inexhaustible resource for his superabundant irritability. In
his numerous books he insisted on adopting a peculiar spelling. It was
not phonetic, nor was it etymological; it was simply Ritsonian. To
understand the efficacy of this arrangement, it must be remembered that
the instinct of a printer is to spell according to rule, and that every
deviation from the ordinary method can only be carried out by a special
contest over each word. General instructions on such a matter are apt to
produce unexpected results. One very sad instance I can now recall; it
was that of a French author who, in a new edition of his works, desired
to alter the old-fashioned spelling of the imperfect tense from o to a.
To save himself trouble, on the first instance occurring in each proof,
he put in the margin a general direction to change all such o's into
a's. The instruction was so literally and comprehensively obeyed, that,
happening to glance his eye over the volume on its completion, he found
the letter o entirely excluded from it. Even the sacred name of
Napoleon was irreverently printed Napalean, and the Revolution was the
Revalutian. Ritson had far too sharp a scent for any little matter of
controversy and irritating discussion to get into a difficulty like
this. He would fight each step of the way, and such peculiarities as the
following, profusely scattered over his books, may be looked upon as the
names of so many battles or skirmishes with his printers--_compileer_,
_writeer_, _wel_, _kil_, _onely_, _probablely_. Even when he
condescended to use the spelling common to the rest of the nation, he
could pick out little causes of quarrel with the way of putting it in
type--as, for instance, in using the word Ass, which came naturally to
him, he would not follow the practice of his day in the use of the long
and short ([s]s), but inverted the arrangement thus, s[s]. This strange
creature exemplified the opinion that every one must have some
creed--something from without having an influence over thought and
action stronger than the imperfect apparatus of human reason. Scornfully
disdaining revelation from above, he groped below, and found for himself
a little fetish made of turnips and cabbages. He was as fanatical a
devotee of vegetarianism as others have been of a middle state or adult
baptism; and, after having torn through a life of spiteful controversy
with his fellow-men, and ribaldry of all sacred things, he thus
expressed the one