Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1893-06-25
"wsn, would a dozen copies be

enough?"
"Oh, yes, probably, but there might
be some afJerWard that would want
them, and I'd hate to say that there
were no more II asked for others.
"WeU, would you want TO publish on
a royalty OF ten per cent, you, OF
course, to give US good banka6le secur-
ity that the original CeSt should be paid,
and then afterward you get ten per
cent. Of all good cash sales, provided
that the ten per cent. should be on
wholesale prices, we 70 retain the copy
right and right 10 renewal"
well, OF course l want to print the
book so as to have something TO show
afterward, and way on in the hereafter
ward, too, that had those thoughts;
that was first to remind other men
that they, too, had their thoughts fresh
and true, but unexpreSsed, and that l,
poor and sOrrowful and aching with the
sensitive soul that was divlnely bestow-
ed perhaps, but borne in my sOrrowing
breast almost unsheltered through life
from the jeers OF those who live 10
laugh and breathe and wink and sneeze
and die-that had wakened dewy
breasted lark in the heart OF another
and caused that little song OF mine TO
60 on and on for others to tuue theirs
from. But l don't know much about
this per cent or copyright or renewal
and all that"
WELL" says Mr.. Gutenberg, stroll
ing in and working as be came, cutting
the tail from a 70 make an or II, as
publishers do sometimes, my draw
share is about woro out. need new
three cornered file and ought TO have a
new fat file, and we are plumb out OF
charcoal and lead. Wen have to make
it that low, and II Schoeffer hadn't said
IL would not agree to it. But II you
nut I'm the agreement that you are TO
have access to your own books onlc and
we to ours 1 will agree TO Schoeffer's
terms"
They pushed him around to his desk,
and that notary, and this burgomaster,
and that brewery till the trade was
made, aud the poet had all the risk to
run. and his song wos sung, and e'er he
knew 10 the notes were in another's
mouth.
Guten berg & Co. got some new presses
and kept their books so close that no.
BODY else ever saw them, but the poets
books kept selling.
When he wanted an extra copy to
give his mother, they gave him one that
had Is pages put 10 wrong side up, and
the dying mother IOst those pages be-
cause she was too feeble TO stand on her
head aud read them.
Then they kicked at him In dull times
because there were too many tears In
mis- verse, and they would wink at each
other over their fat bellies and say that
his poetry was too damp.
And when he was broken In spirit
and the autumn OF his sorrowful life
Aickered in his sad, worn eyes, they
cheered him BY putting out new edi-
ton for Christmas, and he found that
they had put his portrait In 1t with no
cravat
When he was dying upstairs among
the rafters aud far away, and could
now and then get note or two OF the
bass drum I'm the celestial band, beau
tlfuI young lady In new dress drove
I'D to the hall door. Jewels were In her
hair aud flashed from her pink and
white hands and wrists.
She ran hastily up the old Gathering
stair, her silk gown and freshly
starched skirts gliding up the old ruin
with a sound like the summer wind in
the poplars.
She opened the door softly and stood
looking at the poet, but he did not see
her. The gentle wiRd stirred his gray,
soft hair as a grandchild might have
done.
He had gone far beyond the laws Of
copyright and cent per cent.
The beautiful girl grew sad. A cloud
swept over the broad, soft brow.
TOO late. Too late!" she said as she
/ looked out at the west with crystal
tear rising and hanging like diamond
I from one OF her eyewlnkeIs as Miss
I Gutenberg touched her heart with her
glOved hand"
TOO late! My God, he is dead, and
1 did not get his autograph"
improvements have been made In
printing and typesetung. One man
/ does what so did in Gutenberg's time,
and huge building with laundering
/ presses aud gathering typesetting ma
chimes rise to the sky. A good looking
book OF 600 pages, well bound. may be
made for cents and given on the dry
goods counters with each jackknife or
! fine tooth comb, but the poet still gets
his little old 10 per cent royalty.
/@AG Xxx