h long Oblivion are gone dry:
But bind me new, let Christy illustrate,
Methinks I'd sell at Christmas time; I'll try!"

XC

So while the Manuscripts were wisely speaking,
The Editor came in whom I was seeking:
And then they signall'd to me, "Brother! Brother!
Yours is rejected! You had best be sneaking!"

* * * * *

XCI

Though Carnegie for Literature provide,
He tombs a Body whence the Life has died,
And no one seems to turn a single leaf
Upon the unfrequented Classic side,

XCII

Unless to see some First Edition rare,
Or curious styles of Binding to compare;
Art's True Believers know their Aldus well,
But of the Author bound, are unaware!

XCIII

Indeed, Rare Books that they have yearn'd for long
Have done their Literary Taste much wrong:
Reprints of Burton will not sell to-day
(I mean the stupid Burton) for a Song!

XCIV

Indeed, such First Editions oft before
I envied, but they proved to be a Bore.
Why, are not Tenth Editions still more rare?
Mine are! Why are they not worth even more?

XCV

And much as Art has play'd the Infidel
And robb'd me of my Royalties--Ah, well,
I often wonder what the Women read
One half as clever as the Stuff I sell!

XCVI

Yet Ah, that Spring should come to bring our Woes!
That Christmas Season's Sales should ever close!
The Book whose praises loud the Critic sang,
Is not the one that sells the most, God knows!

XCVII

Would but these Book Reviewers ever yield
One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd
Of what the fainting Traveller can read
Worth reading--but the Critic's eyes are seal'd.

XCVIII

Would but some winged Angel bring the News
Of Critic who _reads_ Books that he Reviews!
And make the stern Reviewer do as well
Himself, before he Meed of Praise refuse!

XCIX

Ah, Love! could you and I perchance succeed
In boiling down the Million Books we read
Into One Book, and edit that a Bit--
There'd be a WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE, indeed!

* * * * *

C

Oh, rising Author, read Me once again
Before my Memory gradually wane!
How oft hereafter you may look for me
In this same Library--and look in vain!

CI

And when, dear Reader, _you_ shall chance to spend
A night within The Hall of Fame--attend!
If, in that blissful call, you find the Spot
Where I broke in--don't turn me down, my friend!

End of Project Gutenberg's The