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._