Transcriber's Note.

Gail Hamilton, cited as author, is the alias of Mary Abigail Dodge.

A [list] of the changes made can be found at the end of the book.

A BATTLE OF THE BOOKS

A
BATTLE OF THE BOOKS,

RECORDED BY AN UNKNOWN WRITER,

FOR THE USE OF

AUTHORS AND PUBLISHERS:

TO THE FIRST FOR DOCTRINE, TO THE SECOND FOR REPROOF,
TO BOTH FOR CORRECTION AND FOR INSTRUCTION
IN RIGHTEOUSNESS.

EDITED AND PUBLISHED BY

GAIL HAMILTON.

“Why talk so dreffle big, John,

Of honor, when it meant

You didn't care a fig, John,

But jest for ten per cent?”

Biglow Papers.

CAMBRIDGE:
Printed at the Riverside Press,
AND FOR SALE BY
HURD AND HOUGHTON, NEW YORK.
1870.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by
H. O. Houghton and Company,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts.

RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.

CONTENTS.

A BATTLE OF THE BOOKS.

I.

EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION.

THE papers comprising the following narrative, called “A Battle of the Books,” were found in my state-room after a violent storm, during a long and dangerous sea-voyage which I was once forced to undertake. They were much stained with salt-water, but were for the most part legible. The name of the author or compiler is not given; but I judge, somewhat from the chirography, chiefly from incontestable internal evidence, that the writer is a woman. As this evidence will unfold itself to the reader in the course of the narrative, I shall not dwell upon it; nor is it, indeed, a matter of importance, except as it bears upon the question of the participation in the government by both sexes. Viewed from that point, it shows with great force the inability of women to understand affairs, and the groundlessness of the present clamor for a change of status. It proves beyond question that all that women need do is to trust, and all that men care to do is to protect.

The date given is of the last century, but of its accuracy I am not assured. The manuscript is soiled, and stained, and shabby enough; but the storm which brought it to my feet would account for that. There are references, allusions, and even names which point to a time far within the memory of men still living; but this is not conclusive, since I believe, according to the best scriptural exegesis, the name of a historical person in a book, as, for instance, that of Cyrus in Isaiah, does not determine the date, so much as the nature of the writing, simply changing it from history to prophecy. No one, in reading this story, will suspect it of scriptural inspiration; but may not the writer have been in that state which is sometimes called clairvoyant, and which is perhaps but a preternaturally acute condition of the intellectual perceptions, wherein the logic of events is so plainly seen that the future is as clear and certain as the past, and that which is to happen seems as much a matter of fact as that which has happened? If the human mind can calculate an eclipse of the sun, with entire accuracy, three thousand years beforehand, why should it be thought a thing incredible that the human heart should be able to calculate some of the incidents of an eclipse of faith a hundred years in advance?

But as upon the question of authorship, so upon that of chronology, I conceive the strongest evidence to be internal. The state of society described in this narrative is surely no nearer than a hundred years. It chronicles an age of barbarism, when author and publisher were natural enemies, and relieved the monotony of their lives by petty skirmishing or pitched battles with each other. This age, happily for us, has passed away, and exists only in tradition. Whether from the universal softening of manners which accompanies the introduction of Christianity, and in which both publishers and authors may be supposed to have shared, or from that equally universal brightening and quickening of the intellect which attended the Renaissance, and which may have enabled even publishers to see how he that watereth shall be watered also himself,—certain it is that these times of turbulence are gone, and we have peace. No longer does the wily publisher lie in wait, seeking what chance he may have to devour his author. Rather he woos him to receive his dues, wins open with gentle urgency the hand no longer grasping, but modest and reluctant, and presses into it the crisp, abundant bills. No longer do authors shamelessly drink toasts to the despotic emperor to whose thousand crimes is linked the one virtue of having hanged a bookseller. On the contrary, they raise their harps and join voices to sing their benefactor's praise. Who has not seen in all the newspapers the affecting tale of the great house of Fields, Osgood, & Co.,—nomen clarum et venerabile,—on whom has fallen the mantle of Ticknor & Fields?

“Fame spread her wings, and with her trumpet blew”

the story of their having offered payment to an author, which he declined to receive because he had once had money for the writing. “But,” replied the firm, “we intend to use the article for a book. We make a profit on both. Why should you hesitate to take pay?” “I am sure I ought not to take it,” said the author; “I should not if I acted according to my ideal. I don't believe it is honest to take money twice for the same piece of work.” “But do,” replied the publisher; “we insist upon it as our right;” and insist he did, till the author coyly yielded. History is silent from this point, but the imagination fondly stoops to trace the scene. Undoubtedly this prince of publishers, like Mr. Pecksniff when blessing Martin Chuzzlewit for hating him, “waved his right hand with much solemnity.... There was emotion in his manner, but his step was firm. Subject to human weaknesses, he was upheld by conscience.”

Hear also what the “Atlantic Monthly” says: “There are no business men more honorable or more generous than the publishers of the United States, and especially honorable and considerate towards authors. The relation usually existing between author and publisher in the United States is that of a warm and lasting friendship,—such as ... now animates and dignifies the intercourse between the literary men of New England and Messrs. Ticknor & Fields.... The relation, too, is one of a singular mutual trustfulness. The author receives his semi-annual account from the publisher with as absolute a faith in its correctness as though he had himself counted the volumes sold.... We have heard of instances in which a publisher had serious cause of complaint against an author, but never have we known an author to be intentionally wronged by a publisher.... How common, too, it is in the trade for a publisher to go beyond the letter of his bond, and after publishing five books without profit, to give the author of the successful sixth more than the stipulated price.”

Time and scissors would fail me to cull from the journals all the ingenious and touching paragraphs which show how the eminent publishers referred to do good by stealth and blush to find it fame.

Doubtless similar illustrations might also be drawn in great numbers from other sources, were ordinary publishers in the courtly habit of keeping a historian to record their royal deeds. But enough has been said to show that the publishers of to-day have become evangelized, and no longer seek every man his own, but every man the things of another. I infer, therefore, without hesitation, that the dates of the following papers are correct, and that, notwithstanding a certain confusion in the nomenclature, the state of things they describe, belongs exclusively to the good old times of a hundred years ago.

Joined to the main body of the narrative were injunctions the most imperative regarding its publication. But even had I chosen to disregard these, there are other reasons which might have impelled me to the same course. As one sitting by his own fireside glows with a deeper content for the sound of the storm without, so we, who live in this golden age of love, may all the more rejoice, seeing how they let their angry passions rise in the brave days of old.

I would say, then, borrowing the language of an old Sunday-school hymn:—

“Authors, attend, while I relate

A new and simple story;

'Twill teach your hearts with thankfulness

To praise the Lord of glory”

that the lines have fallen to you in pleasant places, and that you receive your goodly heritage without having to fight for it.

II.

AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION.

WHEN, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for an author to dissolve the bands which have connected him with his publishers, a decent respect for the opinions of mankind requires that he should declare the causes which impel him to the separation.

The war between authors and publishers has been a conflict of ages. On the one side, the publisher has been looked upon as a species of Wantley dragon, whose daily food was the brain and blood of hapless writers.

“Devouréd he poor authors all,

That could not with him grapple;

But at one sup he ate them up,

As one would eat an apple.”

On the other side, the author has been considered, like Shelley, “an eternal child” in all that relates to practical business matters, and a terrible child at that,—incapable of comprehending details, and unreasonably dissatisfied with results. A definite illustration will sometimes throw more light on a general principle than reams of abstract discussion. But in matters of this sort, definite illustrations are very hard to come at. In any case of trouble between author and publisher, it is for the interest of the latter that it be kept as quiet as possible. Even if he be unquestionably right, and the difficulty be owing solely to the author's inexperience and impracticability, the ill odor of having had a quarrel will hardly be neutralized by any knowledge of its causelessness. The sympathy of the public is more likely to be with the author than with the publisher.

The author also is held to silence by various considerations. The difficulty of getting at the real state of the case, and the misgiving which results from it; the always unpleasant nature of the controversy; the obtrusion of one's private affairs, as if it were a theme of general interest; the uncertainty of any good to be obtained; the fatigue and disgust of the quarrel itself,—a thousand circumstances combine to make it appear altogether easier and better to let the matter go than to take the trouble of any adequate presentation or explanation of it. But as he is never quite satisfied, he can never quite let it go; and though there come not a real thunder-storm crashing among the hills, but clearing the skies, there are low mutterings and occasional flashes, which betoken a signal discontent of the elements.

Thus exists the chronic feud between authors and publishers; partly traditional, partly experimental; a matter often for outward jest, but quite as often of deep and serious import. It is a sort of bush-whacking, in which every man whacks on his own account, and frequently does not know that there is any other bushwhacker than himself. So the warfare goes on, but to no end. Nobody learns wisdom from another man's experience, because the other man keeps his experience to himself.

I propose to supply what the theologians call a “felt want,” and to become the historian of a contest all of which I saw, and part of which I was. From the confusions of long misunderstanding I would fain evolve an intelligent and lasting peace. “When,” in the language of Dr. Johnson, “I am animated by this wish, I look with pleasure on my book, however defective, and deliver it to the world with the spirit of a man that has endeavored well.” If it be instigated by any other motive than pure benevolence, the fact will doubtless appear in its progress. Should my little cask of oil be poured out in vain upon the stormy waters,—should I, instead of soothing their rage, be whelmed beneath it,—there remains the consoling assurance that no one else is involved in my fate.

It would be hypocritical to apologize for the intrusion of private affairs upon public notice, when it is notorious that there is nothing the public so dearly loves, nothing upon which it so eagerly fastens, nothing which it so greedily devours, as private affairs. Indeed, the privacy of affairs seems to be sometimes the only element of interest they possess, and the delight which the public finds in them is proportioned to the amount of good manners it was necessary to sacrifice in order to get at them.[1]

I give fair warning that this narration is not intended to be of interest or value to any but authors and publishers. A log-book is not generally considered very entertaining reading, yet it may be scanned with great eagerness by those who are following the track it chronicles. This is simply the log-book of a desperate voyage, a careful knowledge of which may prevent many a young mariner from being drawn into it himself.

III.

RISE AND PROGRESS OF SUSPICION IN THE SOUL.

MY relations with the house of Brummell and Hunt began somewhere about the year 1760. Until 1768 these relations had always been agreeable. I seemed to be living in an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits. I thought, as Mr. Tennyson remarked to the lily, “there is but one” publishing house, and that is the house of Messrs. Brummell & Hunt. All others were to me outside barbarians, mercenary hirelings, mere hewers of wood and drawers of water. Messrs. Brummell & Hunt published on high moral grounds, from love of literature and general benevolence. Gingerbread followed their virtue, indeed, but had no part nor lot in it. My dealings were with Mr. Hunt, and the business aspect of our connection came to be nearly lost sight of behind the veil of friendship. Money arrangements I left entirely to him. I never stipulated for anything, either on books or magazine articles. I considered that he best knew the money value of these things, and that, as we are constantly told, the interest of author and that of publisher are one. He accordingly paid me whatever he chose, and I was entirely satisfied.

One day in December, 1767, happening to want more money than was due me,[2] I recollected having seen, a few weeks before, an article in the “Segregationalissuemost,”[3] on the “Pay of Authors,” which said:—

“In regard to books, the common percentage paid by publishers to average writers is ten per cent. upon the retail price of the book; the copies given to the press for notice not being included in the estimate. Thus, for an edition of a volume whose retail price is $1.00, the account would be made up thus: Suppose 1,000 copies to be printed, of which 90 are distributed to the press, and otherwise given away for notice, and the balance sold, the publishers would owe the author (1,000-90 = 910 copies, at 10c. each) $91.00. And so proportionately for larger works at costlier prices.”

Without the least presentiment of anything uncanny, I made the following reference to it in a letter to Mr. Hunt. This extract unfolds the beginning of sorrows.

“Now see, in the ‘Segregationalissuemost,’ this very morning, I saw an article about the pay of authors, in which it said that the ordinary price for average authors was ten per cent. on the retail price of the book; but according to my account I don't have ten per cent. I only have somewhere about seven or eight per cent. Looking in my papers, I find that all the contracts I have are only for fifteen cents on the two-dollar volumes, which certainly is not ten per cent., except the first contract for ‘City Lights,’ which says ten per cent., but the bills or accounts, or whatever it is, are made out for that,—not at ten per cent., but, just as the other, fifteen cents on the volume. At least, this is the way I make it out; but I am not good at figures, and may have made some mistake. However, here are the papers, and you can see for yourself, or I will show them to Judge Dane when I go to Athens. I don't like to talk about it here at home any way. But perhaps you will know all about it from what I have said, and perhaps it is all right. But certainly I am an ‘average writer,’ and you are an ‘ordinary publisher,’ not to say extraordinary! And I want all the money I can possibly get and more too! Especially —— dollars by and by.

“It just occurs to me that you may possibly think that I think that you have been falling into temptation! My dear friend and fellow-sinner, if you should stand up with both hands on your heart, and swear that you had cheated me, I should not believe you. I should say, ‘Poor fellow, work and worry have done their work. His brilliant intellect——I saw a lovely private asylum in Corinth. I would go there and spend the summer!’

“Yours, sane or insane,

“M. N.”

I waited nearly two weeks, and then, receiving no reply to this letter, I wrote to my friend, Mr. Jackson, a book-publisher of Corinth, asking him several questions, but avoiding as far as possible any personality, or giving rise to any suspicion. I hoped he would think I was merely collecting information. On the 16th of January, nearly three weeks after my letter was sent, came a reply from Mr. Hunt, in which the only reference to my inquiry was:—

“I have not answered your last letter, touching the terms expressed in the contracts; for you and I went over that matter once, and it was with your entire concurrence with our views, based upon the present state of trade and manufacture, that the amount was decided on. When you come to town, we will go all over it again, and it will be again settled to your entire satisfaction.”

This reply did not meet my question. I was aware that I had concurred in their views, as my name on the contract showed it. But I was not aware of ever having gone over the matter; and I did not care for a second settlement while I was as yet unassured of a first. I wrote again, replying also to an invitation by telegram received the same day from a member of Mr. Hunt's family.

“My dear Mr. Hunt:

“That is great of you to come down here with a gay letter, and utterly blink out of sight the fact of your having made me wretched for three weeks by not writing. Of course I concurred in your views. If you had said to me, ‘Owing to the state of trade and manufactures, all the trees are now going to be bread and cheese, and all the rivers ink,’ I should have said, ‘Yes, that is a very wise measure.’ I don't remember ever talking the thing over with you, but I dare say I did,—or, rather, you talked, and I nodded, as usual! And of course I agreed; for here are the contracts that say so, and if I don't know what is in those contracts and accounts, it is not for want of patient industry. If I had as many dollars as I have pored over those miserable papers the last two weeks, I would build a meeting-house. Don't you see the trouble lies back of the contract? Why did you wish me to be having seven or eight per cent. when other people are getting ten? If it was because I was not worth more, you need not be afraid to say so. I can bear a great deal of rugged truth. But why am I not worth more, when there is not a paper of any standing in the country, to put it rather strongly, that has not applied to me to become a contributor, offering me my own terms? Does not that show that I have at least a commercial value? Writing books seems a more dignified thing than writing newspapers, but in point of money there is no comparison to be made.[4] I could have got five times as much by putting ‘Cotton-picking’ in the form of letters as I have from the book.

“When day after day went by, and you did not write, I came to the conclusion that your High Mightiness was standing on your dignity, and then I was indignant too. I can always be a great deal more angry with any one than any one is with me, and I always will be. And I said last week, ‘If he does not write me by Saturday, I will do something.’ And what I did was—write to Mr. Jackson. Now you will perhaps be vexed at this, but you have no right to be. Do you think I am going to die, and give no sign? Mr. Jackson is an older friend than you,—I said an older soldier, not a better!—and then you did not write. I did not mention your name, nor say anything about myself or my affairs, only asked some general questions. I tell you this because your letter was good-natured. If it had been cross, I would not tell you anything; and if you will be as perplexed and uneasy for three weeks as I was, and not do anything worse than that, I will award you a gold medal. Mr. Hunt, you ought never under any circumstances to be angry with me. In your large circle of friends you may have scores who will bring you more personal revenue; but for the quality of loyalty ‘pure and simple,’ you will not find many who will go beyond me. I may be infelicitous and inexplicable in demonstration, but I was never anything but thoroughly true in mood.

“The telegram came this morning in due season. A thousand thanks for her kind remembrance, but of course I was not going to Athens with your letter staring me in the face. Talking it over is the very thing I don't want to do. There is nothing to be talked over. There are the papers. I admit them all. But when —— takes you to task for some misdemeanor,—and if ever you go to the good place, it will be because that woman has pulled you through,—you don't say, ‘What are you talking about? When I offered myself to you, did you not say you would have me for better, for worse; and are you not perfectly satisfied?’ She was satisfied then according to her lights, but doubtless she has thought twenty times since she might have done better. Any way, you don't ‘dast’ ask her and see. Now my case is not parallel. ‘England, with all thy faults, I love thee still.’ I cannot conceive of anybody being a better publisher than you, because you don't seem like a business man, but a friend. But here is the fact that I want [so much] and I have only [so much] to get it with, and sales falling off, and I getting on what is sold less than an unknown author gets on his first book. Can you tell in a month whether the new book is going to sell or not? I have another children's book nearly ready, but I suppose decency demands an appreciable interval between two issues. Do you suppose the unpopularity of my doctrines has anything to do with it? If it has, I will thunder them out harder still. If I must go down, I will go down, like the Cumberland, with a broadside volley.

“Of the books I want I don't know how many,—a dozen or two. If people won't buy them, I will give them away, for read them they shall....

“I will now close this short note with the reflection which I have often made,—Be good, and you will be happy. And never bring up against me a concurrence of views at any past time as a fortification against discurrence in the present. And if that is, like Saint Paul, hard to be understood,—good enough for you for not writing me sooner, and throwing me into such a perturbation. Remember always the difference between the assent of indifference and the assent of conviction. Whatever I agreed to in times past was because I had no interest whatever in the subject, and supposed it was all according to the laws of the Medes and Persians. Now that ruin gapes before me, and I am, after all, only the law unto myself, it makes no atom of difference to me that I have not been fighting you the last century—steady.

“While I am in a spasm of comparative serenity, I will declare and affirm that you are and always have been one of the kindest, brightest, and most agreeable of men; that you never said to me a word of compliment, or silliness, or impatience, or anything that wounded me,—and Heaven knows you have said bad things enough,—and this you may cut out, and show to men and angels when we come to blows. The worst thing I ever knew you to do was not answering my last letter, and then aggravating me by coming down as breezy and cheery as if nothing had happened. Give my love to——. She deserves a better fate, but I don't know that I can do aught to forward it.”

Mr. Hunt's reply to this letter was through another person; in which reply the only response to my letter was:—

“I sent off my telegram with perfect unconsciousness of your state of mind, or of the fact that there was any business unsettled which might be talked about. Your note last night was a surprise, and your non-appearance a disappointment....

“Do you forget that a certain friend of ours cannot write a word with his own hand? Do you wonder, matters having been many times explained, that he thought they must sooner or later explain themselves through your memory?

“We forget how in a retired life things work in the mind, and you must therefore forgive the apparent neglect of one who is overwhelmed by letters and people from day's beginning to day's end.”

This reply was not soothing. The suggestion that one is morbidly suffering mole-hills to rise into mountains is not flattering to his intellectual calibre. Nor is it agreeable to be assigned the part of one who had been so given to dissatisfaction that it was not worth while to try to quiet him again. One thing I did learn from it,—that Mr. Hunt did not design to answer my question.

I none the less desired an answer. I thought if I could not secure it, perhaps some one else could. Mr. Dane was an old friend of Mr. Hunt's, and a friend of mine. His office was but a short distance from Mr. Hunt's. He had chanced to write me some excellent advice about saving money just before,—without, however, any knowledge of this affair. I wanted somebody's opinion, and I could not talk about the matter. I therefore wrote to Mr. Dane a letter of self-justification, not to say glorification,—saying:—

“You think, perhaps, because I have once or twice lost a few things, therefore I take no heed of anything. On the contrary, there is probably no one in the land who, on the whole, is more careful, systematic, and provident than I! Truth!... There is no such thing as independence, or dignity, scarcely honesty, without money. Perhaps that is putting it a little too strong, but at any rate impecuniosity is a constant temptation.

“I should have ... more if I had had ten per cent. on the books, as the ‘Segregationalissuemost’ said the other day was the custom for new authors. I don't. I have only fifteen cents on a two-dollar book, and ten cents on a dollar-and-a-half book, which is not nearly ten per cent.; and if you can tell me any reason why I should not have as much as an unfledged author, I wish you would put up your patents and do it.... I want money just now extremely. If I had a few thousand dollars, I could benefit some very excellent persons certainly, and in all probability should lose nothing myself, but in the course of a few years, by the time I should want my money at least, have it all back. I can take up bonds to be sure, and I rather think I shall; but as a general thing, one never wants to meddle with money that is settled. Don't you think I talk sensibly? Don't you take back your insinuations about my loose habits of expenditure? Unthrift, reckless expenditure, improvidence, indicate an organic defect of character. But I will not sacrifice the present to the future. ‘The present, the present, is all thou hast for thy sure possessing.’ Whenever I see an imminent need, I will not pass it by on the score of laying up for a rainy day. For, don't you see, when the rainy day comes, I may not be here to be rained on, while to my friend the rainy day is already come. I will enjoy money as I go along,—not in so reckless a way as to involve the necessity of one day imposing a burden upon others. And of all enjoyment, I know of none so delightful and inexhaustible, and I may say so marvelous, as to see the amount of relief, the quantity of sunshine and help, put into another's life by the judicious bestowal of even a very little money.[5]

“Did you ever see such a letter as this? It is full of me, me, me, and me's money; but you began it. Your letter came down upon me just when I have been full of perplexity for more than a month, and you see I have not strength enough to keep myself to myself. You will of course consider this all confidential. You better make sure of it by destroying the letter as soon as you have read it. Yes, by all means. Seems as if this letter was sort of virtuous. But you know I am not virtuous at all. And don't misconstrue me about the books. Mr. Hunt has always been everything that was generous and friendly, and I do not permit myself to admit for a moment, even to myself, that everything is not just as it should be. But that paragraph in the ‘S.’ induced me to examine my own papers,—joined with my great longing for money just now,—and I did not and do not understand it. Happily, it is not necessary I should. Perhaps that refers chiefly to the great Corinthian publishing houses.”

MR. DANE TO M. N.

“Ten per cent. was a fair amount—I mean ten per cent. on the retail price—for B. & H. to pay you. When they put their dollar books up to two dollars, whether they should pay you the same percentage, should depend on their profits, and should be a matter of honor with them. Probably at first they did not double their profits with their price, but now I have no doubt they do, and more too. Still you are very much in their hands, and it is very disagreeable for you to help yourself. If the sale fell off with increase of price, although the profit per volume was at the same percentage, they would make less money by doing less business.

“Did you make any contract with them ever, and what was it?

“I don't believe anybody ever gets less than ten per cent. on the price; but it may be on the wholesale price, which is forty per cent. off the retail—i.e. a book that retails at $1.40 is wholesaled at $1.00. Pardon me, but I never imagine that a woman comprehends what per cent. means! Yes, your principles are good, but your practice is probably very deficient.”

M. N. TO MR. DANE.

“I am going to finish up about my business now, and then I shall not ever mention the subject again. But I did want to talk with somebody about it, having so little reliance on my own judgment. And your letter came just then, and so I wrote. I have never mentioned it to another soul. Confucius is a great deal better friend to me than you ever were or ever will be, but somehow I could not speak to him about it. I don't want to speak to any one. Besides I was afraid he would take up against Mr. Hunt.

“I have looked into my papers, but I cannot make much out of them.... I never thought the first thing about it till I saw in the ‘S.’ what I told you before—and I hardly thought of it then; but several weeks after, when I wanted money, and my account for this year was less than I expected, I hunted up the old ‘S.’ to see if I had read it right, and then I wrote to Mr. Hunt without thought of there being anything wrong, but asking him how it was. I supposed there was some modus operandi, ... and wanted to know what. It was nearly three weeks before he wrote again, and then came a pleasant letter; but all he said about mine was—[then follows an account of the correspondence.]

“Now I must confess I feel next door to being insulted. I hate to use the word, but there it is. ——is as innocent and as good as an angel, and does not in the least know what she is writing about. But all that Mr. Hunt ever said to me on the subject, or I to him, did not occupy five minutes, and he never spoke but once. That was years ago. It must have been before the second contract was made. He said that owing to the fluctuations of the market, the uncertainties arising from the war, or something of that sort, they were going to give their authors a fixed sum—fifteen cents per volume—instead of a percentage. It was at a time when prices (of books) were changing from one dollar and a quarter to two dollars, but I don't know exactly when. I assented of course; I neither knew nor cared anything about it. I had no interest in it. And that is all that has ever passed between us. Even now I have not the least fault to find if I am on the same footing as others. But why does he not say so? Do you think I am entirely unreasonable in being dissatisfied? I wish you would tell me if you think so, for it is like death almost to think it possible that Mr. Hunt should be in the wrong. I have had the most implicit confidence in him. I like him so much that I hate to hear a word said against the ‘Adriatic,’ or anything that he is concerned in. I would have been delighted to write for him for nothing if he had needed the money, and asked me.... Mr. Hunt's last letter to me by —— was January 18. I did not reply to it, and so the matter stands. I shall never say or do anything more about it. You cannot conceive how distasteful it is to me. Nothing in all my life—literary—ever touched me so nearly. If I had lost every speck of money that I had—twice over—it would not have so disheartened me. Confidence must be entire, or it is nothing. Do not you ever speak to any one of this.... I shall never mention it. A dead friendship is as sacred as a dead friend.

[But if your dead friend will not rest quietly in his grave, but persists in stalking up and down the earth, scaring the timid, oppressing the weak, and boasting all the time his own beneficence, you may presently learn with Browning, that even

“Serene deadness

Tries a man's temper.”]

“Now I hope I have not overwearied you with my tiresome letter. You need not be afraid of a repetition of it. In fact, there is nothing more to say,—which you will perhaps think the strongest security of all. I hope that you are good,—at least that you are content with nothing less than good,—which is the highest that any of us can go, I fancy. I think you had better burn this letter too. It will be safest.”

MR. DANE TO M. N., FEBRUARY 4.

“Let us try your case by admitted principles. Inasmuch as you put yourself into Mr. Hunt's hands to do what was right, he was bound to pay you as much as others receive upon whose winnings the same profits are made. This is Law, Gospel, & Co. If he did more, it would be generosity; if less, meanness or worse.

“He agreed for ten per cent. on the ‘City Lights,’ and pays you fifteen cents per copy, which is exactly right if it retailed at one dollar fifty cents; and he pays you the same on the rest, I understand you.

“Whether he was reasonable in asking you to assent to the fifteen cents per copy depends on his sales. If they were very small, he would make less than if large. I suppose you own the copyright, but he owns the stereotype plates, which cost the same whether many or few copies are printed. If when paper, and so forth, increased in value, he increased the price pro rata, and the sales continued the same, he made a larger profit, and should pay you more; that is, your percentage should continue as large. Now, if he sends you any proper accounts of sales, they will tell the story as to the number of copies sold, but not whether they cost fifty or a hundred per cent. more than formerly. Jackson or any book-publisher would know as to that.

“It would seem that you have received the minimum price, according to Jackson and the Segregationalissuemost, and my own notions. Your books are well printed on tinted paper, and your notions may have abridged the profits. I mean you may have required expensive editions, more so than was profitable; but I think not. Will you just show me your contracts and accounts of sales.... I am bound professionally to secresy, and my habits are fixed, so that I tell nobody other people's affairs.

“It is due to Mr. Hunt that you investigate the matter to some conclusion.... Mr. Hunt mistook your position. Your ready assent to his proposition and your confidence in him, which rendered any sharp bargaining unnecessary on your part, was interpreted as inability to comprehend matters of business; and so they said you understood it once, and will again when you are where you can be talked to. You gave no heed to what was said, and it is a waste of ink to write it all out!

“But you and I know better. Your mind is logical, and your simplicity as to business a sham.”

M. N. TO MR. DANE.

“Thank you for your letter....

“Second, I don't know whether the sales were large or small. Enormous I should say, considering the quality of what was sold; but I don't know what would be considered large as compared with other books. I remember that the ‘New Zealander,’ a good while ago, said that for any book not a novel five thousand was a success; and I think all mine, or nearly all, have come up to that, and some must have gone beyond it.

“Third, I do not know who owns the copyright or the stereotype plates. I never heard anything about either.

“Fourth, I am perfectly willing to push the matter to any agreeable conclusion; but suppose I inquire around among the publishers, and find that I have been underpaid, what do I gain? No money, for that is all past and gone. Will it give me back Mr. Hunt? Does that strike you as sentimental? It does me. Nevertheless, that is what it means.

“Next, it is very cool in you, if the mercury is below zero,—when you have always been telling that a woman has no logic, and that I have no logic, and other similar endearments,—to turn around now and quietly speak of my logical mind as if you had been preaching it up all your life. I knew it, but it is a good deal to have you even indirectly confess it. As for business, if I chose to turn my attention to it, I have no doubt I could master all its details, just as I could in cooking. But if you have a cook or a publisher for the express purpose of doing the business for you, what is the use of perplexing yourself about it?

“I am purposing to go to Athens next Saturday. I will gather up my papers and take them to you, if you will burden yourself with them, but it is a thankless task.... But I really do not want to talk about it.

“I had yesterday a hearty sort of letter from Mr. Hunt. He says that an unusual interest ever since the day of publication of ‘The Rights of Men’ was evident on all hands; that elaborate newspaper notices have followed the book in profuse showers; and though business is singularly slow this season, he thinks it will have a good sale. He also says, ‘When you come again, remember if there are any business matters to be set right, we are to do it then,’ and ‘When the juvenile book is ready, pray send it, for it takes some time to have illustrations made, and we are even now preparing for autumn.’

“Now that does not read like a man who is conscious of anything blameworthy. It would be impossible he should go on talking as pleasantly, and cheerily, and carelessly as if nothing had happened, if anything had happened. Doesn't it look so to you? And why should it be? Brummell and Hunt are famous for their generosity and liberality, and what motive could they have in changing their course for me? It seems to me like an ugly dream. I wish I never had thought of it at all. They could not have been any worse off, and I might have been better.”

MR. DANE TO M. N.

“You throw yourself unreservedly into the arms of your publishers. Few of us can safely be trusted so far. Mr. Hunt has apparently given you the minimum share, but I do not know even that, and you don't without inquiry.... What I should do is this,—satisfy myself that he is probably keeping too large a share, then say to him frankly, in what form you please, that it seems so, and ask him to explain. As a business matter, it is proper. As between friends, it is due to friendship. What right have you to listen to the suggestions of the adversary, and give your friend no hearing? That you don't know much of your affairs is evident, because you don't know who owns the copyright or the stereotype plates. I do happen to know, for I asked Hunt once if you retained the copyrights, and he said you did. The accounts which he should render you will show exactly the sales. Of course Mr. H. will answer verbally your letter when you meet. Why not tell him frankly just as you tell me? Don't hesitate to let me do whatever you wish done, only I don't want to be officious.”

IV.

DECLARATION OF WAR.

MR. Dane, at my desire, and without mentioning any names, went to several publishers in Athens, and was told by all whom he saw that ten per cent. on the retail price was the author's customary share of the profits. He was referred to Mr. Campton, of the firm of Murray & Elder, as being the person who knew more about these things than any man in Athens. Mr. C. said the same thing. I immediately wrote to Mr. Hunt, February 11:—

“In reply to the suggestion in your last letter, that I should send my juvenile book, I am forced to say what I never thought to say, that I cannot see how it will be for my interest that you should publish any more of my books. Unhappily, it is not necessary that I should give any explanation, since the reason, if it do not exist to your own knowledge and by your own arrangement, does not exist at all.”

M. N. TO MR. DANE.

“This, you see, is a little different from what I spoke of, but what is the use of keeping up appearances? If he has done what he seems to have done, there is no possible way of getting over it, and I may as well meet it face to face at once. If he takes no notice of this note, or if he asks an explanation, I shall refer him to you, and you may do whatever you think best. If he thinks this an unfriendly course, I think it is for him to show that any other was possible. Certainly, I tried hard enough to keep the matter between ourselves alone. Sometimes I feel indignant, but somehow the uppermost feeling is a sense of loss. There weighs upon me a burden, as if some great calamity had befallen. Unless he may yet show something that has hitherto not appeared, giving a new light.”

M. N. TO MR. DANE, FEBRUARY 15.

“Mr. Hunt shows an indifference quite in harmony with the theory that his friendship for me is founded on his business relations. In fact, it seems that business relations and friendly relations are alike unimportant to him, for he has taken no notice whatever of my letter. Of course, I shall not be careful to preserve what he values so lightly; yet I would rather err on the side of caution than of recklessness. It is possible my letter may have been missent, or that he is out of town. Of course, when our breach becomes public, it can never be healed; and I therefore do not wish it to pass beyond us till there is no possibility of doubt. I therefore will write another note, and inclose it in this letter. If you see no objection, I should like to have you mail it to him in Athens. Then I will wait one week more. The week after, that is, the week commencing February 23, I shall wish you to call upon Mr. Hunt and get all the money, etc., of mine which he holds.”

MR. DANE TO M. N.

“I am grieved and sorry with you at this thing. I thought Mr. Hunt would hasten, at the suggestion of any real dissatisfaction, to satisfy you.... Yours, inclosing a note to him, just came. I know that suspense to you is very trying, and I want you to do all that is possible to keep the trouble where it is; and I would therefore have you send him the note which you inclose, before you suggest me or any one else as a disjunctive conjunction....”

The note to Mr. Hunt simply said that I had received no answer to my last note; that, indeed, no answer was necessary, but I should be glad to know he had received it; and that, as it was hardly probable two successive letters should go wrong, if I did not hear from him, I should assume that he had received both notes.

M. N. TO MR. DANE, FEBRUARY 19.

“No letter has come.... There is no use in waiting. I do not understand Mr. Hunt's course, nor do I care to understand it.

“The more I think of it, the more I am inclined not to have you do anything about the past. Let the dead bury their dead. It will be only a disagreeable personal affair, whose sole satisfaction will be the money. It will in effect be arguing and claiming a greater value than he has set upon me. For my part, I would a great deal rather let it all go. You just call and get the money that the account says is due. Make as much of a settlement as can be settled; and if he chooses to let everything remain as it is, I choose it also. If he can afford to dispense with an explanation, so can I.”

I had given to Mr. Dane an order upon Mr. Hunt for what money of mine he had in his possession.

Mr. Dane called for the money on the 24th of February, and on the same day,—but whether before or after Mr. Dane's call, I can only infer,—Mr. Hunt wrote to me:—

“Dear M. N.:—

“On my return home on Saturday, I found your note without date, informing me that you had received no reply to your ‘note of last Tuesday.’ I have not replied to your note of February 11th, because I could not understand the purport of it, and hoped you might be in town soon to explain it.

“In the last letter I received from you, some days before the note referred to above, written in the old friendly spirit and faith, you tell me you have a juvenile book nearly ready, and ask if it shall be sent for publication. I reply, please send it at once; and then comes your note of the 11th inst., with this passage in it: ‘I cannot see how it will be for my interest that you should publish any more of my books. Unhappily, it is not necessary that I should give any explanation, since the reason, if it do not exist to your own knowledge, and by your own arrangement, does not exist at all.’ Now there must have been something in my note to you (to which this note of February 11th is a reply) which has offended you; else why this sudden change from the sentiments in your long and friendly letter to those of the unhappy note of February 11th? Now, pray let us understand each other; and in all kindness, I ask you to tell me the ground of your sudden dissatisfaction.

“Very sincerely yours,

“R. S. Hunt.”

Mr. Hunt's ignorance in face of my letters, his absolute inability to conjecture in what direction the trouble lay, his misgiving that some unremembered sentence in his letter had offended me, seemed to me not a little remarkable. I wrote again.

M. N. TO MR. HUNT.

“My dear Mr. Hunt:—

“It is an unpleasant story to tell, but since you desire it I will repeat it.

“You recollect the letter I wrote you some time last December, and the question I asked you in it. The ‘long and friendly letter,’ of which you speak, told you of my waiting, and of my writing to Mr. Jackson. Mr. Jackson's letter confirmed the statement of the Segregationalissuemost. He said, ‘There is a custom of the trade which obtains for the first venture of an author unknown to fame, to receive ten per cent. on the retail price of the books after the first thousand copies are sold.... As to the price per volume of M. N.'s works, I should think twenty to twenty-five cents per volume would be the fair copyright. Sometimes a moderate copyright makes larger sales by enabling the publishers to give larger discounts to the trade,’ etc., etc. I still supposed there was some good reason for my receiving a lower rate than any he mentioned, and in my long letter I tried to make clear to you the point which I wished settled. In your reply, you said, by E——, ‘Do you wonder, matters having been many times explained, that he thought they must sooner or later explain themselves through your memory? We forget how, in a retired life, things work in the mind,’ etc., etc. My memory is not wont to play me false; and so far from matters having been many times explained, they have not been explained at all. I have never so much as sought any explanation till now. Never but once has the subject been referred to between us. That was years ago, soon after the publication of ‘City Lights,’ and while prices were as yet unfixed. You then said, of your own accord, that owing to fluctuation of prices and general uncertainties, you were making arrangements with your authors to pay them fifteen cents a volume instead of a percentage. To this I readily assented. All that you said did not take five minutes, and all that I said did not amount to five words. I had a great deal more faith in your honorable intentions toward me than I had in my literary power to serve you. I had far more anxiety lest I should make you lose money, than I had lest you should make me lose it.

“I decided that if I were indeed brooding in a retired life over a trifle, it was time to refer the matter to some one whose life was not retired, and who was better able than I to judge. I gave the whole matter to Hon. Mr. Dane. He made inquiries among the publishers, without using your name, or in any way bringing you in question; and as the result of his investigations, he reports ten per cent. on the retail price as the very lowest paid to the author. One publisher told him that they considered a book that was not worth to its author ten per cent., was not worth publishing.

“How, then, could I avoid the conclusion that you have been paying me all these years from one fourth to one third less than the lowest market price? For, notwithstanding the fixed sum was to avoid a change, change has not been avoided. When a book was published whose retail price was one dollar and fifty cents, the author's part went down to ten cents. That is, the author's price was fixed against a rise, but flexible toward a fall.

“Is not this enough to explain my ‘change of sentiment’ and my ‘sudden dissatisfaction?’

“Mr. Hunt, I cannot talk of this. I have suffered a loss that money cannot measure, nor words express. The writing of this letter is the most painful work my pen has ever done. My faith in you was perfect, and my friendship boundless, and it has all come to this.

“I was thoroughly identified with you. I counted your prosperity mine. Not a word of praise or censure was passed upon you that I did not feel. Had your needs demanded it, I would gladly have offered twice, and thrice, and four times any reduction, and have reckoned it only pleasure.

“If I have failed to make anything clear, you can refer to Mr. Dane. No one but himself knows anything about it; but how can it be kept longer? And yet how can it be told?”

When Mr. Hunt rendered my account, and paid my money to Mr. Dane, I found that they had allowed ten per cent. on the new book, “Rights of Men.”

Mr. Hunt did not reply to my letter, but sought an interview with Mr. Dane, of which the latter gives the following account:—

“Athens, March 2d, 1768.

“I have had a long talk with Mr. Hunt; longer than I can write. He asked me at first what you wished; said he had a long letter from you, referring him to me, etc. I told him that it seemed to you, as it did to me, strange that, while almost any author was receiving ten per cent. on sales, you were allowed much less, and that was what had not been explained. He expressed all through the greatest regard for you, and surprise that you should have so little confidence in him. I told him I should be very glad to be able to assure you that he had done everything toward you that his confidential relations required, and that I felt sure it was best, in every business point of view, that he should continue your publisher.

“He said your books are published more expensively than most books; that a great deal has been always expended for advertising; that it costs, for instance, $1,000 for one page of the ‘Adriatic,’ —— copies being printed; that they employ one man at a yearly salary of —— dollars to attend to having their books properly noticed in the papers; that all the machinery for a large sale is expensive; that they make forty per cent. discount to the trade—more on large orders; that Mr. Somebody makes estimates of the actual cost of books published, and submits them to him, and did so with yours, and so a fair price was fixed; that you have made more out of the books than the publishers, and that they could not and cannot afford to pay more than what has been allowed; and upon my suggestion that more had been allowed on ‘The Rights of Men,’ he said that was a thin book, and took but little paper, and so cost less. He says others will pay you much more for a single work in order to get you, but thinks the style, etc., would not be satisfactory, etc. In short, Mr. H. claims that in all respects, they have done their best as publishers and friends for your reputation and pecuniary interests in the long run.

“Mr. H. said he was sorry you did not call as he suggested, and talk about the matter; that he should never cease to be your friend—‘I wish you would tell her so;’ that in your letter you had almost charged him with dishonesty, which certainly you could not mean, etc. Upon my inquiry, he said they made less on the books at the present high prices, but he gave me no special estimates. He said he had arranged with other authors at a specified price per copy, but did not tell me what price. As the interview was at his request, I had no demands to make, and could do little but hear him. I told him I should write you to-day, placing the matter before you as he presented it; that I could not, without inquiry, say to you that I was or was not satisfied that all was right, but should be very glad to see your pleasant relations continue; and so it ended.”

This explanation was not satisfactory. If my books were published more expensively than most books, Mr. Hunt should have told me before. When the first one was to be published, he asked what style I should like, and suggested that of the “City Curate.” I preferred “Sir Thomas Browne.” He made no objection, nor even hinted that it was more expensive than the other. He wrote to me, “It will be a beauty, and look like ‘Sir Thomas Browne,’ in its red waistcoat.” And again: “I am glad you like the costume into which we put your first-born.” The following books were simply published in uniform style with the first, and nothing was ever said about it between us. As to the cost of advertising, why should it cost him more to advertise than it did other publishers, or more to advertise me than other writers? What, again, had I to do with the cost of the machinery for large sales, or with the rate of discount, unless they were gotten up and arranged solely or chiefly on my account? In that case I must indeed have been disastrous to my publishers, for I cannot think my sales have been exceptionably large. The reason alleged for the increased price allowed on “Rights of Men,” seemed trivial. True, it was but a thin book, and took but little paper, and so cost less. But it was not so thin a book as “Holidays,” on which they allowed me but ten cents, while on “Rights of Men,” accounted for after I had begun to look into the matter, they allowed fifteen cents. Yet both books were sold at the same retail price,—one dollar and fifty cents. “Rights of Men” was one hundred and forty-four pages thinner than “Winter Work,” one hundred and twenty-three pages thinner than “Cotton-picking,” ninety-eight pages thinner than “Old Miasmas.” Those books were sold at a retail price of two dollars, while this was one dollar and a half. On those books they allowed me seven and a half per cent., while on this they allowed me ten per cent.

But “Old Miasmas” is one hundred and fifty-one pages thinner than “City Lights;” “Cotton-picking” is one hundred and twenty-six pages thinner than “City Lights.” All three of the books are sold at the same retail price,—two dollars. And on all three I was allowed but seven and a half per cent. That is, while all goes smoothly, a thinness of one hundred and fifty-one pages is of no account. It neither makes the price of a book less to the buyer, nor the pay of a book greater to the author. But when ripples begin to rise, a thinness of ninety-eight pages makes the buyer's price less by fifty cents, and the author's pay greater by one-fourth. Thinness, thou art a jewel!

One thing more: as these books are published in uniform style, if they are published more expensively than most books, they must have been so published in the beginning. Therefore the relative pay of the author should then have been less. But the first contract is made out according to the usual custom, at ten per cent. on the retail price. When the author was unknown and the sale uncertain, he received ten per cent. After he became known, and the risk, one would suppose, must have been diminished, he went down to six and two-thirds per cent. Great is the mystery of publishing!

Thinking it possible that smallness of sales might have something to do with it, I wrote to Mr. Dane:—

“I can't tell a lie, pa. I wish I was satisfied, but I am not. If Mr. Hunt had said this to me in the first place, I dare say I should have been. The best light is this: that I asked him a question to which, for three months, he made no reply. You asked it, and he answered at once. This, however, is a slight matter. I can talk about it, and scold him for it, and, without ever forgiving him, live on in perfect good-humor. It is a surface matter, and if this is all it is nothing.

“But I cannot thoroughly feel that this is all, and I cannot be the same without feeling so. Mr. Jackson knew the style of the book, so did Mr. Campton, and they knew the expenses of printing; and if Mr. Hunt had so much regard for me as he thinks he had, why did he let me go on making myself wretched for weeks, when an hour's time would have set everything at rest? He who really regards me, will regard my whims as well as my wants. And this was not a whim, either; it was a sensible and natural question. Mr. Hunt is mistaken in supposing I did not mean what I seemed to mean. I did mean just that. If I had meant less, I should have felt less. I am not a simpleton to break my heart over a difference of opinion....

“I do not think it necessary to apply to any others than Marsh & Merriman, and Mr. Campton. If they think everything is as it should be, then be it resolved that it is. Enough testimony is as good as a feast. Why should others pay me more for a single work in order to get me? Can they afford to pay more than he? But there is no good in talking upon uncertainties. When we have found out any actual data, we can cipher on interminably. I trust you are pleased with the prospect. I do not think it is of any use to stop here, because inwardly I am no more content than I was when I began—not so much, in fact. I am at one of those places where it is easier to go forward than backward. Indeed, from this point it is impossible to go back to where I was when I started.

“Having slept over it, it occurs to me to say that I think you better see Mr. Campton and perhaps no one else.... I am afraid it will somehow get out.”

Mr. Dane took my accounts to Mr. Campton and laid the facts before him, making thus the matter personal for the first time. He reported:—

“I have had a long talk with Mr. Campton, and stated to him all that Mr. Hunt said as reasons for his course, as well as what the sales had been, etc. He says your books are not within his—Murray & Elder's—usual line of publication, but he knows all about them. He says nobody would ask you to receive less than ten per cent, on the retail price, and any publisher in Athens will give you more for anything you may offer, and that now you ought to receive for all past sales at that rate on all the books, and that you would be entitled to that even on a book where only two thousand copies sold.

“Mr. Campton measured and counted the pages, etc., in your books, and figured the cost and all the items. At outside present prices it costs to compose and stereotype such a book, $1.25 a page, or $500 for 400 pages. That is the whole outlay for the plates ready to print. After that, the books cost, all told, say 52 cents per copy.

“The publisher receives, including what he retails and gives away, an average of $1.20 per copy on the whole editions.

“Such books of 400 pages cost each copy:—

‘Old Miasmas’ has only 310 pages, and so costs less by 25 per cent. Mr. C. says the books can be made at 15 per cent. less than these estimates, but he wanted to keep within bounds.... The advertising, etc., are part of the usual machinery of all publishers. He says B. & H., so far from making unusual discounts to the trade, have recently published a list prescribing so little discounts that ‘the trade’ are offended.”

I also directed Mr. Dane to write to some of the Corinthian publishers to ascertain their custom. He wrote to Pearville & Co., and received the following reply on March 20:—

“Dear Sir,—In reply to your favor of 18th, beg to say that, in the absence of any agreement, we should pay to the author 10 per cent. on the retail price for all copies sold. This on $2.00 would give the author 20 cts.; and 1.50, 15 cts. per copy.

“Very respectfully, B. Pearville & Co.”

My confidence in Mr. Hunt was lost, and I was too much disheartened to do anything more except to close my connection with the firm, so far as I could. I wrote to Mr. Dane:—

“Do not you be disturbed by this unhappy complication. If you do, I shall be désesperé indeed. There is nothing to be done between Mr. Hunt and me. There is nothing between us worth preserving.... The case has been presented to him. He is not inclined to do anything, and I certainly cannot press him. Either he feels that he is right or that he is wrong. If the former, any proceedings on my part will only bring on active antagonism. If the latter, the consciousness of it is penalty severe enough to atone for all. Moreover, so far as I am concerned, no money could make amends for what it would cost me; and in fact, having lost so much, I think I rather enjoy losing the money too.... I would not see Mr. Hunt any more. Let it all go.”

V.

SKIRMISHING.

MR. BRUMMELL had written me, some time before, a letter on some business matter connected with his magazine, the “Buddhist,” asking, I think, for a contribution. Near the last of March I wrote to him saying that I wished to have my editorial name removed from the covers of the “Buddhist,” not from any dissatisfaction with its management, but from other causes; that if for any reason it might be awkward for him to do it now, I would not press the matter, but wait his convenience.

I had no quarrel with Mr. Brummell. My acquaintance with him was very slight. I did not suppose he knew anything of my dealings with Mr. Hunt, and I made no reference to them.

A few days after, I chanced to see that my name, with those of the other editors, had already, for the last two numbers, been removed from the covers of the “Buddhist,” and I wrote to Mr. Brummell again, saying that, if I had discovered that fact sooner, I should not of course have written as I did.

He replied on the 31st of March:—

“I have been much away from my desk this month. During an absence your letter—with an inclosure or two—came. Before I could reply I was again called away, and, just returning, I receive your note of yesterday.

“I wrote to you in the first place because I thought you really took an interest in the ‘B.’ as well as accepted its annual pecuniary recognition of your association with it, and because, since the completion of the first volume, you had contributed but very sparingly to its pages,—had almost ceased even to send me good advice and better criticism.

“I did not consider that you had broken off relations with our house in toto, just because you fancied another strong box more secure than ours, or wished to try whether the parvenu hawkers and peddlers of books could make the future of your literary life more pleasant and profitable than your past had proved by following the established routine of regular publishing. I should have thought that I was doing you an injustice had I allowed myself to fancy that, because you wanted to try a promising experiment, you and ourselves were not to [be] considered as ‘on terms’ any more. Was I wrong?

“But, beyond this, I thought that if any difference of opinion were to arise as to the proper earnings to be expected from, your books, there could be no question as to the return made by the ‘B.’ for the dozen or fifteen articles which you had contributed to it, and that as you had sent but two papers to the volume of 1767 and none for that of 1768, there could be no faux pas in asking you to supply something. Again—was I wrong?

“A word as to the matter of names. It was my intention to have no editorial names on the new cover, as so much correspondence has been inflicted on ‘the trio,’ and as so many subscriptions have been sent to one or the other of them personally; but by some blunder at the office, the names crept on twice before I could lay them quite.

“Am I to understand that with the withdrawal of your name from the cover of the ‘B.’ you desire that your relations with Maga shall cease, and the allowance heretofore made in return for your name—and for your contributions, which were originally expected to be monthly or when desired—shall no longer be passed to your credit?”

M. N. TO MR. BRUMMELL.

“Your letter of March 31 is before me. If you will be so good as to refer to my letter to which yours is a reply, I think you will find a declaration to the effect that my wish to leave the magazine was not founded on any dissatisfaction connected with it. I certainly meant to guard against the possibility of any such supposition on your part. That I failed to do so, I must beg you to attribute to inability and not to disinclination or indifference.

“Nor did your previous letter give me the faintest shadow of offense. I was never otherwise than gratified whenever you asked me to write. When you say ‘your contributions, which were originally expected to be monthly or when desired,’ do you mean to intimate that there was an agreement between us to that effect? If so, permit me to say that such an agreement never existed. Mr. Hunt came to me in Zoar with a request for service and an offer of salary, which I felt obliged to refuse. He then offered me $500 per year for the use of my name as one of the editors and for such service as I chose to give the magazine. He said they should be glad to have me write every month, but I should be left absolutely free not to write at all. I thought the sum altogether too great for what I should be able to do; and it was with the utmost reluctance, and only after much urgency,—and because it was Mr. Hunt who urged it,—that I consented to the arrangement. I made no promises, but I determined in my own mind that I would send something every month; and I satisfied my editorial conscience by carefully reading every number as it came out, and noting its points, as you perhaps have sometimes found to your sorrow, or at least fatigue. I did this for a long time. Every gap in the earlier numbers is owing to a story rejected or delayed by you, not to any failure on my part to send you a story. When I found that a paper would lie two or three months in your hands, I thought it was because you had so much better things to print, and I considered that I was doing you a kindness by not sending so frequently; and therefore, whenever you did ask me to write, I took it as a compliment, and was always pleased. You cannot speak more disparagingly than I think of my actual services on the ‘Buddhist,’ but I could wish that your opinion had found an earlier expression. Permit me distinctly to say that, until the reception of your last letter, my relations towards you in connection with the magazine were always agreeable; while my original scruples regarding the money value of such an editorial arrangement were long ago set at rest in the most conclusive manner by other publishers.

“I do wish you to understand that I desire my relations with the magazine shall cease at the earliest possible moment.

“That part of your letter which refers to my reasons for breaking my connection with your house, it is impossible for me to characterize, and equally impossible for me to reply to.”

MR. BRUMMELL TO M. N., APRIL 4.

“I have your letter of the 1st instant, and I thank you for it.

“May I correct the slight misunderstanding of my position which I fancy I detect in your reply, and for which I am doubtless responsible by reason of some ineffectiveness in my way of ‘putting things.’

“My notion was, that if your relation with the ‘B.’ had been agreeable, and your work satisfactorily paid, I should be sorry to lose you as helper and adviser, because you felt that you could publish elsewhere and otherwise to better advantage. Pray consider that you and I have only been in communication in regard to this magazine; of the precise manner and nature of your dealing with our senior partner in other matters, I, of course, can know nothing. I can only receive the results.

“I had understood, on taking up the plan prepared for the ‘B.,’ that its ostensible editors were to be regular contributors,—supplying for its pages articles whenever wanted, even as often as monthly.

“If I misapprehended the agreement with yourself, you must excuse me, and acquit me of intentionally overstraining it. I did use your articles slowly, for the reason, on the one hand, that I seldom had by me more than one at a time, and could not exactly count upon the receipt of another; and, on the other hand, because I knew you to be busy on other things, and hesitated to take from you time which you might prefer to use differently, thinking that when you were moved to write, you would do so.

“Believe me, your letters of suggestion were always welcome, and would still be so. If anything in my last note—which was somewhat hurried—seemed to be cast in the form of a reflection upon you, I hope that you will consider that I did not so intend it.

“I have neither the right nor the desire to impugn your reasons for seeking another channel of communicating with the public than such as B. and H. have been able to afford, and I do not think I implied anything to the contrary. It is for you to make the best market of your writings that you can; and although I may, as well as any other publisher, have my own view of what you should do, and what should be done for you, I am most far from wishing you to accept my view unconvinced, and I do not even offer it therefore.

“I honestly and earnestly wish you as thorough success as you can desire; and I hope that after you have put other publishers to the real test,—not of telling you what their brethren ought to do, but of themselves doing what they say should be done,—you will find as complete satisfaction from the general average of your next five or six years, as I am inclined to think you might derive from a consideration of a similar period just ending.

“Sincerely yours,

“H. M. Brummell.”

Solomon, in the enthusiasm of his love for his little sister, conjures up quaint fancies to embody his ardent longings to lavish gifts upon her. “If she be a wall, we will build upon her a palace of silver; and if she be a door, we will inclose her with boards of cedar.” So, if this correspondence with Mr. Brummell were the Sacred Scriptures, one would express his admiration by writing a commentary upon it. His especial appreciation would be given to the childlike innocence with which Mr. Brummell darts out of his path in pursuit of chimerical beetles, while admonishing me to remember that we are concerned with but a single bug. Nor would he refuse the meed of one melodious tear to the naïveté with which this complete letter-writer, in his first epistle, lays bare the mercenary motives of his correspondent, and, in the second, calmly affirms, as a corollary to his propositions, that he knows nothing about the matter. We are all aware that men do speak unadvisedly with their lips, but the unconscious sweetness of Mr. Brummell's admission is the peculiar gift of Heaven to Mr. Brummell. The learned commentator might not be able to throw any light upon the points which are obscure to Mr. Brummell; nor can the impartial historian furnish any clew to the mystery of the “strong box,” the “promising experiment,” and the “parvenu hawkers and peddlers,” so significantly mentioned. The present writer has no information on these points, and is inclined to believe that Mr. Brummell evolved them, as the German philosopher did the camel, from his moral consciousness.

But the question is not of sacred but profane literature, and we will not darken counsel by words without knowledge.

Until about the middle of March, this matter had not been mentioned to any one except Mr. Dane. Seeing the sea-change into something rich and strange, to which it was liable at the hands of the house of Brummell & Hunt, I thought it might be well to give my own version of it; and I spoke of it to some of those who were nearest me, and learned, as reported in a letter of April 18, to Mr. Dane: “A. was not much taken aback by the aspect of my affairs,—thinks they have only done by me as by others; if one is ‘up’ to such things, he makes his bargains; if he leaves it to them, he gets theirs, such as they are. A. has done just as I did, never said anything about it, and they pay what they choose. What they choose is twelve and a half cents on a dollar and a half book, and ten cents on a dollar and a quarter book. He says he has made some inquiries, and supposes he could get more elsewhere, but ‘O, he is rich!’ B. has ten per cent. written contract. —— says D. has the same. E., of his own accord, told a friend of mine that he did not think B. & H. were good publishers for authors, as they advertised so little, and had no agencies for pushing sales. I don't agree with that, for I would much rather a book would travel on its own merits. In fact, I have always especially rejoiced in that attribute of B. & H. A. says K. is shrewd and he has no doubt he is well paid. But what is the use of talking about it any more?“

MR. DANE TO M. N.

“To us mere mortals it seems as if you authors were—as the countryman told Arthur Gilman his lecture was—‘plaguey kinder shaller.’ That ... you should surrender yourself at discretion to some publisher is natural enough, but that A. should be systematically humbugged out of his dollars, and have the credit which I—and I presume mankind generally—gave him for exacting so much for his copyright as to make the price of his epistles and things extortionate, is, as the man said of his wife's death, ridic'lous. There is nothing in the last ‘Adriatic’ but ——'s poem. Tell him that the world thinks he imposes on us by making us pay a dollar and a half for his very thin books. We suppose he gets their weight in gold per copyright.”

VI.

A TRUCE.

THEN for a time, other events absorbed me, and the whole matter faded out of sight and thought.

Afterward, to save the trouble of repeated explanations, I determined to arrange the tragedy in compact shape, and let such of my friends as cared to know, learn it from the “original documents.” Accordingly on the 27th or 28th of May, I wrote to Mr. Hunt:—

“Will you be so good as to permit me to take copies of those letters that I have sent you which resulted in breaking the connection between us? I have not my papers by me, and cannot give you the exact dates of the letters I want, but the first was sent on or about the last of December, the next, etc., etc., etc. If you desire it, I will return the letters to you, or if you prefer that they should not go out of your hands, and will say when and where I can see them, I shall be happy to suit your convenience.”

Mr. Hunt did not reply to this letter directly, but sought an interview with Mr. Dane.

MR. DANE TO M. N.

“Mr. Hunt has been at my office an hour, talking of you, etc. He at first said you had written him for copies of your letters; that he is taking account of stock and could not possibly have them copied at present, and wished, if I were writing you, that I would say so. I said, why not inclose the letters to M. N., and ask her to return them if you want them. He said he would. He seems worried about the matter, and said, ‘If I only could know what M. N. wants, I would do anything to satisfy her.’ I said, ‘I have done all I could to prevent a final breach between you. From all I could learn, I thought M. N. had not received what she was entitled to. Everybody to whom we referred expressed this opinion. Nobody suggested that less than ten per cent. was right, and you allow her six and two thirds, and seven and one half. Her conclusion was inevitable, that you had not done right, etc.’ He replied with various abstractions as to how authors forgot the various expenses, etc.

“I told him you felt hurt that he did not notice your letters asking explanation. He said he wrote you to come and see him, and he would have gone to you had you suggested it. I said what I should have done, was to see you and explain the matter, and not allow it to rest so for weeks, as if it were a matter of indifference, etc. Finally I told him what I advised you, to wait for their next account, and see whether they would not, now that high prices have to some extent passed by, allow a further percentage; and that I suggested to you to write them, or allow me to, saying that it was hoped they might make their future accounts more satisfactory. He made no reply. I mentioned that you really felt that the ‘Adriatic’ was your proper avenue to the public, and had a paper now that you hardly knew what to do with. He said, ‘All she has to do is to send it along.’ Well, all this talk came to nothing. The only fact that at all modifies my views is, that A., B., and the rest, seem to be treated the same, and that is a surprise to me, and takes off in a measure the c—— of taking advantage of female weakness. Ahem!”

M. N. TO MR. DANE, JUNE 1.

“Your letter came Saturday; but my letters have not yet appeared from Mr. Hunt. His talk to you looks like subterfuge. I never suggested his getting the letters copied, but send them to me and I would return them, or tell me where and when I should see them, and I would wait his convenience. Again, what have I to do with the expenses of publishers? I am not complaining that he pays small per cent., but that he, in the first place, pays less than other publishers, and secondly, pays me less than he pays other authors, and is thereby guilty of a breach of faith.”

On the same day, May 29, the firm of Brummell & Hunt addressed a letter to Mr. Dane, saying,—

“We have occasion to print several volumes of M. N.'s writings, which under ordinary circumstances we should proceed to do at once. Before doing so, however, in the present posture of affairs, we have an offer to make to M. N. The dissatisfaction which she feels, and is constantly expressing toward us as her publishers, would probably lead her to prefer that her books should be in other hands. We are willing to sell the stereotyped plates and manufactured stock of her books, at a reasonable price, to any publisher with whom she may choose to arrange for their future publication.

“An early answer would be acceptable, as in the event of our retaining the books, we wish to proceed with the manufacture.”

MR. DANE TO M. N., JUNE 1, 1768.

“The breezes from B. & H. are very fluctuating. The same day in which Mr. H. came and had the long talk which I reported to you, the firm seem to have written the inclosed, which I did not get till this morning.

“If you don't do anything for a month nothing in particular will happen. Still, you want the books in the market, and perhaps somebody will take them off B. & H.'s hands and do as well....

“I am somewhat inclined to say to them that we will take all the stereotype plates, and all the books on hand of them, at the appraisal of fair men. And the same men shall adjust all claims for the past copyrights.

“I am surprised at this blunt note, after Mr. H.'s amiable conversation. If we are going to have a settlement, let us open the past and make them refer the whole thing; let them give up everything and adjust the balance as fair men shall say is right.”....

But the note of the firm did not suggest any settlement of past claims; and therefore presented but a lame and impotent conclusion to the matter. What I wanted was indemnity for the past, not security for the future. If a man cheats me once, says the proverb, it is a shame to him. If he cheats me twice it is a shame to me. The information that I was feeling and constantly expressing dissatisfaction might perhaps be classified among the “locals” as “startling if true.” What I felt must have been entirely a matter of inference, as it was long since I had expressed either satisfaction or dissatisfaction; I had been concerned in other matters. My note to Mr. Hunt contained no emotional expressions whatever. But as I had had my full share of sentimentalizing, it was no more than fair that Messrs. B. & H. should have their turn at it.

Their course seemed to me mere child's play, and not the play of good children either; which must serve as excuse for the following reply sent to Mr. Dane:—

“Your letter came this morning. Messrs. Brummell & Hunt have improved even on Mr. Brummell. His felicitous, original idea was only that I was impelled by a desire to have recourse to the ‘parvenu hawkers and peddlers of books.’ The combined wisdom of the firm seems to point to my becoming a parvenu hawker and peddler myself. Their fine instinct has doubtless divined my long-cherished dream of setting up a book-stall beside the orange-woman in the neighboring corner of the Common.[6] Pray present my compliments to Messrs. Brummell & Hunt, and say to them with many thanks, that as this new career could hardly be said to open brilliantly with an array of obsolete and obsolescent volumes, I do not propose to enter upon it until some new work appears, when I shall crave their blessing not their books.

“Do not be at the trouble of transmitting this message. Send the letter down bodily, and let it whistle itself.”

On Monday, the 1st of June, one of my friends, Rev. Mr. Hayes, having gone to Mr. Hunt with the olive-branch in his hand, but without my knowledge, and been completely won over by his amiable bearing, came to me, and begged me, if only out of regard to himself, to have an interview with Mr. Hunt. I had been familiar for several years with Mr. Hunt's gifts and graces, and knew that, though they were charming for social intercourse, they were not easily reducible to two and a half, still less to three and one-third per cent. But, as Mr. Hayes begged me by his friendship; as, regarding Mr. Hunt, everything which I had cared to save was lost, and as, I wanted my letters, which, though promised, did not come, I consented, so far as to give Mr. Hayes permission to say to Mr. Hunt that if he chose to come to my house to bring my letters, I would be at home on Thursday, the 4th of June.

M. N. TO MR. DANE.

“Mr. Hunt is coming down on Thursday to bring me my letters. I think it a foolish and useless, as it is a most disagreeable thing; foolish, simply because useless; but I have agreed to it so far as to say that I should be at home. The talk will amount to nothing because I cannot talk. He will have it all his own way, because it is a subject on which he is informed and I am not. And then, talk is never tangible. I want something that you can keep hold of. But at any rate, I shall get my letters. It is impossible to refer it to arbitrators, because the worst part of my trouble was not of such sort as could come before them. I will never permit the matter to go before arbitrators unless it comes to be a case of honor. That is, I will not do it for the sake of what money I might get.”

M. N. TO MR. DANE.

“Mr. Hunt came down on Thursday, as I expected. He was in some sort my guest, and we met amicably, and parted friendlily. The most important development of his visit was, that [he says] he did, in the early stages of the affair, send me just such a letter as I told him he should have sent,—a letter written, as he says, by his own hand, because he would not have his clerk mixed up in it; written with great pain, and the only letter he has written since his hand has been so lame, except one to Dickens.[7] In this, he assured me that it was all right, that he had the figures to show me so, notwithstanding appearances; and begged me to let him come to Zoar and do so. This, without any other explanation, would have quite satisfied me in the beginning; but this letter I never received. Of course, however, I receive his assertion that such a letter was written, and I make the best use I can of it. He assured me, in the most solemn manner, that he has done by me as he has done by A., B., and the others; and that he has always done what he thought the best thing and most to my advantage. Now, when a man tells me that, I can have nothing more to say to him. H. has a greater percentage because his books have never been printed but once, and that when work was cheaper, and so they pay him at the old prices. But I will go into particulars more fully when I see you. I suppose it is pretty much the same as you have heard yourself.... He admitted that he did not wonder at my course, seeing I had not received his letter, yet seemed to think I should have had more confidence in him; had always supposed I should stand by him, though the heavens fell. The heavens did not fall, though I sometimes think a part of the sky is not there. I told him that I had no intention to meddle with the past; agreed that they should go on with their books as if nothing had happened, and desired him, whatever course I might take in the future, to believe me not unfriendly toward himself, but that the developments of this trouble had made it impossible for me at once to resume my old place. But I don't think he minded that.

“Now you see ... we are at peace. I do not deceive myself. It is not a very rapturous sort of peace. The relations between us are but a thin, meagre, unsubstantial substitute for those that formerly existed; but they are better than war—and they are truer than the old ones,—and truth is better than falsehood, however agreeable the falsehood be. I do not mean that on either side there was any intentional falsehood, but that there was a sort of glamour which is now removed.

“Now, if any one ever speaks to you of this, say, as I shall, that there was a misunderstanding, but that it is removed.

“I hope that you will not disapprove of what I have done; or perhaps, rather, of what I have not done, for my action has been chiefly a negative. I have simply let things be, in form, which I have always meant to do in substance. He assures me that it is all right, and I cannot stand up and dispute his word.”

Mr. Hunt, during this interview, insisted that at the time he made the change from ten per cent. to fifteen cents, he had a long talk with me and fully explained the reason. I insisted that he never had done so. I admitted that he had announced that he was going to make the change on account of the fluctuations in the prices of things, and the consequent uncertainties. It was all I wanted, and more. If he had said nothing I should have been just as well satisfied, I had so much faith in him. A positive assurance generally carries it over a negative. Still, if a man asserted that he had offered himself to a girl, her negative assertion that he never had, would, of itself, be entitled to as much credence as his positive one, supposing the character of both to be equal. If the man were in the habit of offering himself to girls, while the girl had never had another lover, her negative would surely outweigh his positive. Mr. Hunt had dealings with many authors. He was my only publisher, and he was more likely to be mistaken in this than I. He might have intended to make the explanation, or might have made it to some one else; but an explanation made to me, it is next to impossible I should have forgotten.

Really, the matter was not of importance, because if he had made it then it would have answered every purpose. If I could have been made to see at one time, that seven and a half equals ten, I could have been made to see it at another.

Here the controversy seemed to have come to a natural and pacific conclusion, and I began to take up the burden of life again, saying only, it might have been different perhaps, but then it might not. I cannot affirm that I was entirely satisfied about the missing letter. Letters never are lost in our climate. We often wish they would be. There are dozens in this correspondence, nothing in whose life would have become them like the leaving it. But they all went straight as an arrow to the mark, and now, like Burns' sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess,

“They stare their daddy in the face;

Enough of aught ye like, but grace.”

On the 24th of February, Mr. Hunt seemed first to have awakened to the fact that there was any cloud in the sky, and begged me in all kindness to tell him the ground of my sudden dissatisfaction. Of course, the missing letter could not have been written before that time. After I replied to him, alleging the grounds of my sudden dissatisfaction, he replied by calling on Mr. Dane, as Mr. Dane's letter to me shows. I was not only unable to find any place where Mr. Hunt's explanatory letter might have been missing, but I could not find a place where it could have come in.

But I let that pass. There seemed to be nothing more to do, and if there had been, I was too tired to do it. I thought the affair, like David's destructions, had come to a perpetual end, which, if not absolutely satisfactory, was at least relatively so. There are very few kinds of peace which are not better than war. I was not sure I had done the wisest thing, and as I wrote to Mr. Dane in review of it, “to speak the truth in love, I don't much care. That is, the whole affair had become so utterly tiresome to me that I long ago grew indifferent to it. How the business part of it should be settled, I little cared. What I really had at stake, is lost.”

VII.

RENEWAL OF HOSTILITIES.

BUT the traces of battle had hardly begun to be obliterated, when an unexpected circumstance suddenly rekindled the flames of civil war.

My sorrow's crown of sorrow had been that so bewailed in the lamentations of the prophet, that there was no sorrow like unto my sorrow; but by the chance of a word, without any revelation on my part, I discovered that a friend of mine was, and had been for some months, going through the same pleasant process which I had been enjoying. The similarity of operation was, in certain respects, remarkable. No accounts had been rendered for years, the author trusting entirely in the friendship of his publishers; so that of course there were no papers to be produced. But there was the same change from a still higher percentage to a lower fixed sum; the same assertion on the one side, of a full explanation made and accepted, which explanation was totally denied on the other; and the same declaration of regard for the author himself. The case was more aggravated than mine, not only because the author in question had been of an immeasurably higher standing than I, but also because he was dead, and the apparent exactions were made upon those who were dearest to him in life, and who were dependent upon the fruits of his genius. So then, mine was no longer an isolated case, but part of a regular system. How many of the writers who had received reduced pay had really and intelligently agreed to it, and how many had found it, like greatness, thrust upon them, and had accepted it on the representation of its being universal, rather than make an ado and appear churlish? My friend certainly denied that any explanation had been made, or even that any notice of the change had been given her beforehand, and she rebelled against the change as soon as she did know it. Now, it is hard fighting just your own battles, since no matter how right you may deem your cause for quarrel, still it is a quarrel, and a mere personal altercation has always something in it petty and demeaning; but if you can fight for somebody else, you mount at once to higher ground and gain the vantage. It came to me at once, as clear as light, that I was doing exactly what Messrs. Brummell & Hunt had wisely counted on our all doing, in case we did anything; that is, fretting a little, perhaps, but eventually letting it all drop, silenced if not convinced. Was it not the height of presumption for any one son of Jesse to come out with a sling and a stone against this Goliath of the publishers? Would it not be ridiculous to charge with injustice this house, whose praise for liberality is in all the churches? Of course in discussing the details of the business, the author would have to go entirely out of his sphere, while the house would be perfectly at home. Still I thought if I could not be a stone in the forehead of my giant, I could be a thorn in his side.[8] If he were honorable and just in his dealings, no charge could harm him. If he were unjust, no reputation could save him. If his gains were well-gotten, investigation would only establish him more firmly in his right way. If they were ill-gotten, it might be possible to prevent his repose in enjoying them, if he could not be induced to give them up, and he might thus be deterred from further ravage upon the unwary. The best way to serve the general weal was to take up my own relinquished cause. I accordingly once more put my hand to the plough, resolved not to look back till I had drawn a straight furrow through my pleasant fields.

While I was reflecting upon total depravity, preparatory to a renewal of hostilities—there may be a sudden transition from metaphor to metaphor, but let us all be thankful if nothing more than rhetoric becomes demoralized,—the following note came from Mr. Dane, to whom I had communicated the tale of Mrs.——'s fancied or real woes, August 10.

“Whether those five postage-stamps pasted firmly on the first page of your note were intended as a birth-day present, instead of the Family Bible which I had some reason to think I might receive about this time, or as payment of arrears for services in re M. N. vs. B. & H., I do not know. I might add,—but will not for fear of being sarcastical,—that it is far more than I expected either way, and that such munificence is more illustrative of the generosity of the giver than of the deserts of the humble recipient.

“And now I have a profound secret to impart to you and your nine particular friends. I have kept it two days, and had some thoughts of never telling you, but since you claim the relation of client, I am not at liberty to humbug you,—pardon the inelegance,—as I cheerfully would do were you only a dear female friend. Well, Mr. Edwards called Saturday, and saying to him that I spoke, as St. Paul always speaks to you when you don't agree with him, by permission and not by my own inspiration, I renewed our griefs ‘Jubes renovare dolorem?’ and told him all. He, though like the rest of us, true to his client, is evidently intimate with Mr. Hunt. He said B. & H. are willing, and propose to Mrs.—— that the contract which Mr. Edwards has made with them, that she should receive twelve cents a volume on the sales, shall be given up, and that they will refer to two gentlemen of satisfactory character the matter of her future percentage....

“Then with that admirable frankness which is so natural to me, I said to Mr. Edwards that Mr. Hunt had made a great mistake with you; that you had accepted his commercial civilities as personal regard, and that he ought at least to keep up the standard of his conduct to common civility in his correspondence, etc., and that it was only because you would not follow my advice that matters were allowed to rest; that my opinion was, you had not received a just, much less a liberal share of the profits, and that I had urged you to propose to refer the matter of percentage to some disinterested person, which I thought they could not decline.

“Mr. Edwards at once said, ‘Mr. Hunt shall do that. That shall be done at once.’

“Evidently Edwards thinks he can induce Hunt to propose that to you, and will endeavor to do so.

“Now, I thought at first I would not let you see my hand in the matter, but that is, on reflection, not quite fair as between man and man,—using the word in its largest sense, embracing woman. Wherefore, pray do not call on B. & H. for any account just now, but wait and see if they do write you, as Edwards is sure they will, proposing to satisfy you in this way. If they do then you must accept the proposition, provided the past be also included, for it is the past which made you dissatisfied. You have not yet concluded yourself as to past or future, so far as I know; and if the best man in the world says you ought to have no more than has been allowed you I say we ought to be satisfied. The money I gave you ought to last longer than this. If you want a hundred dollars send me an order on B. & H., and I will present it and send you the money, and that will not commit us to their percentage.

“Now I expect partly that you will be vexed at my meddling with your affairs in this way; but fiat justitia, etc., whoever rue it.”

M. N. TO MR. DANE, AUGUST 11, 1768.

“Unquestionably you need the Family Bible more than the postage-stamps, which I did not paste on. It must have been the dog-days that did it.

“Of course I am not vexed at your meddling, and you only say that, as you express it, shamming. I hate to have the thing come up again, but it may be more effectually laid by it. One thing, though, if all the men in the world say I have had enough, it will not alter my relations toward Mr. Hunt. That is, if he proves conclusively that his terms have been just and liberal, I shall still think that his course toward me since I began to make inquiries has been ungentleman-like, unfriendly, and calculated to arouse instead of allay suspicion, and that Mr. Brummell was grossly impolite. So, after all, what will be settled by a reference? Nothing but the money affair, which indeed, as it involves justice, is much, but as it does not involve regard, is little. However, integrity is all the world wide from and more than good manners. I will not send for any account or money either. I let a friend have my money for a few months to accommodate him, so that I am penniless again; but I can borrow plenty, and Fred and Fritz are as good as new milch cows in a house. Why I am in such a hurry to write is, that I have a letter from Hyperion this morning, in which he seemed to think you would be the proper person to act for Mrs.——, rather than Sir Matthew Hale, who is occupied with the weightier matters of the law. Now I do not want you to act for her. It would look as if you made it a personal matter; as if we were persecuting Mr. Hunt, which is not true. Mrs.——'s affair is as entirely different from mine as if I did not know her at all.... I will let you know as soon as I hear from Mr. Hunt. What day did you see Mr. Edwards? I had a letter yesterday from Smilex conjuring me to write for the ‘Heretic,’ and offering me good pay, but not stating what. I have not answered it yet. I am in a strait betwixt two, not to say half a dozen.... If B. & H. send to me, how will it do for you to come down? I will pay your fare, and you can board round!”

MR. DANE TO M. N., AUGUST 14.

“How foolish in you to expect Mr. Hunt to make you any such proposition. He never will, though Mr. Edwards seems sure he will. What do you care when he called? Call it the day before I wrote last....

“One little matter of business. You request me not to act for Mrs.——. If you expect me not only to transact your business, but also not to transact any for anybody else, you will see the necessity of your charging yourself with the support of my family, largely dependent on my business income for their thrice daily bread....

“As to writing for ‘The Heretic,’ you doubtless desire my opinion, though diffidence or something prevents your saying so. If it was not a dream of yours that they offered you a million, tell them you will accept that proposition. If you don't publish something soon, I have no doubt you will have a congestion of the intellect.

“The ‘Respectability’ is nothing compared with ‘The Heretic.‘ As you write under your own signature you will not be responsible for the rest of the paper. You want the pay,—to lend to your friends, who will increase, as your capacity to lend is known to increase.

“And now farewell; and don't expect any such letter from Hunt, though he may probably write something.”

MR. DANE TO M. N., AUGUST 21.