The Whispering Gallery, Part I [pp. 174-177]

N~~~~~~~~~
THE WHISPERING GALLERY
BY ROSSITER JOHNSON
Some truths may be proclaimed upon the housetop;
Others may be spoken by the fireside;
Still others must be whispered in the ear of a friend.
A FEW days ago, after his attack on the owners of dictionaries, my friend Elacott
followed it with an exposition of his radical views on public libraries and the commercial aspect of literature. He appears to have a constant leaning toward the subject;
and I suspect that he would like to devote himself to the production of books, and have
a literary career, if he did not think it entailed poverty. We were sitting in the Arbor,
and looking over some books that Miss Ravaline had bought that day with a present of
money that had been given to her for that special purpose.
"Did you ever think," said he, "of the evolution of the free public library?"
"That is not much of a subject for study," said I. "The free public library is
simply a natural outgrowth of civilization."
"On the contrary," said he, "it is a natural outgrowth of niggardliness."
"Then we have been giving a great deal of undeserved credit to the men and women
who founded the libraries," said Miss Ravaline.
"The founders are not the niggards," said Elacott. "I freely admit their liberality,
though I am disposed to question their wisdom."
"Well, give us your theory of library evolution," said I, seeing that he had one he
wished to exploit.
"Once upon a time," he began, "a man wrote a book, and when it was in print the
publisher gave him six complimentary copies (this became the custom, after a while, in
reputable publishing houses), and this was the germ of the mischief. What was he to
do with those six books? It would be beneath his autorial dignity to sell them; he needed
but one for himself; and he did not wish to lay them away on the shelf, like the bread
and cheese in the nursery rhyme, for books are printed to be read. Evidently five of them
should be given away. He was rich enough in social qualities to possess four friends,
and but four, who loved him dearly. Four copies went at once to these, who prized
them highly and kept them carefully as long as they lived. One copy remained, and the
problem was, how to get rid of it. At last he remembered a young lady between whom
and himself there had been a friendship that never had ripened into, etc., as the newspapers express it. I suppose you might say it remained forever green, like some people's
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