Mr. L. A. Godey—Dear Sir: I owe you for my subscription to the "Lady's Book" for 1852 and 1853. I send you five dollars inclosed. Give me such credit as you may think proper to extend to an old subscriber of fifteen years' standing, who sometimes pays in advance, and sometimes don't, yet never clubs, and never fails to pay without charge to you. I call that a pretty strong appeal.
Having a moment of leisure on my hands while addressing you on business, I am tempted to put in a word to you extra—to you, who have been talking to me steadily for fifteen years, while I have never had a chance for a syllable in reply. Indeed, I am not positively assured that editors, however fond they may be of holding forth before their readers, do manifest any remarkable solicitude to have them "answer back again." I should take it they were rather of that class, Irishman-like, who prefer to have "all the reciprocity on one side." I believe it may be justly said of them, that they do not admire any sort of correspondence that don't pay well. It, however, seems that an old subscriber will, once in a while, presume on long acquaintance, and treat you as a familiar friend, with whom he has the right to make free. I, at this present moment, feel an impulse of this kind; but apprehend my position may appear to you rather gawky, and even peradventure unwarrantable. But old men, you know, and especially conceited ones, are garrulous.
By the way, Mr. Godey, are you phrenologist enough to tell me why it is that, when all the other faculties are growing smaller, the organ of self-esteem is increasing in size? We hear a great deal said about "the aggressive" and "the progressive." Well, it appears to me that this same organ of self-esteem deserves to bear off all the first class premiums at the next "World's Fair" of Active Principles, whether "aggressive" or "progressive." I beg your pardon, my dear sir, I had no idea of being at all personal. But you politely intimate that "brevity is the soul of wit." Thank you! I remark this, with editors, is quite a favorite prescription (you see, I naturally fall into professional figures). Nevertheless, it is one they are not overly fond of calling into requisition themselves. Albeit, Mr. Godey, you and I shall not fall out here. For, as we possess none of the corporeal parts, neither of us has much use for "the soul." Don't frown; I'll praise you presently.
I can remember, in time past, when concluding the perusal of a number of the "Lady's Book," I have found myself soliloquizing thus: "Well, I have read it through, and what is in it? Absolutely nothing that I can remember, or, what is worse, nothing that is worth remembering. I will discontinue. I wish Godey was more of a utilitarian, and would give us a little less of his whipped syllabub, and a little more of solid food." But another year would come in and go out, and I still remained a subscriber to the "Lady's Book;" and, all this time, its strides "progressive" were very humble and moderate, indeed. But times have changed, and the "Lady's Book" has changed with them. I am glad to say there has been a great improvement—a very great improvement in your magazine. Thanks to your industrious, judicious, and sensible editress, the ratio of the useful and valuable is fast gaining on the trashy, "flat, and unprofitable." Go on.
I, some time back, said to my daughter—only, and motherless—
"Well, child, I believe I must discontinue 'Godey.'"
"Why, pa?"
"It is not suited to my taste, and you are always at school."
"But, pa, I always read the numbers through when I come home. I like it very much. It is very interesting. I prefer it to any of the magazines."
"There is 'Harper's'—more solid matter."