CONSCIENTIOUS proof-readers are often confronted with the perplexing problem of dealing with the whims of authors and editors. One of the most difficult phases of the problem arises in the fact that proof-readers themselves are, equally with the authors and editors, possessed of whimsical notions, and the two sets of whims clash.

What shall the conscientious proof-reader do? He can not let everything go unchallenged just as it is written; if he does, he is not conscientious in the true sense of the word, though of course writers should know what they want, and should write their matter just as it is to be printed.

The only way successfully to combat unreasonable whim is by opposing it with true principle; yet even this will not always succeed. When a clear statement of principle fails to convince a writer that he is at fault, of course the proof-reader must yield, often to his great disadvantage. All intelligent people know that printed matter passes through the hands of a proof-reader, and they naturally attribute to his carelessness or incompetency all errors in printing. Examples are not lacking.

A paragraph in a magazine says that “the poet Will Carleton has established a monthly magazine, and calls it Everywhere.” This is not a true announcement of the name, as Carleton splits it into two words—Every Where—and the word is so barbarously split each time it is used in his periodical. Any one noticing this form every where in print would naturally wonder why the proof-reader did not know better. It is a matter of personal knowledge that in this case the reader did know better, but Carleton stuck to his whim, saying that he had a right to make where a noun, whether others considered it so or not.

A New York newspaper says, with reference to political action, but in words equally applicable otherwise: “There is nothing that we know of in the Constitution of the United States, nor in the Constitution of any State, nor in the United States Statutes at Large, nor in any State law, nor any municipal regulation, that hinders any American citizen, whatever his calling or his walk in life, from making an ass of himself if he feels an irresistible impulse in that direction.”

Every man has a right to refuse to conform to general practice and principle, of course; but the arbitrary whimsicality shown in writing every where, and not everywhere, must fail to find its mate in any other mind, and can be applied to suit its writer only by himself. The only way to work for such a writer is to follow copy literally always. He has not a right to expect from the proof-reader anything more than the correcting of wrong letters.

Everywhere is an adverb of peculiar origin that may itself be classed as whim; but this whim is in accord with principle, and the one that splits the word is not. Probably the word was suggested by a question, as “Where are certain things done?” Answers are often made by repeating a word prominent in the question, and so it must have been in this case, “Every where.” This simulated a noun qualified by an adjective, and the two-word form was used until people realized that it was not right grammatically. Many years ago the correct single-word form was universally adopted, and it should not be dropped.

Real principle forbids the unifying in form of some words that may seem to be like everywhere but are actually of a different nature. Anyone, everyone, and oneself (the last being erroneously considered as similar to itself, etc.) are as bad as single words as every where is as two words, notwithstanding the fact that they are often so printed. Tendency to adopt such whimsicalities of form is, for some unaccountable reason, very common. It is something against which every competent proof-reader should fight, tooth and nail, because it is subversive of true principle. The utmost possible intelligent effort will not prevent common acceptance of some forms and idioms that are, in their origin at least, unreasonable; but these particular abominations are not fully established, and there is ground for belief that their use may be overcome.

Some Latin particles are used as prefixes in English, and have not the remotest potentiality of being separate English words, if the matter of making words is to be controlled by real principle. One of these is inter, meaning “between.” A paper published in Chicago is entitled the Inter Ocean, making the only possible real sense of the title something like a command to “inter (bury) ocean,” as inter is not, and never can be, properly an English adjective.

Many people are now printing as separated words such mere fragments as non, quasi, counter as in counter-suit and counter-movement, vice as in vice-chairman, and a few others, though the writer has not seen ante or anti so treated. These prefixes are all of the same nature, and if one of them is treated as a separate word, every one of the others should be so.

These are things that should be combated by proof-readers who know the main principles of language form, even though they know also that human perversity is sufficiently willful at times to persist in the face of all reason.

Another sort of whim has full swing on the New York Mail and Express. That paper prints the name of its own political party capitalized, and that of the opposite party with a small initial—Republican and democrat. How the editors can suppose that this belittles the Democrats is past finding out, since it should be a matter of pride to a true United States Republican that he is a democrat. Such ignoring of language principle is silly, and belittling to those who indulge it rather than to those at whom it is aimed. It is, however, beyond the proof-reader’s province, unless the reader is sufficiently familiar with the editor to influence him by moral suasion.

Notwithstanding the certainty that authors will be more or less whimsical, it is the proof-reader’s duty to do all he can to make the matter he reads perfect in every respect. He should be able to challenge anything that does not conform to generally accepted rules of grammar, and to state clearly his reasons for desiring to make changes.

A thorough practical knowledge of English grammar is indispensable to a good proof-reader, though it counts for nothing without a quick eye to detect errors. If Bullions’s English Grammar had been read by a proof-reader as well equipped in grammatical knowledge as every reader should be, that book would have been cleared of one of the most ludicrous blunders possible. After stating that abridging is cutting short, examples are given, including the following: “When the boys have finished their lessons we will play. Abridged—The boys having finished their lessons we will play.” The second sentence is one word shorter than the first, but the tense is changed, and so, of course, the sense is changed. Real abridgment, of course, would not change the time from future to present; yet this is what a noted teacher does in each of his examples of abridgment, and it is something that a thorough proof-reader would have helped him not to do.

A proof-reader can not afford to neglect study, if he desires the best kind of success. The more he studies, the better able he will be to distinguish between whim and principle, and to combat one with the other when the first is not such that he knows it can not be combated successfully. Proper study, also, of men and events, as well as of language, etc., will enable him to distinguish helpfulness from what may be considered impertinence in making queries. By its aid he will be able to give a reason with each query, in a helpful way. Many queries on authors’ proofs pass unanswered, or are merely crossed off, because their point is not apparent, or because they have been made in such a manner as to give offense.

In proof-reading, as in every other pursuit, the closest student of principles and of men will ever be the most successful. Generally, as we have said elsewhere, our best proof-readers eventually pass up to an editorial chair, or into literary or other employment which is more remunerative than reading proof. No employment should be more remunerative, unless it may be some which involves the control or disposition of large sums of money. A more difficult or rarer accomplishment than that of humoring authors’ whims, while still preserving much essentially good matter from the chaotic form it would assume at the hands of unpractical writers, would be hard to name.