VOL. VI.

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The Nervous Writing Man spends his summer in the city from choice, as will presently appear. His house is not large. The street front and the alley front are not far apart, and in the summer time all the doors and windows are wide open. One summer day the Writing Man had to prepare an article on "The Poetic Element in Our Daily Life." These are a few of the gentle influences that soothed and inspired him at his work that day:

9.00 A. M.- The Nervous Writing Man got to work.

No. II.

certain tones. A steam siren not far away gave half a dozen appalling whoops.

9.30. - The pup up the alley, having breakfasted, began to yelp for the day. The neighboring parrot strove to interest the people of the next street. The dog across the street began his day's work of barking at every passing wagon.

9.45. The nearest baby in the alley got seriously to work at his day's allotment of crying. Baby two doors above him took it up. First baby's small brother made himself heard. Babble of women's voices, scolding and gossiping, filled all the remaining air of the alley.

10.00.- Two boys under the front window had a Donnybrook difference about a base-ball bat.

Wild uproar out in the alley. Shouts 10.15. of "Whoa-gee-whoa- back-goahead - standstillgitamove." Rumbling of carts. Clatter of falling bodies on the bricks. Strange oaths. The garbage gentlemen were on a collecting tour. Small boy in the back yard across the alley began humming enthusiastically in the effort to make a flying machine.

I 1.00. A mouth organ in full cry passed under the Writing Man's window.

Three small boys and a small girl fought a screaming fight two doors away.

11.45.-A man, a ton of coal, and an iron chute began active operations at the cellar window of the next house. The dog across the street barked at them without ceasing. Together they made all other noises inaudible for the next fifteen minutes.

12 M. All the steam whistles within five miles did the best they could. The pup up the alley, the dog across the street, the neighboring parrot, the babies, and most of the small boys and girls accompanied them vocally with telling effect.

12.15 P. M.-Neighbor's piano getting badly banged.

porch bounced a chair up and down until holes began to appear in the floor. At the same time they all lifted up their voices to the utmost. Object of the demonstration, to keep the baby quiet. The baby declined to be quiet. 1.30. Operatic tenor went up the street singing in his top register: "Pe-e-e-e-che-e-e-s! O-0-0-0-h! Peecheeseggplanttomatoessweetpotatoespeechees!" Operatic baritone went down the street singing a sorrowful lay about bananas. The dog across the street greatly over-worked himself in the effort to do justice to both of them.

1.45, 2.00, 2.15, 2.30, 2.45. — Ditto and repeat. The same things all over again.

3.00.- Match game of base-ball began on the vacant lots half a square away. The Poetic Element was hopelessly knocked out for that day. James C. Purdy.

CAMDEN, N. J.

The term, "theological heresy," quoted by a correspondent in THE WRITER for August, suggests a few words upon the theological vocabulary, which has of late years attracted many writers in search of picturesque and expressive phrases. Words thence derived have often been used, in a semi-figurative sense at first, with an admirable effect, best appreciated by those readers who knew the meaning of the words in their proper place. Thus appearing in secular society, they are very apt, however, to be taken up carelessly by scribblers, and by frequent use they lose their original meanings without acquiring new ones of any definiteness. They run the risk, in short, of degenerating into cant phrases. Hence we can scarcely pick up a newspaper without finding therein some ludicrous blunder, resulting from some writer's use of a theological term of the origin, history, and meaning of which he is abysmally ignorant, while writers of a higher class than the news

paper scribblers, generally avoiding the glaringly incorrect use of such terms, often use them inappropriately, through lack of knowledge of their full meaning.

I do not here refer to the egregious errors appearing almost daily in the newspaper reports of ecclesiastical functions (to which the present writer paid especial attention in a paper entitled "Needed Reform in Ecclesiastical Reporting," published in the July, 1890, issue of this magazine; and of which an example was brought to his notice a few days ago in the report of the funeral of a parish priest, who was called throughout a "prelate "), but to terms belonging to the theological vocabulary, and incorrectly, or more often inappropriately, selected to convey a secular meaning.

Take, for example, the word "heresy." Its meaning, through careless use, has extended so far as to be inclusive of nearly anything with which we do not agree. To speak of a political

heresy is scarcely figurative nowadays. The "greenback heresy" is a stereotyped phrase. The Greek original meant something chosen. In its theological sense it implied at first something not altogether erroneous in itself but elevated out of its proper relation to other things, and thus made to obscure more important doctrine and to teach error. It very shortly came to mean any doctrine clearly contrary to the express doctrines of the church. A political heresy would be, therefore, a divergence from fully established political principles, not a mere difference of political opinion. This understanding of the meaning of the word would suggest the exercise of a careful discrimination in the use of it.

"Apocryphal" is a word of this class. It is applied to statements of doubtful accuracy. The word meant, originally, hidden. It was applied to the origin of certain writings, not belonging to the Old Testament canon of scriptures, and yet appearing with the Old Testament books in the Greek versions. It in no sense means spurious, for the Apocryphal writings are not spurious or intentionally fraudulent. Knowledge of these facts might lead us to use the word in cases analogous to, or suggestive of, the rise of the apocryphal scriptures, and to abstain from its use to indicate a suspicious story or a palpable fraud.

The use of "anathema" to imply a curse would seem to be inappropriate. The Greek word exists in two different forms, distinguished by the eta and the epsilon. The one was a thing devoted in honor of God. The other was a later form of the same word applied to something devoted to destruction. The word appears in the New Testament in both forms and with these almost opposite meanings. Common to both is the idea of setting aside for either the acceptance or rejection of God. In early church history the anathema included scarcely more than this. Its development into a ban connected with ecclesiastical penalties was rapid. With these facts clearly in mind, a writer would be led to discriminate between an appropriate use of the word and an inappropriate use, even in cases when no one would call in question its

correctness.

Sometimes we see the words "anathema

maranatha" used to imply an emphasized curse. Many excellent writers have fallen into this ludicrous blunder. It is supposed to be a biblical phrase. (I. Cor. xvi: 22.) The King James version is not properly punctuated in this case. After "let him be anathema" there should be a full stop. "Maran atha" are two Syriac words, signifying "the Lord is at hand," or "the Lord has come." They have no grammatical connection, in St. Paul's epistle, with the curse preceding them, but are more closely related to the blessing which follows and concludes the epistle.

"Shibboleth" is a favorite word with orators and writers. It meant originally both an ear of corn and a stream. It has now a meaning derived from a certain occasion when it was used 3,000 years ago. It was used by a speaker in the United States Senate some days ago. If this gentleman had read the fourth, fifth, and sixth verses of the twelfth chapter of the book of The Judges, he would have used a different word, a word that would have expressed his meaning. The word “Shibboleth" as he used it was utterly meaningless.

While this list might be indefinitely extended, the present purpose is to direct attention to the necessity of a careful study of words adopted from the theological vocabulary for secular use; a study in the interests, not more of accuracy than of expressiveness. Of course, it is not necessary that every writer should become a master of the science of theology in order to make a correct use of its terminology. The rules of philology apply to these terms as well as any others, and philology is a science that no writer should hold in utter scorn. Many of the words belonging to this class are found fully treated in Trench's works on words and in other books of that character.

Another word should be referred to, though it might be made the subject of a separate paper. It is one that has been the victim of a widespread popular misuse. It is the word "catholic." For the adherents of the Latin Church to use the term, without any qualifying prefix (Roman) and apply it exclusively to themselves, to their church, and to their customs, is excusable, for they thereby assert a claim. But it is illogical and erroneous for

others so to use the word; and for a "Protestant" to speak or write of the Church of Rome as the "Catholic Church" is to concede the claim of the Church of Rome to exclusive catholicity. The word "catholic" is in a creed held by Roman, Greek, and Anglican Catholics, as well as by some of the most ultra of Protestants, and it has a specific meaning therein. That meaning is ignored when the word is used without any qualifying term whatever to denote the Church of Rome or anything pertaining to it. The present plea is neither for nor against the catholicity of the Church of

One of the editors of a New York daily paper told me, some time ago, that when the books for review of which a great number came to his office-rose to an uncomfortably large and inconvenient pile, the editor-in-chief used to call him up and say: "Now, Uncle John, we must despatch these books at once. Come, let us get at them. Here is a history of Timbuctoo. Fairly written; good print; well bound. That will do. Next!" And thus they went through the pile, giving a line or two to each of the books, without reading one of them.

Many people think it must be a lovely thing to have nothing to do but to read books, and say what they think of them. And so it is, when this is done for self-instruction or pleasure; but it becomes a terrible thing when it is done on compulsion-done, not when one wishes, or when one is in the humor, but when one must, and all the time. When a good thing comes to your table in enormous quantities, it becomes surfeiting; and the prodigious number of books that come to the table of the critic nowadays is not only surfeiting, but appalling to him. The only books that he really can read with attention and give some proper account of are those which appeal to him personally, those which offer him some food for his own mind;

the others mean sheer drudgery, and he must despatch them as speedily as he can. For unless he does so, he will be overwhelmed with them - they will grow beyond his strength or power to tackle them. Like Macbeth's line of kings, they "stretch out to the crack of doom!" Consequently, he is obliged to dispose of them as fast as possible; which he does, not by reading them through, but sometimes by quoting a paragraph from the preface which indicates the character of the book, and sometimes by a word or two about the printing and binding, which show what its appearance is. How little the young author, who is watching the daily issue of the Thunderer, and, while expecting to see his wonderful new book reviewed in a twocolumn article, finds it noticed one day in three lines how little, I say, does he think of these things!

In fact there are many reasons why the critic cannot devote much attention to every book that comes to his desk. A good deal depends, first, upon the subject-matter of the book; and secondly, upon the character and wants of the subscribers to his paper. He must, to a certain extent, cater to the wants and tastes of his readers; and, as his space is limited, he will devote a good deal to what is interesting to them and very little to what is not.

But if any one wishes to get a correct estimate of the character of our press-criticisms as a whole (and, in a modified sense, of the calibre of our critics), he can easily do so by examining two or three hundred criticisms of some book which he knows well. I have been enabled, through a newspaper clipping bureau, to do this more than once; and I have found that while the critics of the leading dailies of the cities either give a very scant account of a new book or make it the text for an essay, the provincial papers generally give a fair review of the whole book, and often quote some characteristic passage from it. If the city critic takes an interest in a book, he makes much of it; if not, he dismisses it very shortly. If the provincial critic finds the book to his taste, he makes much of it, not in the extent of space he gives to it, or in the length of his remarks, but in the force and heartiness with which he commends it. He praises the book "for all it is worth," as the saying is, and heartily commends it to his readers. The city critic is always more reserved in this respect (probably aware that his words may be quoted in advertisements), and generally qualifies his remarks by such phrases as "pretty well done," "tolerably good," "very fair indeed."

Of

Some books have a large sale among provincial people, and others among those of the city. A New York publisher of scientific books told me that he sold more books to Upper Canada than to all the cities of the United States. the last book I wrote, which was a collection of short essays on literary and educational themes, I can say this: that while four-fifths of the provincial critics read the volume through, and gave a very good account of it, most of the city critics made short work of it, and gave a very reserved or limited description of it. One of them gave a positively dishonest account of the book-quoting the author's description of a scene that was once presented to a youth approaching Harvard College, as if he had painted that scene as now existing. On the other hand, of a biography which I wrote some years ago, half of the provincial critics read, 1 think, little more than the preface, from which they made liberal extracts, while the city critics made much of the book. The essays were,

therefore, probably as much relished by the provincial critics as the biography was by those of the city.

Occasionally, some of the provincial critics play fantastic tricks in the way of book reviewing. One of them, in a paper published at Burlington, Iowa, cut out the criticism on my latest book, half a column long, which appeared in the New York Tribune, and clapped it in his own paper in large type as original matter! In fact, he gave a big heading to it," Self-Culture," which is not exactly the title of the book, and gave it a prominent place. Now the question with me was, Did this poor fellow not have the time, or did he not have the ability, to write something of his own? Or was the editor short-handed, his critic being ill, or gone off on a vacation? Or did the editor happen to see the remarks of the Tribune critic, and exclaiming, "Them's my sentiments!" print them as his own? Or did he make a regular thing of it, and dispose of all new books in this way? I did not feel at all displeased at what he did, for the criticism was excellent; but I felt sorry for the poor critic, or poor editor, who had to resort to this makeshift; for such things are always found out, and will eventually do him more harm than good. If he had acknowledged the article as being from the Tribune, it would have been all right; nobody would have condemned him for quoting it; but, as it stood, it was a species of robbery, and altogether unworthy of an honest editor. Still, his procedure was no worse than the practice of the clergyman who preaches another man's sermon as his own; and, by the way, the similarity was very strong here, for the original critic made my book the text for a neat little sermon.

I was struck with the widely differing tastes of the critics in what they praised and in what they condemned. What one critic condemned as egoism, another praised as that which gave zest and interest to the book; what one praised as sound doctrine, another condemned as being utterly false; and passages of which some thought little were set down by others as the best. One critic quoted, as a specimen of the style of the author, a passage which he had quoted himself; and another spoke of "the chapter on Paré," whereas the reference to the