A cutting was sent me the other day, from a provincial paper,
apparently well meant and conducted, but which in its column of
'aphorisms,' having, unfortunately, ventured to lead off with one on
political economy, enunciated itself as follows:--
"All capital comes back at last, though sometimes by a
roundabout road, to the pocket of the labourer, in the shape
of wages. Consumable produce, however, may be dissipated in a
thousand ways, in none of which is either the capitalist or the
prolétaire benefited at all."
I don't happen to know, at this moment, what a 'prolétaire' is, and
can't find it in my French dictionary; but will ascertain, by next
month; and, meantime, I keep the 'aphorism,' being a very curious one,
for future comment.
A letter from "a working woman" has given me much pleasure. She
says she does not understand my plans; but can trust me. She may be
pleased to know that I don't yet understand some of my plans myself,
for they are not, strictly speaking, mine at all, but Nature's and
Heaven's, which are not always comprehensible, until one begins to act
on them. Then they clear as one goes on, and, I hope, my expression
of what I can see of them, for her, and all true workers, will, also.
I have an interesting letter from Glasgow, but have not been able to
read it yet. A slip of the 'Glasgow Chronicle' was enclosed, containing
the Editor's opinions on my modes of selling my books. Not having any
occasion for his opinions on the subject, I threw the slip into the
fire. The letter, which I have just glanced at, says my comparison
of the price of my books to a doctor's fee is absurd, for the poor
don't pay guinea fees. I know that, and I don't want any poor people
to read my books. I said so long ago, in 'Sesame.' I want them to
read these letters, which they can get, each for the price of two
pots of beer; and not to read my large books, nor anybody else's,
till they are rich enough, at least, to pay for good printing and
binding. Even oracular Mr. Grant Duff says they are all to be rich
first, and only next to be intelligent, and I am happy in supposing
it needs a great deal of intelligence to read 'Modern Painters.' But,
by the way, if the Editor of the 'Glasgow Chronicle' will tell me,
why, in these fine manufacturing counties of his, and mine, I can
only, with the greatest possible difficulty, or by mere good luck,
and help of the Third Fors, now get a quarter of a yard of honest
leather to stitch my leaves into, I shall be greatly obliged to him,
and will reprint his communication in my best type, instead of throwing
it into the fire.