laborious and minute calculation. Yet the origin of the word aim (Lat. as-timo, estimate) implies the computation of a money value, and from first signifying a counting of cost has come to mean the preliminary steps of an actual calculation. Point-blank, again, is an artillerist's metaphor (I use the word artillerist in its general sense, as referring to the whole science of projectiles), and owes its origin as a distinctive term to the almost instinctive appreciation of the nature of a parabola. These days of rifle-shooting have made every one familiar with the fact that the further a projectile is to be carried, the higher angle with the plane of the horizon must be made by the weapon from which it is projected. This angle is, of course, scientifically speaking, a matter of exact calculation, and a certain degree of elevation must be given to a weapon intended to carry any considerable distance; but where the distance is very short this degree of elevation becomes absolutely incalculable; and while the elevation for long shots is spoken of as reaching some certain point of the quadrant, whether an angle of one, five, or ten, shot directly straight can have no index of elevation, and its deviation from the plane of the horizon being practically nothing, the words point blank accurately and formally express its direction.

The two senses in which we use the word engross spring from two different uses of the same French term. The root is that of Latin crassus, thick, and Teutonic grosz, great (the interchangeability of which is remarkable in the German phrase Crassdummheit, gross stupidity). The scrivening sense of the word engross is now almost entirely limited to writing on parchment, as distinguished from writing on paper; the distinction being, however, an altogether arbitrary one, probably arising from the greater amount of flourishing and penmanship exerted on a parchment calculated to last for ages than on the more perishable substance of paper.

The initial and leading words were written in old deeds in very large and highly ornamented characters, which required in many places to be rather painted than written with ink, in order to make the strokes sufficiently thick. Naturally such writing would be called thick (French gros) for distinction's sake, and the act of doing so received the name of engrossing. Another explanation of how it came specially to mean parchment-writing may be found in the fact, that while the body of a deed may be written by any clerk, the large initials, the letters strictly en gros,

in the thick style, are generally executed by a person who makes such work his special occupation.

But our expression to engross, in the sense of monopolizing and usurping, comes from another meaning of the French phrase; for en gros signifies wholesale as opposed to retail, and thus has given a metaphorical signification for the act of buying up or collecting anything firstly in extensive, and then in unreasonable proportion.

The verb to repair, in the sense of movement, has almost totally lost its distinctive force; and the confusion of its use may give us a warning against supplanting good, sensible, unequivocal English words by ill-comprehended importations. By saying, for instance, "Luther repaired to Rome," instead of Luther went (or journeyed) to Rome, we commit a blunder, sanctioned perhaps by prescription, but none the less on that account a blunder; for to repair means to return home; Lat. repatriare, lit., to go back to one's fatherland; and the French term of chase which gives repaire as meaning the den of a wild animal, implying thus a settled abode, conveys the exact idea of the original. Thus, by a slight stretch of the figure, a regiment may be said to repair to its barracks, a king to his palace, a courtier to court (supposing him able to feel really at home there) ; but no one who values the fitness of words would feel justified in saying that "a regiment, a king, or a courtier repaired to a review."

MISCHIEF-MAKING.

BY G. STANLEY ARNOLD, LL.B.

"A FROWARD man soweth strife; and a whisperer separateth chief friends." So said Solomon three thousand years ago; by which fact it would appear, that whatever, in other respects, progressive development may have done for the human species, in the matter of mischief-making, it has left them very much in the same position as they stood then. The Book of Proverbs is by no means generally popular; and it is no uncommon thing to hear it spoken of in a way which gives rise, at least, to a suspicion that, but for its admitted place in the sacred canon, Solomon would have been as severely handled for writing it as La Rochefoucauld has been on account of his celebrated maxims. Nor is it by any means hard to see a reason for this. If any one, however, will study the book with the attention it deserves, he will readily arrive at two conclusions; one, that not the least part of the wisdom of the wise king lay in his deep knowledge of human nature; the other, that mischief-making was quite as common an occupation in his time as in our own.

Let not any one, whose conscience tells him he is not quite guiltless on this point, sit down to such a study with the idea that he will find, in the Proverbs, loving, tenderly worded remonstrances on the subject. Solomon does not in the least care about making the truth palatable; and, unless the moral hide of the mischief-maker be something akin to that of a rhinoceros, he will probably feel much inclined to start up from his perusal, exclaiming, in the words of the elfin dwarf,

"Man of age, thou smitest sore."

And of all classes of offenders mischief-makers do deserve to be sorest smitten, because of the untold evil which they work with little or no provocation. Many a hapless sinner, over whose enormities the world has burst into one of those periodical fits of austere morality which Lord Macaulay has so severely lashed, could plead long and sore temptation in extenuation of his offences; but who can plead any very severe strain on human

frailty as an excuse for those idle words or scandalous stories which only too often form the seed of so abundant a harvest of sorrow and suffering?

On this very subject of mischief-making current morality is rather a melancholy specimen of human reasoning. Mischiefmakers would probably be very indignant at being told that they are swindlers, and swindlers of the very worst class, yet so it is; and though they may manifest much wrath against the asserters of such an opinion, they will find it a hard matter to prove the falsity of the assertion. Does the man who robs another of, it may be, the hardly-earned savings of years of toil, do him so irreparable an injury as he does who robs him of his good name, and thereby fearfully injures his future prospects as well as doing him the worst of present injuries? Yet the world holds up its hands in holy horror at the one, while for the other -at least provided his social position makes him worth cultivating-it has smiles and welcomes, and at best but mild regrets that he should be so incautious in what he says.

But mischief-making does not end with what more properly deserves the name of slander. A great deal, perhaps the larger part, is accomplished in the world by those who have no deliberate intention of slandering their neighbours; and, in this respect, I fear it must be admitted, that women are the greatest offenders, and simply, I believe, for this reason; that, generally speaking, neither their minds nor their time are sufficiently occupied. He whose special business it is to find work for idle hands, will assuredly take good care to provide thoughts for idle minds. Was ever a highly-educated and fully-occupied woman found among the ranks of mischief-makers, of this class at least? A strong proof of the truth of the assertion that idleness has much to do with mischief-making may be found in a fact which any one well acquainted with clubs and mess-rooms will be able fully to bear out—namely, that men with much unoccupied time on their hands are not much behind women in the quantity, and very much before them in the quality, of the scandal they spread; only-perhaps for this reason-they are more cautious how and where they repeat it.

The worst part of this kind of mischief-making is that the stories are rarely entirely unfounded. If they were they would do infinitely less harm. But there is generally a certain proportion of truth in them, and it is the "mixing of things," which does the mischief. The fractional part of truth just forms the solid

foundation on which the superstructure of falsehood contrives to stand steady. The evil eye goes prying about, and soon succeeds in detecting some flaw in a neighbour's character or conduct; and then its ready handmaid, the evil tongue, sets to work-colours, magnifies, invents, finds motives for actions whose causes are not clear, and the story passes from one to another, gaining something from each fresh transmission, until at last it wears itself out; but not until an impression has been created with respect to the subject of it which will long outlast the story from which it took its rise.

It would really almost seem as if some people were born to make mischief, so perfectly do their mental characteristics fit them for the occupation. Bad memories play no unimportant part in the work; not only forgetting the greater part of everything they hear, but forgetting likewise that they are filling up the gap entirely from their own imaginations. Worse still are the kaleidoscopic order of minds, who do perhaps succeed in getting hold of the whole of a story, but with its relative parts all mixed up in heterogeneous confusion, and assuming a fresh shape with every turn; or suspicious people, nursing the productions of their own imaginations until they convince themselves, and assure every one else, that they are undoubted facts. But worst of all are the dealers in inuendoes-people who could say a great deal if they dare, but will not. These are the most deadly of all, and deserve to be classed with poisonous reptiles. Other mischief-makers may be moral swindlers-these are moral assassins, cowardly stabbers in the dark. If a man comes to me and boldly accuses my friend of some evil, I have at least something tangible to grasp; but if he comes with inuendoes I am powerless, yet know all the time that he will succeed in leaving with me an uneasy impression about the man, which it will be long before I shall succeed in shaking off.

But though idleness may be the soil in which mischief-making flourishes most readily, it cannot be its seed; that must ever lie in the moral characteristics of the mischief-maker, and it were well for those who are fond of spreading evil reports to consider what principles of action they disclose thereby. It is a patent fact that the higher either man or woman stands above the level of ordinary humanity, be it morally, intellectually, by wealth, or by rank, so much the more is he or she the mark for evil tongues. Well, here is a quotation for the scandal lovers—“ A man who hath no virtue in himself ever envieth virtue in others: