Such arguments on the stupid and mercenary tempers of those addressed fell harmless as on a buffalo's hide might a gold-tipped arrow.

The book, they thought, answered THEIR purpose sufficiently, for IT SELLS.

Other purpose for a book they knew none.

And as to the natural rights of an author over the fruits of his mind, the distilled essence of a life consumed in the severities of mental labor, they had never heard of such a thing.

His work was in the market, and he had no more to do with it, that they could see, than the silkworm with the lining of one of their coats.
Mr.Greeley, the more I look at this subject, the more I must maintain, in opposition to your views, that the publisher cannot, if a mere tradesman, be a man of honor.