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Updated: May 31, 2025
Once she pointed out to me at the end of her dictation-book a publisher's colophon of a sundial with the word Finis above it, and, underneath, the words "Every Hour Shortens Life." "Now, I prefer to think that every hour lengthens it," said she, with one of her few smiles; for her cheerfulness was always serious. Best of all were the hours when she read to us extracts from her album.
Your spring song is going into the May number of 'First and Last." Mrs. Scherman reached out a slip of paper, printed and filled in. It was a publisher's check for fifteen dollars. "You see I'm very unselfish, Bel," she said. "I'm going to work the very way to lose you." Bel's eyes flashed up wide at her. The way to lose her! Why, nobody had ever got such a hold upon her before!
Later on in his preface the author contradicts himself in this regard, for he shows us how far from philanthropic were the publisher's motives and how little he thought of posterity in inserting these biographies, by writing the following well-turned and suggestive sentences: "It may be asked, Why have the biographical sketches of comparatively obscure men been inserted?
Much may be done by re-writing your book on the proof sheets, correcting everything there which you should have corrected in manuscript. This is an expensive process, and will greatly diminish your pecuniary gains, or rather will add to your publisher's bill, for the odds are that you will have to publish at your own expense.
Will you take another glass? I looked at the decanter; but, not feeling altogether so sure as the publisher's son with respect to the principle of what it contained, I declined taking any more.
When they were both properly equipped and ready for the best company, Mr. Gridley said to the young poet, who had found it very hard to contain his impatience, that they would now call together on the publisher to whom he wished to introduce him, and they set out accordingly. "My name is Gridley," he said with modest gravity, as he entered the publisher's private room.
I was only struck at first with one thing and I made a memorandum of it that evening as the strongest instance I had seen of English obsequiousness to employers the degree to which the poor author was overpowered with the honor of his publisher's visit!
The old-time thrill at receiving a publisher's check was gone. Unlike his earlier checks, this one was not pregnant with promise of great things to come. To him it was a check for twenty-two dollars, that was all, and it would buy him something to eat. Another check was in the same mail, sent from a New York weekly in payment for some humorous verse which had been accepted months before.
Lowell for the Atlantic Monthly, and then we formed a literary friendship which eventuated in the joint publication of a volume of verse. 'The Poems of Two Friends' became instantly and lastingly unknown to fame; the West waited, as it always does, to hear what the East should say; the East said nothing, and two-thirds of the small edition of five hundred came back upon the publisher's hands.
Willis told Charles that he had bought a copy of the "Elia" in America, in order to give to a friend. "What did you give for it?" asked Lamb. "About seven and sixpence." "Permit me to pay you that," said Lamb, counting out the money with earnestness on the table; "I never yet wrote anything that could sell. I am the publisher's ruin. My last poem won't sell, not a copy. Have you seen it?"
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