PAUL GIVES THANKS FOR HIS BLESSINGS
When Paul came into the house that afternoon his father called to him
from the little den off the hall.
"Come here a moment, son," he cried. "I've something to show you."
The boy hurried forward, all curiosity. He found his father seated
before a desk on which was spread an old manuscript, brightened here and
there by letters of blue or scarlet.
"Strangely enough, Mr. Jordan, the curio collector, was in my office
to-day and had this treasure with him. When I mentioned that I should
like to have you see it, immediately, in most generous fashion, he
suggested that I bring it home and show it to you. It is almost
priceless and of course I demurred; but he insisted. He had just bought
it at an auction in New York and was, I fancy, glad to find some one who
was interested and would appreciate it. It is not complete; if it were
it would be very valuable. It is just a few stray sheets from an ancient
psalter. Nevertheless its workmanship is exquisite and it is well worth
owning. Notice the beautiful lettering."
Paul bent over the vellum pages. The manuscript, now spotted by age, was
marvelously penned, being written evenly and with extreme care in Latin
characters.
"Were all the old books written in Latin?" he inquired with surprise.
Mr. Cameron nodded.
"Yes, and not only were the first manuscripts and books phrased in Latin
but most of the very early printed books were written in the same
language," he answered. "In those days learning was not for the general
public. There was no such spirit of democracy known as now exists. It
cheapened a thing to have it within the reach of the vulgar herd. Even
Horace, much as we honor him, once complained because some of his odes
had strayed into the hands of the common people 'for whom they were not
intended.' Books, in the olden time, were held to be for only the
fortunate few. The educated class considered a little learning a
dangerous thing. If the people got to know too much they were liable to
become unruly and less easy to handle. Therefore books were kept out of
their reach. In Germany there was even a large fine and the penalty of
imprisonment imposed on any one who printed, published, or bought a book
translated from the Latin or Greek unless such translation had
previously been censored by the authorities. Hence the people who could
not read the languages were entirely cut off from all literature."
"I never heard of such a thing!" exclaimed Paul indignantly.
"No, you never did, thank God! We live in an age and a country of
freedom. But the world has not always been so easy or so comfortable a
place to live in as it is now."
Mr. Cameron touched the manuscript before him daintily with his finger,
betraying by the gesture the reverence of the true book-lover.
"This book," he remarked, "is, as you see, done on vellum. Most of the
illuminators of ancient books preferred that material for their work.
Papyrus such as the Romans used was too brittle to be folded or sewed,
and therefore could not be bound into book form; it had to be rolled on
rollers, and even then was liable to crack. It was far too perishable
for bookmaking. Hence the old scribes turned to vellum, or sheepskin.
But later, when the printing press came along, vellum became very
unpopular indeed, because the grease in the skin spread the ink or else
would not absorb it, and the harsh surface destroyed the type. Even had
these difficulties not arisen, vellum would have had to be abandoned
since the number of skins demanded for the making of a thick book was
prohibitive. Imagine three hundred unlucky sheep offering up their
skins in order to produce one of the first printed Bibles!"
"Great Scott!" Paul whistled, regarding his father with incredulity.
"I was as surprised as you when I read the statement," declared his
father. "At that rate, where would the sheep be in a little while? All
slaughtered and made into books. Fortunately the public of that day did
not, as I have already explained, care much for reading; so perhaps that
is the secret why some of the sheep were spared."
"Why didn't they print their books on paper?" inquired Paul
thoughtlessly.
"Paper, you must remember, was not yet discovered; that is, it was
unknown in western Europe. It had been in use in China, however, for
some time; but China was not a generous country that spread its
inventions to other lands. What the Chinese discovered they kept to
themselves. Nor, in fact, was there any extended means of spreading such
things except through the primitive methods of conquest or travel. Wars
enough there were, it is true; but travel was very infrequent. Moreover,
I seriously doubt if scribes would have used paper at just that period
if they had had it. The first attempts at paper-making resulted in a
crude, coarse product that was regarded with great scorn by the rich;
and as for printed matter, the educated classes considered it a great
drop from handwork and too common a thing to be purchased."
"How ridiculous!"
"It smacked of the masses," laughed Mr. Cameron. "Elegant persons
refused to use anything so cheap. Snobbery existed among the ancients,
you see, quite as extensively as in our own day, and a possession was
only valuable while it was the property of the fortunate few. The
instant it came within the reach of everybody it was no longer desirable
in their eyes. Your snob always treasures a thing less for its intrinsic
value than because other people cannot have it. So it was among the
snobs that lived hundreds of years ago; the species has not materially
changed. No sooner did learning become general through the use of the
printing press, and become accessible to the man in moderate
circumstances than it lost its savor for the rich, and many a noble
boasted that he was unable to read, write, or spell. Learning suddenly
became a vulgar accomplishment, a thing to be spurned, ridiculed, and
avoided."
"I never heard of anything so absurd!" Paul said with contempt.
"It is no more absurd than is much of our present-day philosophy of
life," replied Mr. Cameron. "With all our enlightenment we have not yet
outgrown many of our follies."
He stopped, smiling whimsically to himself.
Paul bent over the richly colored pages on the table.
"I don't see," he remarked, "how they ever bound such stuff as this."
"The books of that early time were indeed a marvel," mused his father.
"They were not at all like the books we know now. Most of them were
ponderous affairs with board covers from one to two inches thick. Around
many of these covers went a metal band, usually of iron, to keep the
boards from warping; and in addition this band was frequently fastened
across the front with a mammoth clasp. Sometimes there were even two of
these bands. The corners also were protected with metal, and to guard
the great volume from wear while it lay upon its side, massive,
round-headed nails studded both covers. More of these big nails were set
in the metal corners."
"The thing must have weighed a ton!" exclaimed Paul.
"A single book was a far heavier commodity than you would have cared to
hold in your lap," smiled Mr. Cameron. "In fact, it was impossible to
hold one of them; hence we find the old-time reading desk used as a
support. It was indispensable."
"But what on earth could a person do with such a book?" asked Paul. "Two
or three of them would fill a room."
"Almost," laughed his father. "People did not pretend to own many of
them. In the first place they cost too much; and in the next place one
could not have them lying about because the nails in their sides
scratched the tables. Nor could they be arranged side by side on a
shelf, as we arrange books now, because of the projecting nails or
buttons. Their weight, too, was a menace to safety. Petrarch almost lost
his leg by having a volume of Cicero which he was reading fall on it."
"I always thought Cicero would much better be left alone!" cut in Paul
wickedly. "Thank goodness that although I have to study Latin, I don't
have to do it out of a book of that size!"
"You do right to make the most of your blessings," his father answered,
with a twinkle in his eye. "Such books were, to say the least, awkward
to handle. Most of them were kept chained to the lecterns or desks of
the churches; sometimes even to the pillars."
"Chained?"
"Yes, indeed," nodded Mr. Cameron. "Books were too precious and rare to
risk their being stolen, as they doubtless would have been had they been
left about."
"I shouldn't think anybody would have wanted to carry a book big as the
dictionary very far."
"But suppose you were very eager to learn to read and never had the
chance to lay hands on a book?"
"Oh, that would be different."
"That was the condition most of the persons faced who were not rich
enough to purchase books, or have access to them as the scholars in the
monasteries had. For at that period of history, you must recall, the
Church was the custodian of learning. Priests wrote the books, copied
them, had charge of such meager libraries as there were, and taught the
people. There were neither schools nor libraries like ours. What wonder
that the public was ignorant and illiterate?"
Paul was thoughtful for a moment or two.
"Maybe schools are not such a bad thing, Dad," he remarked, half in fun.
"They are dreadfully inconvenient, to be sure, when you want to go and
play football; still I guess we are better off with them than we should
be without them."
"I reckon you'd think so, were you to try the experiment of being
without any," replied Mr. Cameron. "By the way, how is your football
team coming on? I have not heard much about it lately."
"I haven't had time to go out with the fellows for any practice work,"
confessed Paul, "so I am not so well up in what they are doing as I
ought to be. This paper of ours keeps me hopping. We want to make the
first issue a bully one--so good that everybody who hasn't subscribed
will want to, double-quick. The girls are working up a fine department
on Red Cross, canning, and all that sort of thing. I've allowed them
three pages for articles and items. Hazel Clement is at the head of it.
She's a corking girl, and her mother is going to help her some. Mrs.
Clement has been on all sorts of planning boards and committees, and
National Leagues and things," concluded Paul vaguely.
"It would be interesting to get Mrs. Clement to write you an article
some time," suggested Mr. Cameron.
"Do you suppose she would?"
"Certainly. She is a very public-spirited woman; moreover, she is quite
as much interested in the boys and girls of Burmingham as the rest of us
are, I am sure."
"I've a great mind to ask her," said Paul. "If we could get one fine
article a month from some parent who has something to say, it would help
us tremendously. Of course, it would have to be on something the
scholars would be keen on though: home gardens, or earning money, or
citizenship, or making things."
"I am certain that if you explained your editorial policy to some of the
grown-ups they would submit manuscripts to you," returned Mr. Cameron
mischievously. "You would not be obliged to bind yourself to publish
them if they were not satisfactory. Editors are always at liberty to
send contributions back with a slip saying that the inclosed article
does not meet the needs of their paper, or else that there is no room
for it."
"Gee! Imagine my sending back an article that some parent had written."
"If you are going to be an editor that will be part of your business.
You will have to learn to discriminate between the articles that are
timely, well written, interesting, and in harmony with the principles
you have blocked out for your magazine."
"Do you suppose Mr. Carter has to do that?" asked Paul in an awed tone.
"Without question."
"Then no wonder he looks as if he would freeze the blood in your veins,"
ejaculated the boy. "It must make him almighty severe just to keep
reading stuff and sending back what he doesn't like, regardless of who
wrote it."
"He must keep up the standard of his paper, son. His subscribers pay
good money for it and they want what they pay for. Were an editor to
take pity on every poor soul who sent him an article his publication
would soon be filled with every sort of trash. He has to train himself
to be unprejudiced and give his readers only the best the market
affords. The personal element does not enter into the matter."
"I see. I hadn't thought of that side of it," Paul confessed slowly.
His father watched him in silence.
"I should not let this matter worry me," observed the older man
presently, "for I doubt if you have so many unsolicited manuscripts that
you will be troubled with returning a great number of them to their
owners. And if you find yourself overrun with them you can always call
in expert advice."
Paul brightened.
"I could ask somebody's opinion, couldn't I?" he declared.
"Of course. Or you could consult with your staff."
"My staff! Pooh! They wouldn't know any more about it than I did,"
chuckled Paul. "But you would, Dad, and so would Judge Damon. I shall
come straight to you if I get stuck."
"Two heads are often better than one," responded Mr. Cameron kindly.
"Bring your problem home, my boy, if you find it too big for you.
Together we'll thrash it out."
"You certainly are a trump, Dad!" cried Paul. "I guess between us all we
can make a go of the _March Hare_."
"I'm sure of it!" responded his father.