“Just here comes your letter and check, which was delayed in Boston because you did not put a stamp on.
“One of my friends has been questioning me about the business part of my book—copyrights and contract, and all that trash of which I know and care nothing.”
[Foolish as this all seems to me now, I can only say that it expressed exactly my state of mind. It was not that I had any lofty disregard of money, but simply that I was so intent on writing, that I had room for nothing else. I had plenty of money, or if I had not, I did not know it, which amounts to the same thing, and it made me impatient to be bothered with these outside, and what seemed to me entirely insignificant matters.]
“But I want to know if by publishing articles in the ‘A. M.’ they pass out of my hands. I mean, if I wanted to collect them and have Tilton, say, publish them, couldn't I? I will any way; because you see, though I am amiable, you know what your temper is, and suppose we flare up and have a quarrel, what then? I tell you I don't discard lines of retreat. Now you know I would rather have you publish than anybody else—supposing I had anything to be published; but I want to do it because I want to do it, and not because I have to do it—don't you understand?
“Do you know that it scares me to see my book out in the open day? Seems to me it is a romping kind of a book, and there is a regiment of I's on every page, and ‘lots’ of ‘tricksys’ and ‘exasperatings’ and ‘for my parts.’ You cannot tell how a book will look till it is born, can you? I shall make the next one better. Shall you read it now it is out? I wish I knew whether it disappoints you. It does me. It is crude and botchy—it is so awfully unlike ‘Sir Thomas Browne;’ and if it isn't good, it is frightfully pretentious. A book ought not to come out in that style, unless it has some merit. To think of——reading it, and——and——and——I should like to go into a hole and burrow—and——
“O dear! I don't suppose they will read it, but I wanted to have such a book as they will read. Any way, you have done your part, and I want you to know that I am aware of it and not ungrateful.”
“Hurrah! Good news! I have heard of a man in S——, who said he was going to buy my book! There is one copy as good as sold.
“The man who told me about the purchaser in S——, tells me also that the dress of my book is very much admired, and says I ought to be very grateful to B. & H. for doing me up in such style, just as if I was not! But what can I do about it? There is a white cloud at the toe of my boot. As soon as it resolves itself into a well-defined hole, I am coming to Athens to get a new pair. I have nothing in the world to say to you, and I shall not come to see you. Still, if you should say, ‘Hadn't you better?’ perhaps I might be induced to rasp my knuckles against No. 7—.”
MR. HUNT TO M. N., SEPTEMBER 23.
“I am glad you like the costume into which we put your first-born. It is a handsome baby and will go alone uncommonly early.”