Part 25

Now there is no doubt that here we have vivisection in its most extensive and harsh form. More animals are subjected to it in one year than have been vivisected by biologists in half-a-century. It need not be said that anæsthetics are not used, and if they were or could be they would not assuage the suffering which follows the operation. It will surely be only prudent for the opponents of scientific vivisection to inform us why they are passive and silent with regard to bucolic vivisection. They declare that knowledge obtained by the torture of animals is impure, unholy, and vitiated at its source, and they reject it with many expressions of scorn. What do they say to their daily food which is obtained by the same means? They live by the results of vivisection on the largest scale—the food they eat—and they spend a good portion of their lives thus sustained in denouncing vivisection on the smallest scale because it only produces knowledge. It is true that they are not particular to conceal their suspicion that the knowledge claimed to be derived from vivisection is an imposture and a sham. Do they not, by the inconsistencies here briefly alluded to, their hostility to alleged knowledge, and their devotion to very substantial beef and mutton, the one and the other the products of vivisection, expose themselves to a suspicion better founded than that which they allow themselves to express? They question the value of vivisection, may not the single-mindedness of their hostility to it be questioned with better ground? Biology is now the frontier science exposed for obvious reasons to the _odium theologicum_ in a marked degree. The havoc it has made among cherished religious opinions amply accounts for the dislike which it excites. But it is difficult to attack. On the other hand, an outcry that its methods are cruel, immoral, and revolting may serve as a useful diversion, and even give it a welcome check. The Puritans, it was remarked, objected to bear-baiting, not because it hurt the bear, but because it pleased the men. May we not say that vivisection is opposed, not because it is painful to animals, but because it tends to the advancement of science?

The question recurs, What is our proper relation to the lower animals? May we use them? If so, abuse and cruelty will inevitably occur. May we not use them? Then our civilisation and daily life must be revolutionised to a degree not suggested or easy to conceive.—_Fortnightly Review._

FOOTNOTES:

[26] _The Empire of the Hittites._ By WILLIAM WRIGHT, B.A., D.D. James Nisbet and Co.

[27] A distinguished French _savant_, writing in the _Revue Philosophique_ for December 1884 has described some ingenious experiments for detecting the indications of telepathic influence—of the transference of thought from mind to mind which may be afforded by the movements communicated to a table by the unconscious pressure of the sitters. Dr. Richet’s investigations, though apparently suggested, in part at least, by those of the Society for Psychical Research, have followed a quite original line, with results of much interest.

[28] In a paper on “The Stages of Hypnotism” in _Mind_ for October 1884, Mr. E. Gurney, describes an experiment where this persistent influence of an impressed idea could in a certain sense, be detected in the muscular system. “A boy’s arm being flexed” (and the boy having been told that he _cannot_ extend it), “he is offered a sovereign to extend it. He struggles till he is red in the face; but all the while his triceps is remaining quite flaccid, or if some rigidity appears in it, the effect is at once counteracted by an equal rigidity in the biceps. The idea of the impossibility of extension—_i.e._, the idea of continued flexion—is thus acting itself out, even when wholly rejected from the mind.”

[29] M. Taine, in the preface to the later editions of his “De l’Intelligence,” narrates a case of this kind, and adds, “Certainement on constate ici un dédoublement du moi; la présence simultanée de deux séries d’idées parallèles et indépendantes, de deux centres d’action, ou si l’on veut, de deux personnes morales juxtaposées dans le même cerveau.”

[30] It is obvious that in an argument which has to thread its way amid so much of controversy and complexity, no terminology whatever can be safe from objection. In using the word _self_ I do not mean to imply any theory as to the metaphysical nature of the self or ego.

[31] It is worth noticing in this connection that in one case of Brown-Séquard’s an aphasic patient _talked in his sleep_.

[32] “Mirror-writing” is not very rare with left-handed children and imbeciles, and has been observed, in association with aphasia, as a result of hemiplegia of the right side. If (as Dr. Ireland supposes, “Brain,” vol. iv. p. 367) this “Spiegel-schrift” is the expression of an _inverse verbal image_ formed in the _right hemisphere_; we shall have another indication that the _right hemisphere_ is concerned in some forms of _automatic_ writing also.

[33] Records of carefully conducted experiments in automatic writing are earnestly requested, and may be addressed to the Secretary, Society for Psychical Research, 14 Dean’s Yard, Westminster.

NOTES ON POPULAR ENGLISH.

BY THE LATE ISAAC TODHUNTER.

I have from time to time recorded such examples of language as struck me for inaccuracy or any other peculiarity; but lately the pressure of other engagements has prevented me from continuing my collection, and has compelled me to renounce the design once entertained of using them for the foundation of a systematic essay. The present article contains a small selection from my store, and may be of interest to all who value accuracy and clearness. It is only necessary to say that the examples are not fabricated: all are taken from writers of good repute, and notes of the original places have been preserved, though it has not been thought necessary to encumber these pages with references. The italics have been supplied in those cases where they are used.

One of the most obvious peculiarities at present to be noticed is the use of the word _if_ when there is nothing really conditional in the sentence. Thus we read: “If the Prussian plan of operations was faulty the movements of the Crown Prince’s army were in a high degree excellent.” The writer does not really mean what his words seem to imply, that the excellence was contingent on the fault: he simply means to make two independent statements. As another example we have: “Yet he never founded a family; if his two daughters carried his name and blood into the families of the _Herreras_ and the Zuñigos, his two sons died before him.” Here again the two events which are connected by the conditional _if_ are really quite independent. Other examples follow: “If it be true that Paris is an American’s paradise, symptoms are not wanting that there are Parisians who cast a longing look towards the institutions of the United States.” “If M. Stanilas Julien has taken up his position in the Celestial Empire, M. Léon de Rosny seems to have selected the neighboring country of Japan for his own special province.” “But those who are much engaged in public affairs cannot always be honest, and if this is not an excuse, it is at least a fact.” “But if a Cambridge man was to be appointed, Mr.—— is a ripe scholar and a good parish priest, and I rejoice that a place very dear to me should have fallen into such good hands.”

Other examples, differing in some respects from those already given, concur in exhibiting a strange use of the word _if_. Thus we read: “If the late rumors of dissension in the Cabinet had been well founded, the retirement of half his colleagues would not have weakened Mr. Gladstone’s hold on the House of Commons.” The conditional proposition intended is probably this: if half his colleagues were to retire, Mr. Gladstone’s hold on the House of Commons would not be weakened. “If a big book is a big evil, the _Bijou Gazetteer of the World_ ought to stand at the summit of excellence. It is the tiniest geographical directory we have ever seen.” This is quite illogical: if a big book is a big evil, it does not follow that a little book is a great good. “If in the main I have adhered to the English version, it has been from the conviction that our translators were in the right.” It is rather difficult to see what is the precise opinion here expressed as to our translators; whether an absolute or contingent approval is intended. “If you think it worth your while to inspect the school from the outside, that is for yourself to decide upon.” The decision is not contingent on the thinking it worth while: they are identical. For the last example we take this: “...but if it does not retard his return to office it can hardly accelerate it.” The meaning is, “This speech cannot accelerate and may retard Mr. Disraeli’s return to office.” The triple occurrence of _it_ is very awkward.

An error not uncommon in the present day is the blending of two different constructions in one sentence. The grammars of our childhood used to condemn such a sentence as this: “He was more beloved but not so much admired as Cynthio.” The former part of the sentence requires to be followed by _than_, and not by _as_. The following are recent examples:—“The little farmer [in France] has no greater enjoyments, if so many, as the English laborer.” “I find public-school boys generally more fluent, and as superficial as boys educated elsewhere.” “Mallet, for instance, records his delight and wonder at the Alps and the descent into Italy in terms quite as warm, if much less profuse, as those of the most impressible modern tourist.” An awkward construction, almost as bad as a fault, is seen in the following sentence:—“Messrs.—— having secured the co-operation of some of the most eminent professors of, and writers on, the various branches of science....”

A very favorite practice is that of changing a word where there is no corresponding change of meaning. Take the following example from a voluminous historian:—“Huge pinnacles of bare rock shoot up into the azure firmament, and forests overspread their sides, in which the scarlet rhododendrons sixty feet in _height_ are surmounted by trees two hundred feet in _elevation_.” In a passage of this kind it may be of little consequence whether a word is retained or changed; but for any purpose where precision is valuable it is nearly as bad to use two words in one sense as one word in two senses. Let us take some other examples. We read in the usual channels of information that “Mr. Gladstone has issued invitations for a full-dress Parliamentary _dinner_, and Lord Granville has issued invitations for a full-dress Parliamentary _banquet_.” Again we read: “The Government proposes to divide the occupiers of land into four categories;” and almost immediately after we have “the second class comprehends...”: so that we see the grand word _category_ merely stands for _class_. Again: “This morning the _Czar_ drove alone through the Thiergarten, and on his return received Field-Marshals Wrangel and Moltke, as well as many other general officers, and then gave audience to numerous visitors. Towards noon the _Emperor Alexander_, accompanied by the Russian Grand Dukes, paid a visit....” “Mr. Ayrton, according to _Nature_, has accepted Dr. Hooker’s explanation of the letter to Mr. Gladstone’s secretary, at which the First Commissioner of Works took umbrage, so that the dispute is at an end.” I may remark that Mr. Ayrton is identical with the First Commissioner of Works. A writer recently in a sketch of travels spoke of a “Turkish gentleman with his _innumerable_ wives,” and soon after said that she “never saw him address any of his _multifarious_ wives.” One of the illustrated periodicals gave a picture of an event in recent French history, entitled, “The National Guards Firing on the People.” Here the change from _national_ to _people_ slightly conceals the strange contradiction of guardians firing on those whom they ought to guard.

Let us now take one example in which a word is repeated, but in a rather different sense: “The Grand Duke of Baden sat _next_ to the Emperor William, the Imperial Crown Prince of Germany _next_ to the Grand Duke. _Next_ came the other princely personages.” The word _next_ is used in the last instance in not quite the same sense as in the former two instances; for all the princely personages could not sit in contact with the Crown Prince.

A class of examples may be found in which there is an obvious incongruity between two of the words which occur. Thus, “We are more than doubtful;” that is, we are _more than full_ of doubts: this is obviously impossible. Then we read of “a man of more than doubtful sanity.” Again we read of “a more than questionable statement”: this is I suppose a very harsh elliptical construction for such a sentence as “a statement to which we might apply an epithet more condemnatory than _questionable_.” So also we read “a more unobjectionable character.” Again: “Let the Second Chamber be composed of elected members, and their utility will be _more than halved_.” To take the _half_ of anything is to perform a definite operation, which is not susceptible of more or less. Again: “The singular and almost _excessive impartiality_ and power of appreciation.” It is impossible to conceive of excessive impartiality. Other recent examples of these impossible combinations are, “more faultless,” “less indisputable.” “The high antiquity of the narrative cannot reasonably be doubted, and almost as little its _ultimate_ Apostolic _origin_.” The ultimate origin, that is the _last beginning_, of anything seems a contradiction. The common phrase _bad health_ seems of the same character; it is almost equivalent to _unsound soundness_ or to _unprosperous prosperity_. In a passage already quoted, we read that the Czar “gave _audience_ to numerous _visitors_,” and in a similar manner a very distinguished lecturer speaks of making experiments “_visible_ to a large _audience_.” It would seem from the last instance that our language wants a word to denote a mass of people collected not so much to hear an address as to see what are called experiments. Perhaps if our savage forefathers had enjoyed the advantages of courses of scientific lectures, the vocabulary would be supplied with the missing word.

_Talented_ is a vile barbarism which Coleridge indignantly denounced: there is no verb _to talent_ from which such a participle could be deduced. Perhaps this imaginary word is not common at the present; though I am sorry to see from my notes that it still finds favor with classical scholars. It was used some time since by a well-known professor, just as he was about to emigrate to America; so it may have been merely evidence that he was rendering himself familiar with the language of his adopted country.

_Ignore_ is a very popular and a very bad word. As there is no good authority for it, the meaning is naturally uncertain. It seems to fluctuate between _wilfully concealing_ something and _unintentionally omitting_ something, and this vagueness renders it a convenient tool for an unscrupulous orator or writer.

The word _lengthened_ is often used instead of _long_. Thus we read that such and such an orator made a _lengthened_ speech, when the intended meaning is that he made a _long_ speech. The word _lengthened_ has its appropriate meaning. Thus, after a ship has been built by the Admiralty, it is sometimes cut into two and a piece inserted: this operation, very reprehensible doubtless on financial grounds, is correctly described as _lengthening_ the ship. It will be obvious on consideration that _lengthened_ is not synonymous with _long_. _Protracted_ and _prolonged_ are also often used instead of _long_; though perhaps with less decided impropriety than _lengthened_.

A very common phrase with controversial writers is, “we _shrewdly_ suspect.” This is equivalent to, “we acutely suspect.” The cleverness of the suspicion should, however, be attributed to the writers by other people, and not by themselves.

The simple word _but_ is often used when it is difficult to see any shade of opposition or contrast such as we naturally expect. Thus we read: “There were several candidates, _but_ the choice fell upon—— of Trinity College.” Another account of the same transaction was expressed thus: “It was understood that there were several candidates; the election fell, _however_, upon—— of Trinity College.”

The word _mistaken_ is curious as being constantly used in a sense directly contrary to that which, according to its formation, it ought to have. Thus: “He is often mistaken, but never trivial and insipid.” “He is often mistaken” ought to mean that other people often mistake him; just as “he is often misunderstood” means that people often misunderstand him. But the writer of the above sentence intends to say that “He often makes mistakes.” It would be well if we could get rid of this anomalous use of the word _mistaken_. I suppose that _wrong_ or _erroneous_ would always suffice. But I must admit that good writers do employ _mistaken_ in the sense which seems contrary to analogy; for example, Dugald Stewart does so, and also a distinguished leading philosopher whose style shows decided traces of Dugald Stewart’s influence.

I shall be thought hypercritical perhaps if I object to the use of _sanction_ as a verb; but it seems to be a comparatively modern innovation. I must, however, admit that it is used by the two distinguished writers to whom I alluded with respect to the word _mistaken_. Recently some religious services in London were asserted by the promoters to be _under the sanction_ of three bishops; almost immediately afterwards letters appeared from the three bishops in which they qualified the amount of their approbation: rather curiously all three used _sanction_ as a verb. The theology of the bishops might be the sounder, but as to accuracy of language I think the inferior clergy had the advantage. By an obvious association I may say that if any words of mine could reach episcopal ears, I should like to ask why a first charge is called a _primary_ charge, for it does not appear that this mode of expression is continued. We have, I think, second, third, and so on, instead of _secondary_, _tertiary_, and so on, to distinguish the subsequent charges.

Very eminent authors will probably always claim liberty and indulge in peculiarities; and it would be ungrateful to be censorious on those who have permanently enriched our literature. We must, then, allow an eminent historian to use the word _cult_ for worship or superstition; so that he tells us of an _indecent cult_ when he means an _unseemly false religion_. So, too, we must allow another eminent historian to introduce a foreign idiom, and speak of a _man of pronounced opinions_.

One or two of our popular writers on scientific subjects are fond of frequently introducing the word _bizarre_; surely some English equivalent might be substituted with advantage. The author of an anonymous academical paper a few years since was discovered by a slight peculiarity—namely, the use of the word _ones_, if there be such a word: this occurred in certain productions to which the author had affixed his name, and so the same phenomenon in the unacknowledged paper betrayed the origin which had been concealed.

A curious want of critical tact was displayed some years since by a reviewer of great influence. Macaulay, in his Life of Atterbury, speaking of Atterbury’s daughter, says that her great wish was to see her _papa_ before she died. The reviewer condemned the use of what he called the _mawkish word papa_. Macaulay, of course, was right; he used the daughter’s own word, and any person who consults the original account will see that accuracy would have been sacrificed by substituting _father_. Surely the reviewer ought to have had sufficient respect for Macaulay’s reading and memory to hesitate before pronouncing an off-hand censure.

Cobbett justly blamed the practice of putting “&c.” to save the trouble of completing a sentence properly. In mathematical writings this symbol may be tolerated because it generally involves no ambiguity, but is used merely as an abbreviation the meaning of which is obvious from the context. But in other works there is frequently no clue to guide us in affixing a meaning to the symbol, and we can only interpret its presence as a sign that something has been omitted. The following is an example: “It describes a portion of Hellenic philosophy: it dwells upon eminent individuals, inquiring, theorising, reasoning, confuting, &c., as contrasted with those collective political and social manifestations which form the matter of history....”

The examples of confusion of metaphor ascribed to the late Lord Castlereagh are so absurd that it might have been thought impossible to rival them. Nevertheless the following, though in somewhat quieter style, seems to me to approach very nearly to the best of those that were spoken by Castlereagh or forged for him by Mackintosh. A recent Cabinet Minister described the error of an Indian official in these words: “He remained too long under the influence of the views which he had imbibed from the Board.” To imbibe a view seems strange, but to imbibe anything from a Board must be very difficult. I may observe that the phrase of Castlereagh’s which is now best known, seems to suffer from misquotation: we usually have, “an ignorant impatience of taxation”; but the original form appears to have been, “an ignorant impatience of the relaxation of taxation.”

The following sentence is from a voluminous historian: “The _decline_ of the material comforts of the working classes, from the effects of the Revolution, had been incessant, and had now reached an alarming _height_.” It is possible to ascend to an alarming height, but it is surely difficult to decline to an alarming height.

“Nothing could be more one-sided than the point of view adopted by the speakers.” It is very strange to speak of a point as having a side; and then how can _one-sided_ admit of comparison? A thing either has one side or it has not: there cannot be degrees in one-sidedness. However, even mathematicians do not always manage the word _point_ correctly. In a modern valuable work we read of “a more extended point of view,” though we know that a point does not admit of extension. This curious phrase is also to be found in two eminent French writers, Bailly and D’Alembert. I suppose that what is meant is, a point which commands a more extended view. “Froschammer wishes to approach the subject from a philosophical standpoint.” It is impossible to _stand_ and yet to _approach_. Either he should _survey_ the subject from a _stand_-point, or _approach_ it from a _starting_-point.

“The most scientific of our Continental theologians have returned back again to the relations and ramifications of the old paths.” Here _paths_ and _ramifications_ do not correspond; nor is it obvious what the _relations_ of _paths_ are. Then _returned back again_ seems to involve superfluity; either _returned_ or _turned back again_ would have been better.

A large school had lately fallen into difficulties owing to internal dissensions; in the report of a council on the subject it was stated that measures had been taken to _introduce more harmony and good feelings_. The word _introduce_ suggests the idea that harmony and good feeling could be laid on like water or gas by proper mechanical adjustment, or could be supplied like first-class furniture by a London upholsterer.

An orator speaking of the uselessness of a dean said that “he wastes his sweetness on the desert air, and stands like an engine upon a siding.” This is a strange combination of metaphors.