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Updated: May 31, 2025
Having abandoned this study, and apparently forsaken the whole scheme in 1862, Hawthorne was moved to renew his meditation upon it in the following year; and as the plan of the romance had now seemingly developed to his satisfaction, he listened to the publisher's proposal that it should begin its course as a serial story in the "Atlantic Monthly" for January, 1864 the first instance in which he had attempted such a mode of publication.
As I gazed on passages like this, and there were many nearly as good in the Newgate Lives, I often sighed that it was not my fortune to have to render these lives into German rather than the publisher's philosophy his tale of an apple and pear. Mine was an ill-regulated mind at this period.
There is no machinery between the villager who wants to read and the London publisher. The villager is in utter ignorance of the books in the publisher's warehouse in London. The villager who has just begun to read is in a position almost incomprehensible to a Londoner. The latter has seen books, books, books from boyhood always around him.
But, regarding my reviewers with the great good humor of one who never reads what they say, I can afford to wish them lively luck and better game in some quivering writer who takes the big pile of what it is the fashion to call criticisms from the publisher's table, and conscientiously reads them through. With this form of being "put to the question" I will have nothing to do.
"I wish I had time to read any thing," said a third, whom I had observed already to have been perusing attentively the title-page of every book on the table, publisher's name, date, and all; while a fourth was too intensely engaged in studying the blue cover of a magazine, to make any remark whatever.
But before that I shall go to his publisher's and find out something about this famous man's works, of which I know nothing whatever. December 31st He lives in the Rue de l'Universite. I have called. I have seen him. I owe this to an accident, to the servant's forgetting her orders.
There are few things so unpleasantly corrective to one's self-esteem as a letter of rejection such as had come to Mark the refusal of the school committee was insignificant in comparison; only those who have yielded to the subtle temptation to submit manuscript to an editor or a publisher's reader, and have seen it return in dishonour, can quite realise the dull anguish of it, the wild, impotent rebellion that follows, and the stunned sense that all one's ideas will have somehow to be readjusted; perhaps an artist whose pictures are not hung feels something of it, but there one's wounded vanity can more easily find salves.
But a point of great importance was raised by his counsel, as to the publisher's intention to commit the felony, which they insisted should be proved, to bring his case within the provision of the Treason Felony Act.
There is no discipline in applied psychology, as there is a discipline in medicine, engineering, or even law, which has authority to direct the journalist's mind when he passes from the news to the vague realm of truth. There are no canons to direct his own mind, and no canons that coerce the reader's judgment or the publisher's. His version of the truth is only his version.
"I mean a French chef," said the polite guest. "O yes, your lordship," again said the lady. "Does your artist say he's a Frenchman, Mrs. B.?" called out Wagg. "Well, I'm sure I don't know," answered the publisher's lady. "Because, if he does, he's a quizzin yer," cried Mr. Wagg; but nobody saw the pun, which disconcerted somewhat the bashful punster. "The dinner is from Griggs, in St.
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