‘It was in the early days of Victorian history, when I found myself in Sandhurst and short of money. A friend in Melbourne had given me an introduction to Mr. J. G. Boosey, proprietor and editor of the Bendigo Scientific Advertiser and General News Agent. To make my introduction agreeable to Mr. Boosey, and at the same time pecuniarily advantageous to myself, I penned a short article on the garden-snail, which had recently been imported from Europe, and was creating ravages of no inconsiderable extent in many of the gardens. This I put in my pocket, when I proceeded to Mr. Boosey’s office.
‘Mr. Boosey was exceedingly agreeable, and after inquiring about his friends in Melbourne, asked me to read the article I had brought. After giving a few preliminary coughs I began:
‘SLUGS.
‘“Slugs eat cabbage. They forage at night. In the morning they creep home. They are afraid of gardeners. Gardeners hate slugs because they eat the things in the garden. To catch slugs you must get up early. The captives may be thrown into a neighbouring garden. This annoys the man next door. The slug is a very quiet animal. Its length is sometimes three inches. When it is alarmed it is only about half an inch long. Many slugs have shells. The horns upon their heads are weapons. Slugs travel very slowly. Once a slug had a race with a hare. The slug won. Snails are the same as slugs. Once a slug fought with some tailors. The tailors ran away. They were afraid of the snail’s horns. Snails are succulent. They make good soup.”
‘“’Twon’t do, ’twon’t do,” said the editor. “’Tain’t my style a bit. If you want me to insert your articles in the Bendigo Scientific Advertiser and General News Agent, guess you’ll have to be terse. Say things to the point, and not go wandering along with a regimental procession of high-falutin, chuckle-headed sentences like what you’ve stuck down on that paper. Now look at this,” and he held out the papers I had brought for his approval at arm’s length. “Just look at this! call this an article on slugs! Why, there ain’t enough in it to make a decent epitaph for a bumble-bee.” Then he begun to read, “‘Slugs eat cabbage.’ Um, ‘They forage at night.’ Um, ‘In the morning they creep home.’ Um, ‘They are afraid of gardeners.’ Um, your ideas ain’t continuous or elastic. In those four sentences, if they were decently handled, there is enough to last the Bendigo Advertiser for a week. You oughtn’t to call a slug a slug. Call him a univalvular molluscous gasteropod. Describe him in the early dawn cautiously returning from a predatory excursion upon a cabbage-garden. Picture the thrifty gardener, with a patch of sunlight illuminating his honest face, the glory of the early morning, the refulgence of the rising luminary reflected from the riplets of a neighbouring fish-pond, and all that sort of thing. Just keep on saying the same thing over and over again without using exactly the same words. Circulate round and round a bit with ordinary phrases, and people will catch the hang of your meaning better than if you go dashing along, plumping fact after fact down their throats as if you wanted to choke ’em with literature. But above all things be terse, concise, and to the point.”
‘How I was to be terse and concise, and yet to keep on circling round and round, saying the same thing over and over again, but with varied phraseology, was a problem. I thanked the editor for his kindness, and proceeded towards my lodgings with my head filled with ideas of a univalvular molluscous gasteropod, a thrifty gardener, a rising luminary and a fish-pond. I had hard work that evening, but I succeeded in constructing a circular story about a univalvular molluscous gasteropod better than I had anticipated. Next morning when I entered the office, Boosey, who was sitting in his editorial chair, said: “Well—hic—so you think you have succeeded. Just let me hear what you have written—hic. Feel sleepy this morning.” It was clear that Mr. Boosey was slightly inebriated, and knowing that it would be bad policy to aggravate an inebriated man, I at once pulled my paper from my pocket, and began as follows:
‘“The title is ‘The Univalvular Molluscous Gasteropod; or, The New Colonial Pest.’”
‘“Excellent,” hiccuped Boosey, “mush better than calling it a snail. It’s a univalvular molluscous gasteropod, just as I told you. Your language is really very beautiful—hic.”
‘Then I started, Mr. Boosey dreamily looking at me and nodding his head.
‘“As a toil-worn univalvular molluscous gasteropod wearily sped towards its home at early dawn, skirting the western side of a broad and verdant cabbage-patch, picking its way by the uncertain but continually increasing light penetrating the cloud-beflecked sky, till it at last saw in the orient the uprising luminary which might disclose its presence to the cautious and thrifty gardener, who had risen early, with a patch of sunlight on his honest face, it watched the steadily glowing disc and the wide-extended sheaves and pencils, resplendent with golden light, silvering, gilding, and, it might be added, magnificently tinting every snowy pile of gauze-like vapour, etherealizing all the low-lying mist that hid the bosom of the mother earth, and at length perceived across the yet deserted garden the rippling waves of a distant fish-pond, stirred by the first gentle breeze of the early dawn, and the flashing of a broad band of glory, each ripplet on the distant shore catching up and robbing its neighbour of the wonderful illumination, each with its handful of beautiful light passing its transient acquirement to the nearest swell, and in turn catching new beauty from the passing beams of the god of day, when the eyes are dazed by the passing sheen, and all the scene is surcharged with light until glory covered the weary one.”