PASSING NOTES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3245, 24 May 1916, Page 5

PASSING NOTES.

(From Saturday's Daily Times.) I am a little puzzled by a string of injunctions and admonitions addressed to the British -world at large by the Saturday Review : (1) Cease nudging America, and cease upbraiding her for not coming into the fight; (2) leave Turkey and the 'lurks as much as possible alone; (3) do not profess discontent and disappointment at " the little Italy has done m the war so far," for people who have closely studied this question know better; (4) in regard to Roumania, '* wait ana see" ; the Roumanian question is exceedingly difficult, and it is delicate. The question of Roumania, its difficulties and delicacies,—pass for that. It might have been in relation to Roumania that the "wait and see" doctrine was invented. And blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall not be disappointed. But the admonition to " leave Turkey and tne Turks alone" is a Sphinx riddle. We are at war with Turkey and the Turks. Granted that on her own terms Turkey might make a separate peace,—nothing more likely. But her own terms would be the retention of Constantinople, that and more. What, then, should we say to Russia, our much-enduring and indispensable ally? It is on Constantinople that Russia's dearest hopes are set. There can be no reason for sparing m public talk the susceptibilities of Turkey and the Turks, still less for leaving Turkey and the Turks' alone. Our urgent business is to smash Turkey and the Turks. The advice, "Cease nudging America," is intelligible and good. There must be Americans not a few, and they of the best, who are squirming under a sense of shame. America, unjustifiably punched on the nose, is too proud to fight, but not too proud to argue. And the argument has run to months. What figure does a schoolbov cut who has no blow wherewith to repay" a blow, but only " Wha' did yer do that for? Blub, blub"? It is not fair to good Americans that we should be continually " rubbing it in." Left to herself, America in the end will find herself, whether she comes into the fight or not, and will play a part consistent with her substantial greatness. For unmistakeably America is a great nation —the big brother of all the suffering neutrals. Again, and obviously, it is impolitic to sour Italy by malcontent criticism. Italy came into the war as soon as she could; for it now appears at the outset —August, 1914—she was as little prepared as we Avere. And she has got along as fast as she could, her unpreparedness considered. " Italy is more distressed by British impatience than by any other," says a writer in the Westminster. Apart from gratitude for our help in her emancipation, she cherishes a keen admiration for everything British. "Roba inglese " (English stuff) is a proverbial phrase for the very best; and Italians imitate our manners as well as our clothes. Many parallels might be drawn between Italians and Englishmen. If we are insular, they are peninsular. Eoth are proud and sentimental. Both have had to build up strong armies out of next to nothing. Neither has been invaded during this war. And Italians openly confess their aspiration to make Italy the England of the Mediterranean. If we aro tempted to impatience, let us remember the phrase of a British Tommy, which Italians never tiro of quoting: "It is only the first five years of a war which bother one." Five years of war if need be! —on that Italy and we strike hands. All the same, it will be forever regrettable that Italy in her first year did not send an army corps to the Dardanelles. Sir Arthur' Quiller-Couch's latest volume of University lectures, " On the Art of Writing," has not yet come my way; but I gather from reviews that the University don, old style, shakes his head in disapproval. Sir Arthur, be it remembered, is " Q," the west country novelist, in that department of the art of writing a past master. How a novelist got promoted fo the King Edward VII Chair of Literature at Cambridge is a mystery. However, there he is, and hi 3 classrooms are

crowded. Though not precisely of Dogberry's opinion that " to write and read comes by nature," the University don, old style, revolts at the notion that either art should be taught in the groves '>f Academe. " Quackery and mere aesthetic chatter" is his verdict on the doings of his colleague " Q." Newspaper men might be tempted to say the same thing, for "Q" is hard on newspaper men. Their journalese he pillories as "jargon." In journalese jargon " Render unto Csesar the things that are Caesar's" becomes " Render unto Caesar the things that are that potentate's." Hamlet's soliloquy, "To be or not to be," as done into newspaper jargon by " Q" himself, stands thus: To be, or the contrary? Whether the former or the latter be preferable would seem to* admit of some difference of opinion ; the answer in the present case being of an affirmative or of a negative character according as to whether one elects on the one hand to mentally suffer the disfavour of fortune, albeit in an extreme degree, or on the other, to boldly envisage adverse conditions in the prosoeot of eventually bringing them to a conclusion. The condition of sleep is similar to, if not indistinguishable from, that of death ; and with the addition of finality the former might be considered identical with the latter ; so that in this connection it might b», argued with regard to sleep that, cpald the addition bo"effected; a ternr'uition would be put to the endurance of the multiplicity of inconveniences, not to mention a number of downright evils incidental to our fallen humanity, and thus a consummation achieved of a most gratifying nature. "On the Art of Writing" will be welcome when the slow-moving booksellers contrive to get a copy. There should De a run upon it. Not that this new witness can have anything new to tell us. That terrible book, " The King's English," the reading of which made Andrew Lang " afraid to put pen to paper," gibbets the poor newspaper man through many savage pages. But " Q," being a humorist, will do his spiriting gently. "The King's English" collection of shocking examples, mainly from The Times and the Spectator, would fill a column. It is painful to find that in some of them one hardly sees whatjs wrong till enlightened by the comment—e.c. : " It was impossible to introduce white unskilled labour on a large scale as a payable i reposition without lowering the position of the white man."—Times. How labour can be a proposition, and how a proposition can be payable it is not easy to say. The sentence seems to mean: "to introduce . . . labour on a large scale and make it pay." This is what comes of a fondness for abstracts. Fondness for abstracts is a plainer sin in the nest: " They hove not hitherto discovered the formula for the intelligent use of our unrivalled resources for the satisfaction of our security."—Times. This perhaps means: "They have not yet discovered how our unrivalled resources may be made to ensure our safety." Two examples of the cumbrous, where twenty words are doing the work of ten: " No year passes now without evidence of the truth of the statement that the work of government is becoming increasingly difficult."—Spectator. " In default of information of ' the result of the deliberations which it has boon stated the Imperial Defence Committeo havo been engaged in , , ." — Times. Here is a paragraph which at once brings home conviction of sin: Indulgence in qualifying adverbs, as "perhaps," " possibly." "probably," "rather," "a little,' "somewhat," amounts with English journalists to a disease; the intemperate orgy of moderation is renewed every morning. "Somewhat" is rapidly swallowing up the rest. Examples all from The Times:—"Somewhat infinitesimal," " somewhat startling," "somewhat extraordinary," somewhat amazing," " somewhat unintelligible," "somewhat agonising," "somewhat weird," with a do7xm more. "It is not too much to say that anyone who hopes to write well had better begin by abjuring 'somewhat' altogether." If you would know the reason why, listen : We cannot tell whether this long list will havo a dissuasive effect, or will be referred to foolish individual prejudice against an unoffending word. But on the first assumption we should like to add that a not less dissuasive collection might easily be made of the iiitensifier " distinctly " than of the qualifier "somewhat." The use meant is that seen in: " The effect as the procession careers through the streets is described as distinctly interesting." "Distinctly" gives the patronising interest, as " somewhat " gives the contemptuous indifference, with which a superior person is to be conceived surveying life; and context too often reveals that the superiority is imaginary. The only comment left to me is, Lord have mercy upon us! Wellington. Dear " Civis," —In your Passing Notes you state that no man knows how sailors came to give a makeshift the name of " jury." Well, O learned one, I hope you will pardon the presumption of a sailor in trying to enlighten you. "Jury" is derived from the French " jour," a day. Surely now you can see it. " Jury rig " is a temporary rig, for the day only, perhaps. Anyhow, that is the right derivation. Mabineb. Thanks, many. On a riuestion of names and things on board ship, when the Oxford is dumb and Skeat at a loss the board-ship man himself may justly put in a word. Sailors call a temporary mast a " jury mast," he says, because the French "jour" means a day, and this is a mast for a day. Another suggestion had already reached me that the tempor-^

ary mast is a "jury mast" because the French "jurer" means to curse mid to swear, and much marine malediction goes to the contriving of this or any other jury rig. Strange that the British tar should be so pat "in his French. Strange, too, that the French themselves should know nothing of "jour" or "jurer" in this context. With them a jury mast is " mat de fortune," accident mast; a jury rudder is " gouvernail de fortune," accident rudder. However, as we are in so French an atmosphere, I may quote for consolation Voltaire's quip on the philologists of his day:—" Philology, the science of the derivation of words; in philology the consonants count for little, and the vowels for nothing at nil." Bishop Samuel Wilberforce, commonly (though not ill-naturedly) " Soapy the mid-Victorian "bishop of society," has been brought back to people's minds by the death of his son Basil, Archdeacon of Westminster. Two brothers of Bishop Sam, together with a brother-in-law, Archdeacon Manning, went over to Rome, and Manning died a Cardinal. Basil Wilberforce, the bishop's son, also went his own way, but it wasn't the way of Rome. Mystical, theorophical, of a singular audacity in doctrinal vagaries, withal an outspoken patriot, the Westminster Archdeacon never lacked an audience. His permon leaflets meet you here, there, and everywhere. Of his episcopal father there are many stories—he was the kind of man that' generates stories. Here is one from a late number of the London Times : Bishop Samuel Wilberforce attended the Church Congress in Dublin in September, 1868. Magee, then Dean of Cork (Bishop of Peterborough and Archbishop of York that was to be) preached the opening sermon, on which the Bishop of Cork made the following criticism to Wilberforce: —" Admirably well delivered, clever, eloquent, argumentative, illustrative, and not in it Gospel enough to save the soul of a tomtit." Wilberforce was so delighted with this that he told it all over London. A side-light this on bishops and their ways. Gentle dulncss ever loves a joke. So does a bishop. But who doesn't love a joke? It is unfair to father the appetite for humorous stories on "gentle dulncss." A London editor, with the war on his hands and the whole world beside, might make his daily moan— The time is out of joint; —0 cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right! Yet the Times Literary Supplement garners up the triviality about Bishop Wilberforce as a thing precious. Anxiety is the note on war matters—we are at the dead waste and middle of the night; not the less are the London papers brightened by gleams of humour. Stories about Kipling—" But I thought you were—oh, how shall I say it? —something quite, quite different!" said the young lady on being introduced. " Well I am," said Kipling, " only you see this is my day off." Stories about Mark Twain and Kipling: He spent a couple of hours with me (writes Mark), and at the end of that time I had surprised him as much as ho had surprised me —and the honours were easy. I believe that ho knew more than any person I had met before, and I knew that he knew that I knew less than any person he had met before—though he did not say it, and I was. not expecting that ho would. . _ . . Ho is a stranger to me, but ho is a most remarkable man—and I am the .. other one. Between us we cover all knowledge ; he knows all that can be known, and I know the rest. Stories about people known and unknown ; thus the editor of the Westminster Gazette allows himself to be addressed by a correspondent: Sir, —At the monthly dinner of a certain rather notable club I heard the following: One of the members was a well-known physician. In a pause in the general conversation he was heard to ask whether anyone could tell him the Latin for a " duck." Quick as thought came the remark from the other end of the tahle: "You ought to know, you are a quack doctor."—Yours, etc. To be in the fashion, I cap this duck story. Eminent physician (who also is a bit of a sportsman) seated at the head of his table; before him a pair of roast ducks. Taking up the carver, "I killed these ducks," he remarked complacently. " What were you treating them for?" asked the guest opposite. Civis.