DIRECTIONS TO WRITE FOR PRINTERS.

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italics-two lines for small, and three for large, capitals. But be very sparing of their use. Keep in mind, that they are like superlatives, whose force will weaken in proportion to their frequency.

If you wish to make two or more paragraphs out of one that you think too long, place, at the end of the sentence where you wish the division, two crotchets, back to back, thus, ][. All printers know this mark so well, that they will make the new paragraph, without any other explanation or direction.

Avoid notes at the bottom of pages, though they are used by men of the greatest erudition. While they enhance the printing expenses, they are always irksome to the reader, because they unseasonably distract his attention. If explanations, not suited to the body of the work, occur, reserve them for the end, where you may put them altogether, and without extra charge. For observe, that nothing which is absolutely necessary, ought to be put in notes. They should be rather of a satisfactory than of an indispensable nature. Some writers carry this noting to a ridiculous extent, as, An author of eminence * says-and then we look down and see *NEWTON at the bottom like a fallen star. Since the name is given, no reader can conceive, why it should not be inserted after eminence. I have often wished that printers would charge so high for such aberrations, that none but men of fortune could meddle with them. We should, then, but rarely see single names standing at the foot of a page, or that intolerable nuisance, more notes than text.

I must again draw your attention to the necessity of writing plain. There would be no occasion to say a word on this point, if you knew as well as I do, the torments that gentlemen inflict on themselves by their wretched scrawls. They can have nothing to do with a printing office, without complaints of errors, which often make them ridiculous, and give them great vexation. But I know that, so far from this being the fault of the compositors, they take more pains than they ought, to decipher such hen-scratching writing. Though practice enables them to guess out bad manuscript with a more than ordinary readiness, they may be often seen

handing about, from one to another, the illegible stuff of a peerless peer or an M.P., in the hope that, by chance, one might light upon the meaning of some word that defied interpretation by the context. Yet some of those dignified scribblers will affect a knowledge of punctuation too, and will bluster and prate about their senseless stops not being followed, although the compositor altered them only through ill-bestowed compassion for the writer, or lest ignorance might be imputed to himself. They will also, forsooth, introduce foreign scraps into their unintelligible English, but, for this, the compositor has a help in books wherein the usual quotations of empty-headed linguists are ready cut and dry in alphabetical order, and, if he can only make out the first word or two, he is almost sure of finding them in the list.

Of all foolborn notions of high-breeding, illegible writing is the most ludicrous. We may write a perfectly genteel and plain hand, without the formal cut of the clerk or schoolmaster, but, whatever we may do in private concerns or correspondence, we should not make laughing-stocks or merry-andrews of ourselves, by going to the printing office with our gentlemanly scrawls.

Surround with a line every thing that you do not intend to be printed. For want of this necessary precaution, strange observations sometimes appear that much annoy the writer. It is folly to talk of “the stupidity of the printer." Omissions are serious matters in his business, and he does it well if he leaves out nothing that might, by possibility, be designed for insertion. You may be certain, however, that he will not meddle with any encircled words, further than to read them for his direction.

Lastly, if you desire your name to appear, you may sign it in your customary manner, but write it a second time, very plain, to spare the compositor any trouble in giving you a new baptism. It is no part of his business to decipher hieroglyphics.

I shall now let you into a little of the technicalities of printing, as I am sure that such information will be acceptable.

Compositors are those who arrange the types. Their work is called composing or setting, and whatever they set from, whether print or manuscript, is named copy. When finished, pressmen, not printers as they are commonly called, transmit the impression to paper, by a mechanical process not necessary to be described. A printer is, properly speaking, he who superintends or undertakes the entire management, and this is the reason that the word is often applied in a very extensive sense-every fault or excellency is said to be the printer's. As the best compositors are liable to make errors in setting, a printed proof of their work is furnished to the reader, commonly called "corrector of the press," who carefully compares it with the copy, which is slowly read aloud by a reading-boy, and notes any errors that occur. The corrected proof is sent back to the compositor, who rectifies the faults marked, but, where time permits, the reader generally requires a revise, or second proof, for his further security. The types, when arranged, are called matter, and when properly secured by an iron frame or chase, the whole is then a form. A publisher, who was formerly called "The bookseller," is the person who gives out or sells, any newly printed work, either to the trade or the public. An editor of a newspaper or periodical work is at the head of the literary department, and, as he is supposed to know the feelings of the proprietor, he writes, rejects, and alters what he pleases. -the editor of a book is one who undertakes the revision of another's work, and makes either additions, abridgments, or changes that he always calls improvements.

CHAPTER X.

ENGLISH CONJUGATORS.

PREPARATORY to entering on this subject, I must exhibit a table of the persons, to save myself some trouble in the subsequent explanations, and enable you to understand them the better:

SINGULAR. The first person, or personal pronoun is I, the second, thou, the third, he, she, or it when speaking of irrational creatures. It has other applications also, for which see the Grammars.

PLURAL. The first person, or personal pronoun is we, the second you, third they.

the

For our present purpose, it is not necessary to make any remark on this table, except that the second person singular thou being, for a long time past, almost confined to the Bible, books of prayer, poetry, and the Quakers, it is no use for ordinary writing, and is superseded by you, which may be considered as the second person in both singular and plural. Accordingly, when I speak of the second person singular, it must be understood as you and not thou, and as it will be often convenient to mention the persons, you are to understand that the first persons mean I and we, the second you, and the third, he, she, it, and they.

We may now begin at once with shall and will. Their origin being of no importance to you, it will suffice to observe, that they are the roots of their derivatives should and would, and by remembering this, you may often avoid misapplications. You must know, on a little reflection, that, in the first persons, shall implies something of doubt or uncertainty, and that will is quite positive and determined through all the persons. Keep this in view, at least as a general consideration, and you will the more easily understand such exceptions, as custom or error may have introduced or sanctioned.

When, in London, you say, I shall go to Amsterdam next week, that is proper, because, though you are determined to go there, the distance, and the casualties of land and sea travelling, are presented. It seems too much to say will, and you therefore use the less presumptuous shall. By this you mean, in effect, God willing, as our more pious grandfathers were accustomed to say on those occasions. But, if in Fleet Street, you mean to go to the Strand, you say will, because, though we know that you might, in the instant, drop dead or be killed, we cannot, always, be keeping minute contingencies in view. Accordingly you say, I shall go to Amsterdam, and, I'll go to the Strand-for, observe that 'll and 'd, are contractions of will and would, and not of shall and should.

Now, after considering this, pray tell me what you mean

by I think I shall, which you, and learned men likewise, so often say? Is it not a kind of double doubting-something like, I think of thinking? Does it not, now appear to you more correct to say, I think I will?

I must discuss this further. Exceptions may be taken where dying, drowning, falling, and such like, are concerned. On those occasions, I will is repugnant, merely because not habitual to an English ear, and I know it will be urged that we should say, I think I shall die of this disorder, and that will would not be right. Now I contend for the contrary. What is this think but a qualification of shall—a word already confessedly doubtful and inconclusive? True it is, that one may say, I am now beginning to doubt of my former doubting, though no man, who had any taste at all for composition, would so express himself. But while I admit it for the advantage of my opponents, I deny that, in the present instance, it is any support to shall. That I believe I must die of a certain disorder with which I am afflicted, is the intended meaning, but I shall die is the very same thing, without I think. Will is decisive, but only as far as human power can go, for something might prevent us from doing the most simple act of positive determination. Will is, therefore, obviously of a qualificatory nature or condition, but shall is not, and, upon this, I support my assertion, that in all such expressions as I think, I believe, I fear, that I shall die, shall ought, in strictness, to be replaced by will.

If my personal safety be in danger, and that I cry out, Oh! assist me! I'll be killed, I'll be drowned, I'll fall, we all know that, in English, these are blunders, implying the reverse of what is intended-we call for aid, and then we stop it by adding, that it is useless. But, Oh! assist me! I fear I'll be drowned, is a proper expression.

Some maintain that shall and will are a kind of shibboleth, the proper use of which must be acquired from infancy, and that their management is beyond ordinary explanation. Anomalies ours has, as well as all other languages, and to contend against them, while they are understood and sanctioned by general usage, would be equally foolish as to oppose idiomatical construction. But grammar recognises no shibboleths.