it, and were filled with wrath at what appeared to be these words in opening: “I address you not as magistrates, but as Indian devils.”

“What!” they cried. “Read that over again. How does he address us?”

“Not as magistrates, but as Indian devils,” repeated the clerk. “That ’s what he says.”

The letter was passed around, and the judges were by no means pleased to see that the clerk had apparently made no mistake. Very angry at what they believed to be an insult, the judges passed a vote of censure upon the clergyman, and wrote to him demanding an apology. He came before them in person, when it turned out that where the judges had read “Indian devils” he had written “individuals,” which, of course, made an apology unnecessary; but the reverend gentleman was admonished to improve his handwriting if he wished to keep out of trouble.

Still another case of “blind copy” furnished to the printer, resulted in making the title “Pilgrim’s Progress” to appear in “cold type” as “Religious Rogues.”

The “Philadelphia Press” relates the following: “Recently an editor of a morning paper wrote an article on the Boer question, and headed it, ‘The British Army won a Victory that was Remarkable.’ To his surprise he found that the printer made it read, ‘The British Army won a Victory. That was Remarkable! ’ The infuriated editor told his foreman that he must be in sympathy with the Boers.”

Many intelligent persons regard the duty of a proof-reader as consisting in simply following his copy and in securing the proper spelling of words. If this, however, were the sum of his accomplishments, many an author would come to grief. Recently an author, quoting the expression, “God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,” attributed it to the Bible; but the proof-reader queried the authority and wrote in the margin, “Sterne,” which the author had the good sense gratefully to accept. Young men and women, recent graduates of colleges, have sometimes requested me to introduce them to publishers desiring to issue translations of certain books in foreign languages; but knowing how superficial often is the linguistic attainment of the college graduate, making him incapable of rendering correctly into English the spirit and the letter of a foreign tongue, I have respectfully declined. I may say, and with accuracy, that scarcely a translation is made which does not show some blunder more or less appalling.

The French word “bois” means wood. In a certain sentry-box several soldiers had died, and, to prevent the supposed contagion from spreading, Napoleon ordered the bois to be burned. The translator rendered the word bois as forest; which would have led the reader to suppose that the whole forest was burned. The proof-reader, after consulting the French text, suggested the substitution of “sentry-box” for “forest.” The change was made, and the meaning of the original was thus restored.

A German professor, who prided himself on his knowledge not only of the classics, but of modern languages, translated the New Testament expression “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak” into, “The ghost indeed is willing, but the meat is bad.” If he had said, in the light of some modern achievements, “the meat is embalmed,” he might have hit the nail on the head.

A gentleman who was in Venice when the news of the destruction of Admiral Cervera’s squadron came, and who could not make out the Italian account very well, took the paper to a certain professor who speaks almost perfect scholar’s-English, and asked him to translate it. The professor did so in excellent style until he came near the end, when, with a little