Shorthand in Church.
By William E. A. Axon, f.r.s.l.
When Job Everardt published in the year 1658, his “Epitome of Stenographie,” he had certainly no intention of minimising the value of his art, but, on the contrary, was quite ready to magnify the office of the shorthand writer. The engraved title-page is ornamented by eleven emblematical pictures, and stenography is declared to be “Swifter than the swift of foot” (Amos ii. 15); “Swifter than a post” (Job ix. 25); “Swifter than a weaver’s shuttle” (Job vii. 20); “Swifter than waters” (Job xxiv. 18); “Swifter than clouds” (Isaiah xix. 1); “Swifter than ships” (Job ix. 26); “Swifter than horses” (Jer. iv. 13); “Swifter than dromedaries” (Jer. ii. 23); “Swifter than roes” (1 Chron. xii. 8); “Swifter than leopards” (Heb. i. 8); “Swifter than eagles” (2 Sam. i. 23). It may be remarked in passing that the worthy Everardt consistently spells than then in the text to each of these emblems. We have left to the last the picture which holds the place of honour. Here we see a worthy divine, robed in a black gown, set off with white collars and cuffs, and with his head covered by a furred skull cap. He stands in a low pulpit, his hands rest on the comfortable cushion, which is unencumbered either by book or MS. Opposite to him, and occupying the whole of a comfortable form or very wide chair, is a stenographer. He wears his hat, as was often customary in church during the seventeenth century; he has impressive white hands; he has not taken off his cloak, but on a fold of it allows a book to rest, in which, with an impossible pen, he is taking down the sermon, and stares with fixed gaze as the divine asserts “My tongue is as the pen of a swift writer,” and seems almost inclined to dispute the assertion that any tongue could keep pace with his nimble stylus.
It must be confessed that the early stenographers—to confine our attention to them—were not at all in the habit of under-valuing their art. Here is what this same Everardt, “dropping into poetry” like Silas Wegg, has to say in a triple acrostic:—
| Secret, short, swift this Writer iS, | the Sun’s course seemes but slow to hiS |
| The Teacher’s nimble tongue comes shorT | this Writer waits his nexT reporT |
| Eagles arE swift, his pen doth fleE | his quill an Eagle’s seems to bE |
| Noe clouds can flee, Nor waters ruN | swifter theN his quick strokes have doN |
| One posting Swiftly TO and frO | his Oft-turn’d quill doth even SO |
| Galley or ship with Sailes and FlagG | the Weavers shuttle, Leopard, StagG |
| Roe, Dromedary, Horse oR Ha’R: | oR the swift swiming Dolphin ra’R |
| And the quick Scribes, As ShemajA | Baruch, EzrA, E L I S H A M A |
| Paint forth, as Patterns in a maP | this ARTS true Portrature and shaP |
| Haste Haste to learn what it doth teacH | Swiftness and Shortness botH to reacH |
| Yea both in StenographyLY | much more in this E P I T O M Y |
After this ingenious torturing of the Queen’s English, it is not surprising to find,
“In steed [sic] of Tenne commandts. Lords Pray’r, Creed:
Heer’s Three and Thirty Languages to Reade,”
that is to say, the sentence “But the just shall live by his faith,” in that number of tongues, first in his stenographic characters, and then transliterated into longhand. His dedication is written in the style of a sermon, and in an introductory verse he does not fail to claim that by his art are
“... Sermons writ even from the lip,
And sudden thoughts before they slip.”
His good opinion of his own stenography, and powers of versification, sustains him to the end of his book, and he bids us adieu in this wise:—
“Herewith Farewell; If you can tell
What yet more fair, short, swift maybee,
Let the world know it, candedly [sic] show it
Or if not, Follow this with mee.”
William Hopkins “Flying Penman” (1695), has the following commendation signed by one whose surname has since become famous in divinity:—
“Virgil, who largely wrot about the Gnat
That saveing Man’s life his own ruine gat,
Might have emploi’d his pen about this Fly
With greater pleasure and Utility,
A Fly this is, but of more noble kind
Than in the winged crue you ere did find:
A Flying Man; the Flying-Pen-man ’tis
Whose wing the fleeing game doth never miss.
The Eagle strikes down and eats up his prey
Destroying all that he doth bear away,
But what this Pen-man takes he doth preserve,
And makes it better to all uses serve,
When fleeting words would vanish with their sound
He doth them stay, and them deliver bound,
By Lines of Characters wherein they rest
As in a dwelling that doth please them best.
The Art of Spelling at first was thought
Strange, and they deem’d immortal who it taught,
Spelling by Characters excelleth all
That under any other Art doth fall.
Some Charactors creep, some go, these do Fly
Showing their authors great agility,
And this ability he doth impart
By certain rules of a defusive Art.”
Edward Beecher.
Hopkins gives a long list of theological words, and of abbreviations of such phrases as “the blood of the saints,” “the breath of the Almighty,” “the candle of the Lord,” etc. In reporting the words of preachers, he advises the use of a book, with a margin ruled off, in which to “set down the numbers and names of all the heads contained in the sermon. All these heads,” he says, “with parts of the Inlargements used upon them may be taken by such who hardly ever wrote before.” This statement must be received cum grano salis.
The system best known as that of Jeremiah Rich, who appears to have copied it from his uncle, William Cartwright, was one that seems to have been favoured by the divines of the seventeenth century. It was modified by Dr. Doddridge, and taught in his academy for the training of Nonconformist ministers, and then came into use in most of the older dissenting colleges, so that twenty years ago there were many who had thus been trained and conned the dumpty little bibles and psalm books that were engraved in Rich’s system. That system has had many names attached to it. Let us take that which bears the impress of “Botley’s learned hand.” One of his eulogists tells us
“Sermons this art transfers, its oft known
The countrey reaps what’s in the City sowne;
The sacred pulpit is not its confine
The general good is this art’s main designe.”
Botley’s “Maximum in Minimo,” which appeared in 1659, is avowedly Jeremiah Rich’s “Pen’s dexterity compleated.” The theological uses of the system are further asserted by ingenious devices for indicating such phrases as “to be joyned in love to those that are not of the people of God,” “to embrace the cross of Christ,” etc. This character = ☉ signifies “to be miserable as the world is miserable,” whilst
meant “a saint is a 1000 times better than the world.” So in Noah Bridge’s “Stenographie,” issued in the same year, there are phraseograms for “in the name of the Lord,” “wherefore said the psalmist,” etc.
The “New Method of Short and Swift Writing,” which was given away to purchasers of Dr. Chamberlen’s “anodyne necklace for children’s teeth,” is declared to be “necessary for all Ministers of State, Members of Parliament, Lawyers, Divines, Students, Tradesmen, Shopkeepers, Travellers, and in fine, all sorts of persons from the highest to the lowest quality, degree, rank, station, and condition whatsoever, and write down presently whatever they hear or see done.” The theologian here is somewhat lost in an indiscriminate crowd.
That shorthand was used for the purpose of obtaining copies both of plays and of sermons in the seventeenth century is sufficiently well-known. There is a curious tract which professes to be a shorthand report of a discourse, by no less a person than our “Cromwell, chief of men,” and although it is but a satire, its curious titlepage is nevertheless evidence of the common belief,—founded doubtless on the common practice,—that stenography could secure verbatim reports of the exhortations of preachers, whether clerical or lay. The tract professes to be,—
“A most Learned, Conscientious and Devout Exercise or Sermon of Self-Denyal, (Preached or) Held forth the last Lords-day of April, in the year of Freedom the 1st, 1649. At Sir P. T.’s House in Lincolns-Inn-Fields. By Lieutenant General Oliver Cromwell, Immediately before his going for Ireland, as it was then faithfully taken in Characters, By Aaron Gueredo. And now published for the Benefit of the New Polonian Association, and late Famed Ignoramus furies of this city. Humbly Dedicated to the Worthy Protestant-Hop-Merchants, and the rest of the Ignoramus-Brethren. London: Printed in the Year of Freedom 43.”
The sermons of Tobias Crisp, which gave rise to a long controversy, were printed from “shortwriting,” in 1642-43, and also those of Stephen Crisp, the Quaker, in 1694.
The quarrel between the preacher and the reporter was not long in breaking out. Here is the indignant complaint of Dr. Calamy in the preface of one of his discourses.—
“The iniquity of the times hath necessitated the printing of the ensuing Sermon. There is a Fellow, (who he is I know not) who hath for his own private advantage, published it very imperfectly and corruptly. And herein hath not only sinned against the 8th Commandment in taking away another man’s goods without his leave, but also against the 9th Commandment, in bearing false witness against his neighbour. For he makes me to say not only such things which I never said, but which are very absurd and irrational. As for example: That the Body is the worse part of the Soul. That the party deceased had not only dona sanaia, but selutifera. That I should tell a story of one good Pell, a Minister, born without doubt in Utopia, for of such a man I never either read or heard. To make some satisfaction to the living and the dead, here you have the same sermon in a truer edition with some few additions then omitted for want of time. If this unhappy necessity may contribute anything to thy good, or to the perpetuating of the Memory of the Reverend, Learned, and godly Minister (at whose Funeral it was preached), I shall not much repent for what I have done, though I am assured, that he that brought me into this necessity, hath cause to repent of this, his irregular and unwarrantable practice. (“The Saint’s Transfiguration,” a Sermon preached at the Funeral of Dr. Samuel Bolton, by Edmund Calamy, B.D., October 19, 1654. London, 1655).”
The preacher had of course alluded to Conradus Pellicanus, the German theologian, whose name the stenographer had but partially caught, and set down as “Pell!” Hinc illae lachrymae—of angry indignation.
The stenographers of the last century followed closely in the footsteps of their predecessors. James Weston’s “Stenography” of which various editions appeared between 1727 and 1740, has an engraving showing a cathedral, in which a bewigged divine is preaching to a crowd of fashionably dressed ladies and gentlemen, many of whom are busy with pen and notebook. Underneath the picture is the motto,—
“Be perfect in this useful art, and then
No word from pulpit can escape your pen.”
This idea was conveyed by Aulay Macaulay, whose “Polygraphy” has for a frontispiece a pretty engraving, in which two gentlemen and a lady are seen taking down the words which, from the preacher’s gestures, we may suppose to be both impressive and profitable.
In the nineteenth century, as in the seventeenth, the church is much frequented by stenographers, but more it is to be feared for practice in shorthand than for perfection in piety. The first ambition of the boy who is learning shorthand is to “report” a sermon by the preacher whose ministry he attends. Mr. Thomas Allen Reed has given an amusing account of his first exploit in this direction, when he was still struggling with the early difficulties of the system he soon after abandoned for phonography. He says, “I did not, however, relinquish my practice, and in a few weeks I resolved on making a grand attempt to take down the Sunday sermon. I rose early in the morning with the sense of a weighty responsibility resting upon me. I sharpened my pencil with the gravity of a senator, and folded several sheets of paper together, in the profound conviction that I was undertaking a serious, if not a formidable, duty. I did my best to conceal my emotions, but my heart was beating all the way to the church. As to the preliminary service, I understood as little of it as if it had been read in Cherokee. I stood when I ought to have knelt, and knelt when I should have sat or stood, and demeaned myself like a youth whose religious education had been sadly neglected. At length the clergyman entered the pulpit, and I took my sheets of paper from the Bible in which I had concealed them, and my pencil from my pocket. If I did not feel like Bonaparte’s soldiers, that the eyes of posterity were upon me, I devoutly believed that every eye in the church was directed to my note book. The colour mounted my cheeks (as it very often did at that period of my life,) and my whole frame trembled. I had a strong impulse to abandon my project, but I summoned all my energy to the task, and awaited the commencement of the sermon. ‘The 12th chapter of Isaiah and the 3rd verse,’ said the minister in solemn tones. This presented no great difficulty. I am sorry to say that, stenographically speaking, I burked Isaiah, and contented myself with the long-hand abbreviation, Is., and as to the text itself, I thought the first three words would suffice. And now for the sermon. ‘The remarkable words, my brethren, of this important prophecy.’ Laboriously I followed the deliberate utterances of the speaker, but when I reached the prophecy I floundered about in a maze of dire confusion. I thought it began with ph, and I accordingly started as I had been instructed, with the stenographic equivalent, f, but, finding that this would not do, I crossed it out. Then I tried p, r, and getting a good deal confused, plunged madly into the alphabet, the result being a combination of characters altogether beyond description. But where was the preacher? Away in the distance, almost out of sight and hearing. I was fairly beaten, but not quite disheartened. When another sentence was begun I made a fresh start, this time I was pulled up by the word ‘synonymous,’ I knew there were some n’s and m’s in it, but not how many. I must have written three or four of each, and while I was jerking out these segments of circles (their forms were the same as in Phonography,) the clergyman was remorselessly pursuing the intricacies of a long sentence, which I was compelled wholly to abandon. I made several other efforts with the like result. At length I secured an entire sentence of about twenty words, and felt very proud of the achievement. Some half-dozen such sentences rewarded my labour during the sermon. How I racked my brain in the afternoon in poring over these fragments! My memory (not then a bad one) was utterly useless. I had not the slightest conception of the drift of the sermon, but I was determined to make some kind of a transcript, and it was made. I presented it to my mother as my first attempt, and I believe she kept it carefully locked up in a drawer among her treasures. It was fortunate for my reputation that it never afterwards saw the light.” (Leaves from the Notebook of Thomas Allen Reed, vol. 1, p. 12; vol. 2, p. 24).
The professional reporting of sermons is now an important department of the stenographer’s work. The late Mr. Spurgeon’s sermons were thus reported by Mr. Reed. Dr. Cumming had his own reporter, as had Beecher, and as Talmage and others have. Dr. Joseph Parker’s discourses were “specially reported” by his wife. It is to the phonographic skill of a lady that we owe the preservation of many of the lectures, sermons, and prayers of the late George Dawson. The sermons of the Rev. Thomas T. Lynch were also reported by Mr. Reed. Yet the preacher had a strong dislike to his discourses being reported and printed, “especially without his revision.” There, no doubt, is the rub. Dr. Morley Punshon had a strong dislike to be reported, and some letters that passed between him and Mr. Reed are given in the Phonetic Journal, July 30th, 1881. His objections were that the reporter was sometimes inaccurate, and that the preacher alone had a right to decide whether he would or would not address the larger congregation to be reached by the press. And he urged very strongly that the arguments used by Macaulay as to the unauthorised publication of his speeches were equally applicable to the case of sermons. It is still a rather doubtful point whether sermons are covered by the law of copyright, and many single sermons and even volumes have been published without the sanction, and sometimes against the wishes, of the preachers. But as it has been held by the law courts that a professor’s lectures cannot be legally published without his consent, it is possible that some day a preacher may arise who will test the question and ask the judges to say if the pulpit is as much protected as the teacher’s desk. The late Bishop Fraser is said to have jocularly declared that there was no heresy that had not been attributed to him by the slips of note-takers and condensers.
Shorthand has been extensively used for the MS. of preachers, as by Dr. Chalmers, Job Orton, and a host of other preachers,—so many, indeed, that to deal with stenography in the pulpit would need a larger space than is here available.
Perhaps the most original use of shorthand in church was that due to the conscientiousness and business instincts of the late Rt. Hon. W. H. Smith. Ecclesiastical patronage he felt to be a great responsibility. When there was a minister to be appointed he sought the best information as to those who were recommended to him as suitable. Sometimes he corresponded with friends likely to know; “at other times he used to send his confidential shorthand writer to attend the services of clergymen who might be suitable for the vacancy, and bring him verbatim reports of the sermons, with confidential memoranda of their appearance, views, abilities, and other details. It was only after carefully examining this information that he would proceed to make the appointment.”
Those clergymen who owed their promotion to the testimonials thus obtained might say with Job Orton’s pious fervour, “Blessed be God for shorthand.”