I come now to that part of my subject where pure literature is of
less moment than organization and the power of arrangement; and the
last two divisions of my great task concern work which has been
written by others, and with which the journalist has to deal in the
capacity of manager rather than that of author. These are, a few
notes upon editing, and some further remarks upon Revelations, that
is, unexpected and more or less secret political announcements.
I deal here first with editing, by which I do not mean the
management of a whole newspaper--for this has no connection
whatever with the art of letters--but the selection, arrangement,
and annotating of work produced by another hand, and entrusted to
the journalist for publication in his columns. The work is far
easier than might appear at first sight.
The first rule in connection with it is to offend as little as
possible, and especially to spare the living.
The second rule is to cut down the matter to fit the space at your
disposal. With the exception of a number of MSS. so small that
they may be neglected in the calculation, it does not matter in
the least what you cut out, so long as you remember that the parts
remaining must make sense, and so long as you make this second rule
fit in with the exigencies of the first.
As for annotation, it is the easiest thing in the world. True to
the general principle which governs all good journalism, that the
giving of pleasure should always be preferred to the giving of
pain, let your annotations pleasantly recall to the reader his own
stock of knowledge, let them be as obvious as possible, and let
him not learn too much from your research. This method has the
additional advantage, that it also saves you an infinity of trouble.
The matter is really not so elaborate as to need any further
comment. I will proceed at once to my example, prefacing it only
with the shortest explanatory statement, which will show how
thoroughly it illustrates the rules I have just enunciated.
The wife of one of the principal candidates for Parliament in
our part of the country begged Dr. Caliban to publish a simple,
chatty diary, which her sister (who was married to a neighbouring
squire) had kept during some years. Dr. Caliban was too courteous
to refuse, and had too profound an acquaintance with the rural
character to despise this kind of copy. On the other hand, he was
compelled to point out that he could not allow the series to run
through more than six months, and that he should, therefore, be
compelled to cut it down at his discretion. Full leave was given
him, and I do not think any man could have done the work better.
Thus the lady’s husband, though a good Englishman in every other
way (an indulgent landlord and a sterling patriot), was German by
birth and language. Here was a truth upon which it would have been
uncharitable and useless to insist--a truth which it was impossible
to conceal, but which it was easy to glide over; and Dr. Caliban,
as the student will see in a moment, glode over it with the
lightest of feet.
Again, a very terrible tragedy had taken place in the Burpham
family, and is naturally alluded to by their near neighbour. It was
impossible to cut out all mention of this unhappy thing, without
destroying the diary; but in Dr. Caliban’s edition of the MS., the
whole is left as vague as may be.
The particular part which I have chosen for a model--I think the
most admirable piece of editing I know--is from that week of the
diary which concerns the outbreak of the recent difficulty with
France, a difficulty luckily immediately arranged, after scarcely
a shot had been fired, by the mutual assent of the two nations and
(as it is whispered) by the direct intervention of High Authority.
The motto which Dr. Caliban chose for the whole series (called, by
the way, “Leaves from a Country Diary”), is a fine sentence from
the works of Mr. Bagehot.