He has been setting up a sermon of the Rev. Mr. Z. The society of the reverend gentleman were so well pleased with the discourse, that they requested a copy for the press. Mr. Z. should, of course, have copied the whole manuscript fairly; for, the haste of composition being past, he could have re-written it carefully, paying especial attention to chirography, spelling out his abbreviations, reducing dislocations, bringing interlineations into line,—in short, he should have done to the compositor what he would that the compositor should do unto him. But, instead of this, what did you do, Mr. Z.? Pen in hand, you re-read the sermon, making erasures, striking out some words and interlining others. You crowded new sentences, of two or three lines each, between lines already closely written; and you interlined these interlineations. You then wrote sundry additions on loose pieces of paper, denoting them as “A,” “B,” “C,” etc., and then placed the same capitals in the body of the work, without sufficiently explaining that new matter was to be inserted; {p23} neither did you make it appear whether the addenda were to constitute new paragraphs. And in this amorphous condition you allowed the sermon to go to the printing-office. It has, too, passed through several hands. Some of the pieces belonging to “A” have got into “B,” and some of the “B” have straggled into “C,”—and the printers cannot say where they do belong.
One compositor finds in his “take”[1] the abbreviation “Xn,” and, after many inquiries, learns that X is the Greek Chi, and so “Xn” signifies “Christian.” Another hesitates at a phrase which, to his eye, seems to read “a parboiled skeptic”; but as modern methods with heretics do not include heated applications, he asks those about him what the word is; perhaps goes to the proof-reader with it,—such things are done sometimes,—for the compositor expects ultimately to conform to the proof-reader’s decision,—and thus he loses five or ten minutes in learning that the word is purblind. Now, reverend sir, the compositor’s time is his money, and if you rob him of his time—the inference is obvious. Your better course, henceforth, will be to copy your manuscript, or employ some one to copy it, in a careful, painstaking manner, after all your emendations of the text have been made.
[1] For this and all other technical terms used in this work, see Chapter IX.
There is a proverb to the effect that lawyers are bad penmen, but we think the proverb unjust. So far as our experience goes, the handwriting of {p24} lawyers compares favorably with that of any other class of persons, of whatever profession. It is certainly as legible as the mercantile style; since the latter, although generally pretty to look at, is often very difficult to read,—abounding in flourish and ornament, which are too often but another name for obscurity. Sometimes, too, one meets with clerkly invoices or catalogues, containing remarkably fanciful capitals; we have seen good readers scarcely able to decide whether a given initial were a W, an H, or an N. We are pleased to learn, however, that one leading “Commercial College” has introduced a marked improvement in this respect, and now teaches its pupils a plain, legible hand, instead of a mass of overloaded ornamentation made not so much to be read, as simply to be admired.
But members of the bar, like most other persons, dislike the mechanical labor of copying what they have once committed to paper. Their arguments, and especially their briefs, are sometimes sent to the printer in a confused, chaotic mass; in a shape, or, rather, with a want of shape, which, if not resulting from inconsiderateness, would be—we were on the point of saying—disgraceful. A manuscript of this sort, covering but six or eight pages of letter-paper, sometimes requires several hours’ labor in reading, correcting, and revising, before a presentable proof can be obtained.
Legal documents are often interlarded with technical terms in law Latin and old French. Of course such terms ought to be made as plain as print. {p25} Usually the principal divisions of a brief are indicated by large roman numerals in the middle of the line; the points under these greater divisions, by roman numerals at the commencement of paragraphs; smaller divisions, by arabic numerals; and if still smaller divisions are required, these are denoted by letters in parenthesis, as (a), (b), (c), etc. In the haste of writing, however, it is sometimes found difficult, perhaps vexatious, to keep the run of so nice distinctions, and arabic numerals are used throughout, while no proper care is taken to distinguish the various divisions of the subject-matter by varying indentions.[2] The faults of the manuscript reappear in the proof. This leads to much loss of time “at the stone”; and as such work is frequently hurried during the sessions of the courts, the delay is exceedingly vexatious to all parties concerned. If one-eighth of the time now spent in correcting, overrunning the matter, and revising, were bestowed upon perfecting the copy, there would seldom be any delay in a well-appointed printing-office.
[2] We do not mean “indentation” nor yet “inden’tion,” but “indention,” as written in the text. The word is in the mouth of every printer, proof-reader, author, and publisher: why should it not be inserted in the dictionaries?
When transcripts of records of court are to be printed, care should be taken that only the very documents that are intended for the press be sent to the printing-office. For want of proper attention in this matter, it not unfrequently happens that certificates of notaries, extraneous documents, and duplicates are put in type, to be presently canceled. {p26}
We have said something above, touching mercantile handwriting. Constant practice with the pen gives facility and boldness of execution,—and where these are combined with good taste, chirography approaches the dignity of a fine art, and produces beautiful effects, and is seen to be near of kin to drawing and painting. In signatures, especially, flourish and ornamentation have a double use; they please the eye, and they baffle the forger. But when lines stand as near each other as in ordinary ruling, the flourish in one line interferes with the letters of the next; and the elegance of a well-cut capital will scarcely excuse its obtrusiveness, when it obliterates its more obscure but equally useful neighbors.
Further, business men, deeply impressed with the value of time, learn to delight in abbreviations. Types have been cast to meet some of these, as the “commercial a” [@] and the “per cent” [%]; but the compositor is sometimes put to his trumps to cut, from German and job letter, imitations of abbreviations which never ought to be sent to a printing-office as copy. We are not astonished that a merchant of Boston once received from a Prussian correspondent a request, that if he, the Bostonian, were to write again, it might be either in German or in good, plain English. We adopt the spirit of this advice; and would say to the banker, the broker, the merchant, and to their respective clerks, that when they write for the press, they should drop ornament, drop pedantic abbreviations, drop German, and write in plain English. {p27}