On the Art of Writing

from that case. The odds are, you will feel like a butterfly who has discarded his chrysalis.

Here are some specimens to try your hand on⁠—

1. All those tears which inundated Lord Hugh Cecil’s head were dry in the case of Mr. Harold Cox.

Poor Mr. Cox! left gasping in his aquarium!

2. [From a cigar-merchant] In any case, let us send you a case on approval.

3. It is contended that Consols have fallen in consequence: but such is by no means the case.

“Such,” by the way, is another spoilt child of Jargon, especially in Committee’s Rules⁠—“Co-opted members may be eligible as such; such members to continue to serve for such time as”⁠—and so on.

4. Even in the purely Celtic areas, only in two or three cases do the Bishops bear Celtic names.

For “cases” read “dioceses.”

Instance. In most instances the players were below their form.

But what were they playing at? Instances?

Character⁠—Nature. There can be no doubt that the accident was caused through the dangerous nature of the spot, the hidden character of the byroad, and the utter absence of any warning or danger signal.

Mark the foggy wording of it all! And yet the man hit something and broke his neck! Contrast that explanation with the verdict of a coroner’s jury in the West of England on a drowned postman⁠—“We find that deceased met his death by an act of God, caused by sudden overflowing of the river Walkhan and helped out by the scandalous neglect of the way-wardens.”

The Aintree course is notoriously of a trying nature.

On account of its light character, purity and age, Usher’s whiskey is a whiskey that will agree with you.

Order. The mésalliance was of a pronounced order.

Condition. He was conveyed to his place of residence in an intoxicated condition.

“He was carried home drunk.”

Quality and Section. Mr. ⸻, exhibiting no less than five works, all of a superior quality, figures prominently in the oil section.

—This was written of an exhibition of pictures.

Degree. A singular degree of rarity prevails in the earlier editions of this romance.

That is Jargon. In prose it runs simply “The earlier editions of this romance are rare”⁠—or “are very rare”⁠—or even (if you believe what I take leave to doubt), “are singularly rare”; which should mean that they are rarer than the editions of any other work in the world.

Now what I ask you to consider about these quotations is that in each the writer was using Jargon to shirk prose, palming off periphrases upon us when with a little trouble he could have gone straight to the point. “A singular degree of rarity prevails,” “the accident was caused through the dangerous nature of the spot,” “but such is by no means the case.” We may not be capable of much; but we can all write better than that, if we take a little trouble. In place of, “the Aintree course is of a trying nature” we can surely say “Aintree is a trying course” or “the Aintree course is a trying one”⁠—just that and nothing more.

Next, having trained yourself to keep a lookout for these worst offenders (and you will be surprised to find how quickly you get into the way of it), proceed to push your suspicions out among the whole cloudy host of abstract terms. “How excellent a thing is sleep,” sighed Sancho Panza; “it wraps a man round like a cloak”⁠—an excellent example, by the way, of how to say a thing concretely: a Jargoneer would have said that “among the beneficent qualities of sleep its capacity for withdrawing the human consciousness from the contemplation of immediate circumstances may perhaps be accounted not the least remarkable.” How vile a thing⁠—shall we say?⁠—is the abstract noun! It wraps a man’s thoughts round like cotton wool.

Here is a pretty little nest of specimens, found in The Times newspaper by Messrs. H. W. and F. G. Fowler, authors of that capital little book The King’s English:⁠—

One of the most important reforms mentioned in the rescript is the unification of the organisation of judicial institutions and the guarantee for all the tribunals of the independence necessary for securing to all classes of the community equality before the law.

I do not dwell on the cacophony; but, to convey a straightforward piece of news, might not the Editor of The Times as well employ a man to write:⁠—

One of the most important reforms is that of the Courts, which need a uniform system and to be made independent. In this way only can men be assured that all are equal before the law.

I think he might.

A day or two ago the musical critic of the Standard wrote this:⁠—

Mr. Lamond in Beethoven

Mr. Frederick Lamond, the Scottish pianist, as an interpreter of Beethoven has few rivals. At his second recital of the composer’s works at Bechstein Hall on Saturday afternoon he again displayed a complete sympathy and understanding of his material that extracted the very essence of aesthetic and musical value from each selection he undertook. The delightful intimacy of his playing and his unusual force of individual expression are invaluable assets, which, allied to his technical brilliancy, enable him to achieve an artistic triumph. The two lengthy Variations in E flat major (Op. 35) and in D major, the latter on the Turkish March from The Ruins of Athens, when included in the same programme, require a master hand to provide continuity of interest. To say that Mr. Lamond successfully avoided moments that might at times, in these works, have inclined to comparative disinterestedness, would be but a moderate way of expressing the remarkable fascination with which his versatile playing endowed them, but at the same time two of the sonatas given included a similar form of composition, and no matter how intellectually brilliant may be the interpretation, the extravagant use of a certain mode is bound in time to become somewhat ineffective. In the Three Sonatas, the E major (Op. 109), the A major (Op. 2), No. 2, and the C