanation and instruction, but not in religious confession. And in the second place the illustration as used by ourselves is not accurate; for the condition of a _lost sheep_ does not necessarily suggest that conscious lapse from rectitude which is the essence of human transgression.

A passage has been quoted with approbation by more than one critic from the late Professor Conington’s translation of Horace, in which the following line occurs:—

“After life’s endless babble they sleep well.”

Now the word _endless_ here is extremely awkward; for if the babble never ends, how can anything come after it?

To digress for a moment, I may observe that this line gives a good illustration of the process by which what is called Latin verse is often constructed. Every person sees that the line is formed out of Shakespeare’s “after life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.” The ingenuity of the transference may be admired, but it seems to me that it is easy to give more than a due amount of admiration; and, as the instance shows, the adaptation may issue in something bordering on the absurd. As an example in Latin versification, take the following. Every one who has not quite forgotten his schoolboy days remembers the line in Virgil ending with _non imitabile fulmen_. A good scholar, prematurely lost to his college and university, having for an exercise to translate into Latin the passage in Milton relating to the moon’s _peerless light_ finished a line with _non imitabile lumen_. One can hardly wonder at the tendency to overvalue such felicitous appropriation.

The language of the shop and the market must not be expected to be very exact: we may be content to be amused by some of its peculiarities. I cannot say that I have seen the statement which is said to have appeared in the following form: “Dead pigs are looking up.” We find very frequently advertised, “_Digestive_ biscuits”—perhaps _digestible_ biscuits are meant. In a catalogue of books an _Encyclopædia of Mental Science_ is advertised; and after the names of the authors we read, “invaluable, 5_s._ 6_d._”: this is a curious explanation of _invaluable_.

The title of a book recently advertised is, _Thoughts for those who are Thoughtful_. It might seem superfluous, not to say impossible, to supply thoughts to those who are already full of thought.

The word _limited_ is at present very popular in the domain of commerce. Thus we read, “Although the space given to us was limited.” This we can readily suppose; for in a finite building there cannot be unlimited space. Booksellers can perhaps say, without impropriety, that a “limited number will be printed,” as this may only imply that the type will be broken up; but they sometimes tell us that “a limited number _was_ printed,” and this is an obvious truism.

Some pills used to be advertised for the use of the “possessor of pains in the back,” the advertisement being accompanied with a large picture representing the unhappy capitalist tormented by his property.

Pronouns, which are troublesome to all writers of English, are especially embarrassing to the authors of prospectuses and advertisements. A wine company return thanks to their friends, “and, at the same time, _they_ would assure _them_ that it is _their_ constant study not only to find improvements for _their_ convenience....” Observe how the pronouns oscillate in their application between the company and their friends.

In selecting titles of books there is room for improvement. Thus, a _Quarterly Journal_ is not uncommon; the words strictly are suggestive of a _Quarterly Daily_ publication. I remember, some years since, observing a notice that a certain obscure society proposed to celebrate its _triennial anniversary_.

In one of the theological newspapers a clergyman seeking a curacy states as an exposition of his theological position, “Views Prayer-book.” I should hope that this would not be a specimen of the ordinary literary style of the applicant. The advertisements in the same periodical exhibit occasionally a very unpleasant blending of religious and secular elements. Take two examples—“Needle-woman wanted. She must be a communicant, have a long character, and be a good dressmaker and milliner.” “Pretty furnished cottage to let, with good garden, etc. Rent moderate. Church work valued. Weekly celebrations. Near rail. Good fishing.”

A few words may be given to same popular misquotations. “The last infirmity of noble minds” is perpetually occurring. Milton wrote _mind_ not _minds_. It may be said that he means _minds_; but the only evidence seems to be that it is difficult to affix any other sense to _mind_ than making it equivalent to _minds_: this scarcely convinces me, though I admit the difficulty.

“He that runs may read” is often supposed to be a quotation from the Bible: the words really are “he may run that readeth,” and it is not certain that the sense conveyed by the popular misquotation is correct.

A proverb which correctly runs thus: “The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” is often quoted in the far less expressive form, “Hell is paved with good intentions.”

“Knowledge is power” is frequently attributed to Bacon, in spite of Lord Lytton’s challenge that the words cannot be found in Bacon’s writings.

“The style is the man” is frequently attributed to Buffon, although it has been pointed out that Buffon said something very different; namely, that “the style is of the man,” that is, “the style proceeds from the man.” It is some satisfaction to find that Frenchmen themselves do not leave us the monopoly of this error; it will be found in Arago; see his _Works_, vol. iii. p. 560. A common proverb frequently quoted is, “The exception proves the rule;” and it seems universally assumed that _proves_ here means _establishes_ or _demonstrates_. It is perhaps more likely that _proves_ here means _tests_ or _tries_, as in the injunction, “Prove all things.” [The proverb in full runs: _Exceptio probat regulam in casibus non exceptis_.]

The words _nihil tetigit quod non ornavit_ are perpetually offered as a supposed quotation from Dr. Johnson’s epitaph on Goldsmith. Johnson wrote—

“Qui nullum fere scribendi genus
Non tetigit,
Nullum quod tetigit non ornavit.”

It has been said that there is a doubt as to the propriety of the word _tetigit_, and that _contigit_ would have been better.

It seems impossible to prevent writers from using _cui bono?_ in the unclassical sense. The correct meaning is known to be of this nature: suppose that a crime has been committed; then inquire who has gained by the crime—_cui bono?_ for obviously there is a probability that the person benefited was the criminal. The usual sense implied by the quotation is this: What is the good? the question being applied to whatever is for the moment the object of depreciation. Those who use the words incorrectly may, however, shelter themselves under the great name of Leibnitz, for he takes them in the popular sense: see his works, vol. v., p. 206.

A very favorite quotation consists of the words “_laudator temporis acti_;” but it should be remembered that it seems very doubtful if these words by themselves would form correct Latin; the _se puero_ which Horace puts after them are required.

There is a story, resting on no good authority, that Plato testified to the importance of geometry by writing over his door, “Let no one enter who is not a geometer.” The first word is often given incorrectly, when the Greek words are quoted, the wrong form of the negative being taken. I was surprised to see this blunder about two years since in a weekly review of very high pretensions.

It is very difficult in many cases to understand precisely what is attributed to another writer when his opinions are cited in some indirect way. For example, a newspaper critic finishes a paragraph in these words: “unless, indeed, as the _Pall Mall Gazette_ has said that it is immoral to attempt any cure at all.” The doubt here is as to what is the statement of the _Pall Mall Gazette_. It seems to be this: _it is immoral to attempt any cure at all_. But from other considerations foreign to the precise language of the critic, it seemed probable that the statement of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ was, _unless, indeed, it is immoral to attempt any cure at all_.

There is a certain vague formula which, though not intended for a quotation, occurs so frequently as to demand notice. Take for example— “... the sciences of logic and ethics, according to the partition of Lord Bacon, are far _more extensive than we are accustomed to consider them_.” No precise meaning is conveyed, because we do not know what is the amount of extension we are accustomed to ascribe to the sciences named. Again: “Our knowledge of Bacon’s method is much less complete than it is _commonly supposed_ to be.” Here again we do not know what is the standard of common supposition. There is another awkwardness here in the words _less complete_: it is obvious that _complete_ does not admit of degrees.

Let us close these slight notes with very few specimens of happy expressions.

The _Times_, commenting on the slovenly composition of the Queen’s Speeches to Parliament, proposed the cause of the fact as a fit subject for the investigation of our _professional thinkers_. The phrase suggests a delicate reproof to those who assume for themselves the title of _thinker_, implying that any person may engage in this occupation just as he might, if he pleased, become a dentist, or a stock-broker, or a civil engineer. The word _thinker_ is very common as a name of respect in the works of a modern distinguished philosopher. I am afraid, however, that it is employed by him principally as synonymous with a _Comtist_.

The _Times_, in advocating the claims of a literary man for a pension, said, “he has _constructed_ several useful school-books.” The word _construct_ suggests with great neatness the nature of the process by which school-books are sometimes evolved, implying the presence of the bricklayer and mason rather than of the architect.

[Dr. Todhunter might have added _feature_ to the list of words abusively used by newspaper writers. In one number of a magazine two examples occur: “A _feature_ which had been well _taken up_ by local and other manufacturers was the exhibition of honey in various applied forms.” “A new _feature_ in the social arrangements of the Central Radical Club _took place_ the other evening.”]—_Macmillan’s Magazine._

LITERARY NOTICES.

THE DICTIONARY OF ENGLISH HISTORY. Edited by Sidney S. Low, B. A., late Scholar of Balliol College, Oxford, Lecturer on Modern History, King’s College, London; and F. S. Pulling, M. A., late Professor of Modern History, Yorkshire College, Leeds. New York: _Cassell & Company, Limited_.