There can really be no excuse for this last book of trite and beautiful
sayings. I do not attempt, in any way, to palliate this great wrong. I
would not do so even if I had an idea what palliate meant.
It will, however, add one more to the series of books for which I am to
blame, and the pleasure of travel will be very much enhanced, for me, at
least.
There is one friend I always meet on the trains when I travel. He is the
news agent. He comes to me with my own books in his arms, and tells me
over and over again of their merits. He means it, too. What object could
he have in coming to me, not knowing who I am, and telling me of their
great worth? Why would he talk that way to me if he did not really feel
it?
That is one reason I travel so much. When 1 get gloomy and heartsick,
I like to get on a train and be assured once more, by a total stranger,
that my books have never been successfully imitated.
Some authors like to have a tall man, with a glazed grip-sack, and whose
breath is stronger than his intellect, selling their works; but I do not
prefer that way.
I like the candor and ingenuousness of the train-boy. He does not come
to the front door while you are at prayers, and ring the bell till the
hat-rack falls down, and then try to sell you a book containing 2,000
receipts for the blind staggers. He leans gently over you as you look
out the car window, and he puts some pecan meats in your hand, and
thus wins your trusting heart. Then he sells you a book, and takes an
interest in you.
This book will go to swell the newsboy's armful, and if there be any
excuse, under the sun, for its publication, aside from the royalty; that
is it.
I have taken great care to thoroughly eradicate anything that would have
the appearance of poetry in this work, and there is not a thought or
suggestion contained in it that would soil the most delicate fabric.
Do not read it all at once, however, in order to see whether he
married the girl or not. Take a little at a time, and it will cure
gloom on the "_similia simili-bus curanter_" principle. If you read
it all at once, and it gives you the heaves, I am glad of it, and you
deserve it. I will not bind myself to write the obituary of such people.
Hudson, Wis., Sept, 5,1883.