I got caught
so once, and never heard the end of it and never shall hear it.---He took
down an elegantly bound volume, on opening which appeared a flourishing
and eminently flattering dedication to himself.---There,--said he, what
could I do less than acknowledge such a compliment in polite terms, and
hope and expect the book would prove successful, and so forth and so
forth? Well, I get a letter every few months from some new locality
where the man that made that book is covering the fences with his
placards, asking me whether I wrote that letter which he keeps in
stereotype and has kept so any time these dozen or fifteen years. Animus
tuus oculus, as the freshmen used to say. If her Majesty, the Queen of
England, sends you a copy of her "Leaves from the Journal of Our Life in
the Highlands," be sure you mark your letter of thanks for it Private!
We had got comfortably seated in his library in the mean time, and the
Master had taken up his book. I noticed that every other page was left
blank, and that he had written in a good deal of new matter.
--I tell you what,--he said,--there 's so much intelligence about
nowadays in books and newspapers and talk that it's mighty hard to write
without getting something or other worth listening to into your essay or
your volume. The foolishest book is a kind of leaky boat on a sea of
wisdom; some of the wisdom will get in anyhow.
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