Pens and Types

WRITING FOR THE PRESS.

In an action recently brought against the proprietors of Lloyd’s paper, in London, for damages for not inserting a newspaper advertisement correctly, the verdict was for the defendant, by reason of the illegibility of the writing.

“The illegibility of the writing” is the cause of the larger portion of what are conveniently termed “errors of the press.” One can scarcely take up a periodical publication without finding, from editor or correspondent, an apology for some error in a previous issue, couched somewhat in this style: “The types made us say, in our last, something about the ‘Dogs of the Seine’, we certainly wrote ‘Days of the League.’” We have no doubt that, in a large majority of cases of this sort, if the question between “the types” and “the pen” were left to a jury, they would, as in the case of Lloyd’s paper, decide in favor of the types.

By dint of hard study, by comparison of letters in 

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various words, and by the sense of the context, the compositor generally goes through his task creditably, in spite of the “illegibility of the writing.” But sometimes, in despair, he puts into type that word which most nearly resembles an unreadable word in the manuscript, making nonsense of the passage because he can make nothing else of it. We remember a great many instances of this sort, in our own experience as a proof-reader,—instances which, according to custom, might be attributed to “the types,” but which were really due to the writers’ carelessness alone. Thus, in a medical work, it was stated that “This case had been greatly aggravated by the ossification of warm poultices to the face”; the author having intended to write “application.”

Ames’s “Typographical Antiquities” has been made to figure as “Typographical Ambiguities,”—owing to chirographical ambiguity.

“The reports in the ‘Times’ and other journals, never give the name of the Lord Chandler.” “Chancellor” was, of course, intended by the writer, but this was an “error of the press.”

In an investigation touching the field of a compound microscope, a witness was made to say, “It would vary with the power of the lye-juice employed.” The reporter meant to write “eye-piece,” but he succeeded in writing what the compositor set up.

The title of a book,—“A Treatise on the Steam-engine; with Theological Investigations on the Motive Power of Heat.” The latter clause might seem appropriate to “Fox’s Book of Martyrs”; but the 

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transcriber of the title imagined he had written “Theoretical.”

A toast,—“The President of the —— County Agricultural Society,—May he enjoy a grim old age”: the word was corrected to “green,” before the whole edition of the paper was worked off.

We have seen an advertisement of “Mattlebran’s Universal Geography,”—no doubt a very entertaining work.

In a treatise on botany, we have been told, “we first find those that form the bud, then the calx, the corrola, the stamina and pistol.” The writer should have spelled correctly, and dotted his i’s.

A catalogue of hardware to be sold by auction had an item, “3 bbls. English pocket-knives.” This was set from “commercial” writing, in which “bbls.,” or something like it, was used as a contraction for “bladed.”

“Nature intended man for a social being. Alone and isolated, man would become impatient and peevish.” No doubt this is true, but “the types” were to blame again,—the author fancied that he had written “impotent, and perish.”

The constitution of a certain corporation appeared with the following article in the proof-sheet: “The Directors shall have power to purchase, build, equip or charter all such steamboats, propellers, or other vessels, as the engineers of the Corporation shall in their judgment require.” Why the Directors should be placed at the mercy of the engineers seemed unaccountable. But a critical examination of the 

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manuscript revealed that the “engineers” were “exigencies.”

A “Bill of exceptions, having been examined, and found unfavorable to the truth, is allowed.” The Justice who signed the above, understood the word which we have italicized to be “conformable.”

“They could not admit those parts of the testimony until they had examined the plaintiff in regard to the poets,”—“facts” should have been written instead of “poets”; but the “pen” made an error which the compositor did not feel at liberty to correct.

We have read in a newspaper a description of a battle-field:—“It was fearful to see: the men fell in ranks, and marched in pantaloons to their final account.” This was explained by an erasure and a blot on the word “platoons.”

It is very easy to say that errors of the kind we have recited, are owing to the ignorance or carelessness of the printers; but, on the other hand, when printed copy is reset, such errors almost never occur,—and the absence of errors is in direct ratio to the legibility of the copy.

Men who write much, generally imagine that they write well; but their imagination is often a vain one. The writer of the worst manuscript we recollect to have met with, expressed surprise when told that printers and proof-readers could not read his writing, and remarked that he had often been complimented on the plainness and neatness of his chirography. His memory was, no doubt, excellent,—the 

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compliments must have been bestowed in his juvenile days, when he was imitating engraved copies.

While one is imitating a copy, he may, indeed, write legibly, nay, even elegantly; for he has nothing to attend to, save the formation of the letters. But when one is writing a report or a sermon or a poem, his mind is busy with something besides chirography.

The fact is, that men seldom succeed well in doing more than one thing at a time. The itinerant musician who imitates the various instruments of a full band, may be detected in an occasional discord. Paley remarks that we cannot easily swallow while we gape; and, if any one will try the experiment, he will presently be satisfied that in this statement, at least, Paley was physiologically and philosophically correct.

Thus, in the haste of composition, ideas crowding upon us faster than the pen can give them permanence, we can bestow little thought on mere chirography, writing becomes mechanical, or even automatic; and we pay scarcely more attention to the forms that follow the pen, than we do to the contractions and dilatations of the vocal organs when engaged in conversation with an entertaining friend.

Let school training and practice be the same, yet such are the differences of physical conformation that handwritings are as various as the individuals that produce them; running through all degrees of the scale, from an elegance transcending the engraver’s skill, down to misshapen difficulties and puzzling deformity.