Mr. Caxton.—"Granted, John Tibbets!"
Uncle Jack.—"But if my speculation make you read a newspaper every day?"
Mr. Caxton (astounded).—"Make me read a newspaper every day!"
Uncle Jack (warming, and expanding his hands to the fire).—"As big as the 'Times'!"
Mr. Caxton (uneasily).—"Jack, you alarm me!"
Uncle Jack.—"And make you write in it too,—a leader!"
Mr. Caxton, pushing back his chair, seizes the only weapon at his command, and hurls at Uncle Jack a great sentence of Greek,— ". . . a quotation in Greek . . ." (1)
Uncle Jack (nothing daunted).—"Ay, and put as much Greek as you like into it!"
Mr. Caxton (relieved and softening). "My dear Jack, you are a great man; let us hear you!"
Then Uncle Jack began. Now, perhaps my readers may have remarked that this illustrious speculator was really fortunate in his ideas. His speculations in themselves always had something sound in the kernel, considering how barren they were in the fruit; and this it was that made him so dangerous. The idea Uncle Jack had now got hold of will, I am convinced, make a man's fortune one of these days; and I relate it with a sigh, in thinking how much has gone out of the family. Know, then, it was nothing less than setting up a daily paper, on the plan of the "Times," but devoted entirely to Art, Literature, and Science,—Mental Progress, in short; I say on the plan of the "Times," for it was to imitate the mighty machinery of that diurnal illuminator. It was to be the Literary Salmoneus of the Political Jupiter, and rattle its thunder over the bridge of knowledge. It was to have correspondents in all parts of the globe; everything that related to the chronicle of the mind, from the labor of the missionary in the South Sea Islands, or the research of a traveller in pursuit of that mirage called Timbuctoo, to the last new novel at Paris, or the last great emendation of a Greek particle at a German university, was to find a place in this focus of light. It was to amuse, to instruct, to interest,—there was nothing it was not to do. Not a man in the whole reading public, not only of the three kingdoms, not only of the British empire, but under the cope of heaven, that it was not to touch somewhere, in head, in heart, or in pocket. The most crotchety member of the intellectual community might find his own hobby in those stables.