Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1885-09-10
A STORY OF A BOOK.

III seems TO me that in the great null
titude of companions which pour into
the world every Year, little ones like
me are forgotten.
Every one knows what the outside
OF book is-red, yellow. green or
purple in color, lettered IN silver, let
tered in red. oblong and square, fat
and thin. Every book has some shade
of difference, which may distinguish
II. Ii is true we come in tribes-by
hundreds after one pattern-and lately
the most popular cover or dress book
can wear is paper lettered with black,
and the letters stretched across the
cover, and are not at the back of the
volume, as used to be the case.
Where do we all come fromp
Whittier are we goingP are ques tons
which / think | may ask, without run
ning the risk of being thought vain.
| know where | came from-that is,
the heart and core of me; and | wish,
as ] said before, to relate my history.
| must go back some way to get to the
beginning OF things, and that begin
ming lakes me to Il dull, dreary lodg-
ing IN dull. dreary back street in
London. j was born there. When
the baby was asleep in the cradle,
when the husband was away at his
work in the postoflice, when-notice
this the last stocking was mended-
my author would get out an old case,
open sundry sheets of lined paper,
and with smile on her lips, dip the
pen into the ink and let me grow
under her hand.
She was very happy when she was
aking me the vehicle in her thoughts
pure. bright thougts they were
and whatever merit | possess came
from her. who told out her thoughts
on the lined paper. and made me.
She kept this work of hers secret.
Sometimes | heard her telling her
baby that mother was writing a story
that. perhaps, when it was published,
ii would make her fortune-and then,
country home instead of furnished
rooms, the flowers and the brightness,
"like my old, old home, baby!'
And little by little grew, and the
old case was full, and at last | was
finished. Rather this first part of my
my best part-was over. Then
came many journey for me. AS l
was born in London, from whence
books are all sent out into the world,
| was not committed TO the post, but
my dear author would tie me up neat
ly, and tuck me under her arm and
set forth with me.
She would wait patiently to see
some great pundit who was to pro.
1ouHce on my merits. She was so
anxious about my fate that | could
feel her heart beating, as she waited
with me, and even when she received
me back a tear dropped upon me, and
often heard her say:
III must give you up, my poor little
book; you have no chance among
thousands. of course not. was so
silly to think so. will not try any
more"
But she did try 1t again, and was
received. had been received before,
but now l was unrolled and read.
When my dear author came back to
hear my doom, the man who had me
laid his hand upon me and said:
This is. nice story; it is not a
novel and vet is full of interest. l
VIII undertake. 10 publish IL.
"Will you pay for it?" she asked.
"Well, no; | will bring it out, and II
you deposit thirty pounds. will share
the profits If it succeeds"
Il can not pay YOU any money"
was the answer in a low tone, 'for
have none. | want money from you.
The publisher stroked his beard; he
had long beard, for it tickled me as
he bent over me.
"My dear young lady, that is always
the cry of young authors; but the har-
vest is not reaped directly the seed is
sown. You must be patient"
"Give my story back to me" my
author said in a trembling voice. 81
can not let you have it for nothing"
] was being rolled up, and thick
elastic band clicked over me, when an
other voice was heard:
mir. Best, let me speak with you a
moment"
Then was laid down on the table,
and could hear the sighs of my dear
author rs she sat near me.
After few minutes, the gentleman
with the beard came back, and q
younger gentleman with him.
eve think, madame, we will under
take to publish this book, and-pay
YOU ten pounds on the day of issue.
The truth is my partner thinks highly
Of it; forgive me, more highly than
do, and by his desire l make you this
offer"
So | was left on the table, then
thrown into deep drawer, from
whence l was taken one morning and
torn assunder.
A small part of me was sent off to
the printers, being first marked by the
hand of some ONE who read me.
Very soon after my arrival at the
printers Office M fair pages were
smeared with black fingers, and l was
set up before nan with pair
of keen eyes, anu. i heard him
mutter:
"Plain writing for Jnce,. that's q
mercy--a woman's too.
Then another voice called out:
"You are lucky. have been puz.
cling over this sentence for an hour
can't make head or tail of it," while
another grumbled;
These proofs are so scrawled over,
I'll just send them back to Mr.. Best.
! amt going to spend my life Over
'em."
From first to last heard no grum'
bling about myself All went smooth
I ly, aud my dear author would smile
4 and sing over me as the proofs ut my
progress came by the post to her twice
aweek.
The great day came at last After
i had been punched and hattened and
stitched, | was Enclosed in modes,
gray b .nding with silver letters, and