And with the honey flew away.
He had taken sufficient pains to satisfy himself, and with some particles of vanity, showed them to two or three of his friends, who praised the composition, and recommended him to send it to the editor of a popular publication. This was accordingly done, and long and irksome did the interval appear, till the solemn period of his fate arrived. It came at length, and with no ordinary exultation he beheld himself in print. His ambition from this moment began to soar; in imagination he already saw poetic crowns soliciting his acceptance, and the wondering crowds pointing and exclaiming—That is he!
Alas! the most exalted of human enjoyments are subject to diminution from envy or from malice. In the very next magazine which succeeded, was a pert and saucy letter signed Aristarchus, purporting, that in the Latin translation of Garrick’s version from the Spanish, which appeared last month, there were two false quantities, for which a boy in the fourth form, either at Eton or Westminster, would deservedly have been flogged.
The cud was chewed upon this most ungracious verberation for a considerable time, nor was complacency fully restored, till in acknowledgment of a prose essay inserted in the same journal, a handsome set of books was conveyed to the author.
But to return to Booksellers. The first resort of young men who possess any literary curiosity is usually a bookseller’s shop, and if the proprietor be a man of experience in his business, and of a courteous communicative disposition, an acquaintance with him may prove of considerable benefit to the student. He learns from him the value, not in a professed collector’s sense of that word, but the relative excellence of different editions. He hears also of new works in contemplation; he meets individuals of similar propensities with himself, and an agreeable interchange of knowledge and information is thereby promoted. Above all, he obtains the enviable privilege of seeing publications which his finances will not suffer him to purchase, and enjoys the no small indulgence of an early sight of the periodical publications.
In the provincial town where our friend in early life resided, there were three booksellers of very different characters and attainments. One was a shrewd, cold, inflexible fellow, who traded principally in old books, and held out but little encouragement to a youth who rarely had money to expend, to become a frequenter of his shop. Of course, frequent visits were not paid by out Sexagenarian to him. The principal feature of this man’s character was suspicion of strangers, and a constant apprehension lest he should dispose of any of his “Libri Rarissimi” to some cunning wight, or professed collector. If any Customer was announced as coming from the Metropolis, he immediately added at least one-third to his price.
The second of this fraternity was a sharp, chattering, clever fellow in his way, but he wanted ballast, and was suspected of paying more attention to conviviality out of doors, than to ledgers and catalogues within. No great temptation was here held out to intimacy.
The third, who enjoyed the best business, and the best customers, was a facetious, jolly, honest sort of body, who welcomed every visitor to his shop, and with great good-nature accommodated his youthful customers with the loan of books, which they did not deem it necessary, or find it convenient, to buy. This was a period, when on the decease of some neighbouring clergyman, or of provincial collector, his library, whatever might have been its original cost, or real value, was generally disposed of to the nearest bookseller, for such a sum as his conscience might induce him to give. By many such speculations, and by one in particular, this same bookseller was able to live very reputably, and became ambitious of extending his concerns, and of becoming a Publisher.
To him, therefore, the Sexagenarian, on his desire of first appearing in the character of a professed author, eagerly applied. He had completed a composition of no great importance indeed in extent, but which, having perused it with great complacency himself, he thought might produce reputation, at least, if not emolument. An interview was appointed to discuss the subject. But here Alps upon Alps seemed to arise, Pelion on Ossa mounted. The minor questions—What size? how many copies? what price? were got over without much difficulty. But the final determination of—Who is to run the risk, and advance the money? was a matter of solemn deliberation and of awful solicitude. The author had no money—the bookseller no inclination to incur any risk. Good-nature and familiar acquaintance, at length, got the better of every more sordid feeling, and the publisher consented to take the pecuniary part of the business upon himself, provided, that in case of loss, the author should agree to pay his moiety of it, by such instalments as his means might permit.