“Your new preface is pungent as a pepper. Your motto seems to be, ‘Je suis prêt.’
“Give it to 'em any way you like. A proof of the preface will go to you in a few days. As to the binding of your book, I propose same style as ‘Rs. of a City Curate,’ gilt top leaves and beveled boards. Do you like that way?”
M. N. TO MR. HUNT, SEPTEMBER 3.
“For you to set up and pretend to ask me if I like ‘City Curate’ style, when you knew I went down on my knees to you to have it like ‘Sir Thomas Browne,’ and you said you would.
“The next book you publish for me, I am going to stand over you with a grip on your coat-collar from the time you give the first copy to the printer till the first edition stands on the shelf, and see if you cannot be kept to something. I don't know what your beveled boards are—only if you put a d in, the adjective would apply more accurately—and I don't want my book to be boarded up any way, and if there is anything I hate, it is gilt tops, and if you don't do it as I want it, I don't care how it is done.“
MR. HUNT TO M. N., SEPTEMBER 15.
“We shall publish, unless a defeat crowns our victories, your book this week. It will be a beauty, and look like ‘Sir Thomas Browne,’ in its red waistcoat.”
[This letter was delayed and not received till the following letter was partly written.]
M. N. TO MR. HUNT, SEPTEMBER 20, 1762.
“You darling Traddles,—why do I call you Traddles? Because you are ‘the dearest fellow.’ It was not Traddles, though, was it? It was his wife, and she was not a fellow but a girl—never mind. The fact I wish to impress upon your mind is, that you have tricked out my book so beautifully that nothing could be lovelier. You would not have done it though if I had not threatened you within an inch of your life, would you? You don't know how delighted I was when I opened the bundle, expecting to see those cheap-looking paste-boardy things, and you had gone and done them just as I wanted you to do them, and you said you would, and then said you wouldn't, and they are beautiful. They are better even than ‘Sir Thomas.’ The paper is finer. But now see—I never thought till yesterday that they must cost more than the other way, and I have been distressed all along, and this makes me more so. But listen: I shall either live, or die, or marry. If I live I shall get money, if not by writing, then by teaching, or something, so that I shall pay you sometime. If I die I shall leave money enough of my own to pay you, and you keep this letter to show to my heirs to let them know I desire you to be paid. If I marry, Smith of course will be delighted to pay all my debts, and I shall make that the condition of my becoming Smithess; so that you shall not lose money on my book, even if you don't make any, which I hope you will—millions of dollars; but I am sure you must see for yourself that it is better to have a book look substantial and high-bred, and suit you, even if it does cost a little more.