At this period, the Sexagenarian was a sort of scholar of fortune, and not being immediately engaged, as it should seem, in any work which exclusively demanded his attention, did not disdain the task of revising the manuscripts of authors, and superintending their labours through the press. For this employment, an adequate compensation was expected and rendered.
The parties, in the present instance, had frequently met, and were on certain terms of familiarity. One evening, the Doctor took the writer of these memoranda on one side, and proposed to him to undertake the revision of his work in manuscript, and the correction of it subsequently at the press. This was readily agreed to, but no terms were mentioned on either side.
The manuscript, which was of no ordinary bulk or extent, was received, examined with careful attention, at the expence of no small portion of time, and finally committed to the press.
It extended to no less than two large quarto volumes, and probably altogether a year, or somewhat more, was employed on the labour. In the interval, our Sexagenarian and his family used to speculate on the golden harvest about to be reaped, by way of compensation. What was it to be? a pipe of Madeira? a pair of silver candlesticks? a gold repeater?
At length, the last sheet was sent to press, and the day of publication announced. The corrector waited upon the author to felicitate him on his safe delivery. A week passed away—a fortnight—a month—still no Madeira—no piece of plate;—in short, no solid pudding, but a great deal of empty praise. However it was soon forgotten.
Temporis officium solatia dicere certi est.
And it was not always so. Similar occupations were afterwards thrown in the way, but he had the wisdom taught him by the experience he had obtained, to undertake nothing but with certain specifications of recompence.
This seems no improper opportunity of inserting a detached anecdote on the subject of compensation for literary labour, which occurs somewhere or other in our manuscript.
A venerable old clergyman, who had in part, directed the education of our friend, and who took a warm and friendly interest in his reputation and welfare, had been informed, with no benevolent intention, that he prostituted his learning and talents to needy booksellers.