May 6. * * *Ⓔexplanatory note I do not find that the repetition of an important word a few times—say three or four times—in a paragraph, troubles my ear if clearness of meaning is best secured thereby. But tautological repetition whichⒶapparatus note has no justifying object, but merely exposes the fact that the writer’s balance at the vocabulary bank has run short and that he is too lazy to replenish it from the thesaurus—that is another matter. It makes me feel like calling the writer to account. It makes me want to remind him that he is not treating himself and his calling with right respect; and—incidentally—that he is not treating me with proper reverence. At breakfast, this morning, aⒶapparatus note member of the family read aloud an interesting review of a new book about Mr. Gladstone in which the reviewer used the strongⒶapparatus note adjective “delightful”Ⓐapparatus note thirteenⒶapparatus note times. ThirteenⒶapparatus note times in a short review, not a long one. In five of the cases the word was distinctly the right one, the exactⒶapparatus note one, the best one ourⒶapparatus note language can furnish, therefore it made no discord; but in theⒶapparatus note remaining cases it was out of tune. It sharped or flatted, one or the other, every time, and was as unpleasantly noticeable as is a false note in music. I looked in the thesaurus, and under a single head I found four words which would replace with true notes the false ones utteredⒶapparatus note by four of the misused “delightfuls;” and of course if I had hunted under related heads for an hour and made an exhaustive search I should have found right words, to a shade, wherewith to replace the remaining delinquents.

I suppose we all have our foibles. I like the exact word, and clarity of statement, and here [begin page 120] and there a touch of good grammar for picturesqueness; but that reviewer cares for only the last-mentioned of these things. His grammar is foolishly correct, offensivelyⒶapparatus note precise. It flaunts itself in the reader’s face all along, andⒶapparatus note struts and smirks and shows off, and isⒶapparatus note in a dozen ways irritating and disagreeable. To be serious, I write good grammar myself, but not in that spirit, I am thankful to say. That is to say, myⒶapparatus note grammar is of a high order, though not at the top. Nobody’s is. Perfect grammar—persistent, continuous, sustained—is the fourth dimension, so to speak: many have sought it, but none has found it. Even this reviewer, this purist, with all his godless airs, has made two or three slips. At least I think he has. I am almost sure, by witness of my ear, but cannot be positive, for I know grammar by ear only, not by note, not by the rules. A generation ago I knew the rules—knew them by heart, word for word, though not their meanings—and I still know one of them: the one which says—which says—but never mind, it will come back to me presently. This reviewer even seemsⒶapparatus note to know (or seems even to know, or seems to know even) how to put the word “even” in the right place; and the word “only,” too. I do not like that kind of persons. I never knew one of them that came to any good. A person who is as self-righteous as that, will do other things. I know this, because I have noticed it many a time. I would never hesitate to injure that kind of a man if I could. When a man works up his grammar to that altitude, it is a sign. It shows what he will do, if he gets a chance; it shows the kind of disposition he has; I have noticed it often. I knew one once that did a lot of things. They stop at nothing.

But anyway, this grammatical coxcomb’s review is interesting, as I said before. And there is one sentence in it which tastes good in the mouth, so perfectly do the lastⒶapparatus note five of its words report a something which we have all felt after sitting long over an absorbing book. The matter referred to is Mr. GladstoneⒺexplanatory note’sⒶapparatus note boswellised conversations, andⒶapparatus note his felicitous handling of his subjects.

That is clearly stated. We recognise that feeling. In the morning paper I find a sentence of another breed.

By the context I know what it means, but you are without that light and will be sure to get out of it a meaning which the writer of it was not intending to convey.