Moreover, I have thought it only just to the many unseen lovers of “Proverbial Philosophy” to show them how heartily their good opinions have been countersigned and sanctioned all over the English-speaking world by critics of many schools and almost all denominations.  It is not then from personal vanity that so much laudation is exhibited [God wot, I have reason to denounce and renounce self-seeking]—­but rather to gratify and corroborate innumerable book friends.

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If there had been International Copyright in the more halcyon days of my “Proverbial” popularity, when, as reported (see the New York World on p. 124), a million and a half copies of my book were consumed in America, I should have been materially rewarded by a royalty of something like a hundred thousand pounds:  but the bare fact is that all I have ever received from my Transatlantic booksellers in the way of money has been some L80 (three thousand dollars) which Herman Hooker of Philadelphia gave me for the exclusive privilege—­so far as I could grant it—­of being my publisher.  For aught else, I have nothing to complain of in the way of praise, however profitless, of kindliness, however well appreciated, and of boundless hospitality, however fairly reimbursed at the time by the valuable presence of a foreign celebrity.  No doubt the public are benefited by the cheapness of books unprotected by copyright, and the author, if he wins no royalty, gains by fame and pleasure; but the absence of a copyright law is a great mistake,—­as well as an injustice to the authorship of both nations, by starving the literature of each other, American publishers will not sufficiently pay their own native bookwrights when they can appropriate their neighbours’ works for nothing; and ours in England probably enriched themselves as vastly and cheaply by Mrs. Beecher Stowe’s “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” as many among the thirty-three States by “Proverbial Philosophy.”

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As my handsome quarto “Proverbial” has been for two generations a common gift-book for weddings, and has more than once appeared among the gifts at royal marriages, it is small wonder that I have often been greeted by old—­and young—­married couples as having been a sort of spiritual Cupid on such occasions.  Frequently at my readings and elsewhere ladies thitherto unknown have claimed me as their unseen friend, and some have feelingly acknowledged that my Love and Marriage (both written in my teens) were the turning-points of their lives and causes of their happiness.  These lines will meet the eyes of some who will acknowledge their truth, and possibly if they like it may write and tell me so:  some of my warmest friendships have originated in grateful letters of a similar character.

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