The Court of Peeves, Crotchets & Irks opens its winter assizes with a motion from William Resnick of Riviera Beach, Fla. He is concerned about “on” and “upon.” Dick Suits of Charlotte, N.C., similarly asks about “into” and “onto.” They ask for a declaratory opinion on the distinctions.

The court ordinarily has many opinions, lots of distinctions, and little hesitancy in declaring them. That is, a stolen pig properly will be turned in to the sheriff, not into the sheriff, though they may look alike. In most situations, there is not a dime’s worth of semantic difference between “on” and “onto.” Syrup is poured either on the pancakes or onto or upon them. All the same. Either way, calories.

Many usages are obvious. We are going to “carry on!” not “carry upon!” There is a palpable difference between walking on the stage and walking onto the stage. We make a payment on a charge account, not onto it. We take on a tough assignment. In Charlotte, a betting service was onto something. Someone who fibs is putting us on. Sometimes we are put upon.

Petitioner Resnick cites to the court’s precedents, holding that syllables should not be wasted. Why waste a two-syllable word, he asks, when one will do? Except for the phrase that begins every fairy tale, “Once upon a time,” he doubts that there is any sentence in which “on” could not replace the inflated “upon.”

It is here that a pale cast of cadence fuzzes the easy choices. Apparently unnecessary syllables may indeed be necessary – not for their meaning, but for their swing. In even the most mundane writing, cadence counts. Our inner ears are tuned to the rhythms of everyday life. We may not be consciously aware of the ticking of a clock, but we hear the silence when the clock stops. We sense the rhythm of wind and waves and traffic passing by. That is why we respond to the metric subtlety of cadenced poetry as distinguished from free verse. “Once upon a midnight dreary” carries a lilt that is lost in “Once on a midnight dreary.”

Sometimes we want two syllables, sometimes only one. In popular music and in classic translations, the choice matters. A songwriter dreamed that on a clear day – not upon a clear day – we can see forever. A master of Virgil translated a familiar passage from the Eclogues: “Thrice they tried to pile Ossa on Pelion, yes, and roll up leafy Olympus upon Ossa.” Listen to the little words!

That is about all the opinion the court is up to declaring on “into,” “onto,” “upon” and “on.” Other cosmic issues crowd the docket.

Randy Guy of Summerville, S.C., asks for a ruling on “insure,” “ensure” and “assure.” No problem. In American English we use “insure” only for insurance, i.e., we insure a house against damage by fire. We assure humans and animals; we assure the bride that her groom will yet arrive, the family dog that he has not been deserted. We employ “ensure” for everything else, e.g., editors seek to ensure uniformity in punctuation. Uniformity? They will never get it.

Samuel E. Loliger of Buffalo, N.Y., is irked by “conjoined” and “commingled.” He asks about a news story in October. Why was it reported that two young women were “conjoined” at the head and not simply “joined?” Why do we often read of assets that are commingled instead of merely mingled? The court ventures this distinction, that “to commingle” is not as mingly as “to mingle.” To mingle is freely to move about. To commingle, says Webster’s, is to mold separate assets into a whole. At a casino, 200 gamblers may casually mingle. When five of them peel off to play poker, the five commingle. There go the separate assets.

In his newly published “Modern American Usage,” Bryan Garner says that “conjoin” generally provides no nuance not included in “join” or “combine.” The court concurs with Judge Garner. Accounts of the operation recently performed on the 29-year-old twins properly spoke of them as conjoined. Very well. But for everyday purposes, the court would leave “conjoin” on a high dark shelf and forget about it. Let us take a week’s recess.

James Kilpatrick is a syndicated columnist.

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