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58
THE PRIZE LITERARY ESSAY.
PREFACES:
What they are, and are not: What they ought,
and ought not to he.
BT
A MAS WHO SEVER WROTE OSE IS HIS LIFE.
“ jfo book can bo complete without a Preface.
Such is the dogmatic caption of a chapter, in that
quaint whimsical, oddfasliioned, origiual, enter
taining vet tiresome, affected yet sincere, con
glomeration of odds and ends. " The Doctor, }
Robert Southey. He devotes a chapter to the
subject of Prefaces, and further manifests his ap
preciation of their excellence by the use of them
ad libitum —prefaces to chapters, to paragraphs:
and ante-preface to his principal one—a preface
minor to his preface-major.
It is not a little singular that so ingenious a
writer should have forgotten that two of the
most celebrated works extant are entirely de
void of preface. The first of these, (a very an
cient illuminated work.) is gorgeously and pro
fusely embellished with richest Arabesquerte ot
fruit, flower and foliage; full to the brim of di
vinest harmonies, it is the fountain whence have
have been drawn many a melodious sonnet,
witching legend, and plaintive ballad; the
finest landscapes glow upon its sunny pages,
which, which in addition to the rare devices and
and resplendent hues that adorn them, are also
highly perfumed, and radiant with every jewel
of which men have knowledge. Ever open,
ever fresh, ever true, it was writted by the hu
ger of God, and is called the “Book of Nature .”
The other volume which boasts no Preface, is
the HOLY BlßLE—rightly esteemed the book
of books. So obvious are these notable excep
exceptions to Southey's sweeping assertion, we
must suppose him to have had reference solely
to the works of uninspired men, thinking the
instances we have cited, unnecessary to lie men
tioned. Viewing his assertion in this light, we
can more willingly yield him our assent; and
agree that a “book is no book without a pre
face,” as a comet is no comet without a tail —in
fine, any of a thousand and one things perfect,
while lacking the last degree of perfection.
The Preface is a very ancient invention, de
fying alike the researches of Antiquaiies. and
the utmost stretch of Chronology. Before MSS.,
were prefaces; before books. Prefaces w ere:
long liefore the art of crystalizing thought and
and presenting it tangibly to the eye, had been
invented, the art of Prefacing had attained no
mean degree of excellence: nor would it be dif
ficult to imagine it coeval with words themselves.
There never yet lived, man, woman, or child,
who had not in some degree, this art: for while
the prime essential in bookmaking, the Preface
is also of great utility in the ordinary burincss of
life.
What are the self depreciations, nnd apologetic
exordiums of orators, public-sjtoakers. and lec
turers, but Prefaces to the best they have at hand
in the way of speech or lecture? What the
talk we often hear on Sunday, about fatigue, sore
throat and indisposition ? often the Preface to a
blatant eternity of dull sermon! The endear
ing epithets, adorning the first page of letters
from youths at college, to parents and guardians
at home ? Invariable Prefaces to mention of a
remittance on the last page of these truly filial
and exemplary epistles; while a delicate com
pliment to a king is the sure Preface to a peti
tion. What the long prologue of a fine lady
about increasing exjieuditures, and the growing
wants of her household ?——the kiss, the 11 itch
ing smile, the fondling and caress of many a
car a sjyosa ?—inevitable Prefaces to a demand for
pin-money. The rose-colored flatteries and fic
tions whieh men whisper in the ear of beauty ?
—honeyed, often liypocritic, Prefaces to court
ship. And white vests, veils and favors?—
fair Prefaces to matrimony. And thou blest re
cipient of liymenial sweets, what is the calm
ironic smile of the better half, but the- Preface
and precursor of a storm —a wordy war, an
epitlietie tumult, and vociferously syllabic cata
ract, pouring, if not, perchance, on thy devoted
head, still into thy persecuted ears, and
splashing thee from head to foot, with fiery ver
bal particles ! The contracting facial muscles
of thine earliest born? —what are these? Let
thy sore discomfiture attest how often thou hast
ftfflnd them lugubrious Prefaces to a squall—ruf
fling the calm .sea of content whereon thou wert
moored; and embitterrng that sweet revulsive
peace, arising out of despair suspended, which
had begun to settle down upon thee, when the
aforesaid exhausted, could no longer
pour!
Prefaces! Let no man undervalue or despise
them; let no man set small store by, or contemn
them. They smooth the path of life. They are
your true softeners of the asperities of existence.
It is by their aid we are to fleece and be fleeced, to
get and to give up—to acquire and to part with the
good things of this life. They render the world, so
ciety, manners, endurable; and by their mollify
ing," lubricating influences are we enabled to
glide not merely into bliss unspeakable, but also
into puuishment, disgrace, ignominy and exile.
What judge ever yet drew on the black cap,
without a long preliminary flourish, about the
inflexibility of justice, the impartial trial he has
secured to the poor d —l. at the bar. and his own
reluctance to do him justice—i e. hang him!
It is however of the Book-Proface, that we at
present propose to treat—that eccentric anom
aly, which, while seemingly the first layer or
foundation of the superstructure, is indeed the
cap-stone or climax of the book—the very last
thing done, ere the work is delivered over to
the printer; and occupying in book making the
same position, as the “finishing touch” in sculp
ture and painting.
It was at one time the custom with authors
to procure this delicate work at the hands of
some acknowledged genius—some temporary
lion, whose roar while accustomed to command
silence, also enforced respect—some king in let
ters whose “ipse dixit," like the head of Ca?sar
giving currency to the coin upon which it shone,
would make the book saleable if not readable.
Dr. Johnson did much of this work in his time—
an age when prefaces, title-pages, dedications,
prologues and other contrivances for winning the
favor of the public at the outset, and thus se
curing a fair start for the book, took position as
a species of literature entirely distinct from the
heavier business of book making proper. It was
hence a frequent occurrence to find three pages
of excellence leading in five hundred of twad
dle—(not an unco’ thing in our own day)—in
genuity in the Preface, and “most lame and
impotent conclusions” as the book advanced—
wit in the begining, and want of it in the pro
gress, thus securing to the purchaser a laugh on
one side or the other, for abortive witticisms are
often more provocative of a smile, than legiti
mate ones. It may be inferred therefore from what
has been hinted of the excellence and difficulty of
a Preface that it is no trivial matter; which may
be slurred over with indifference or passed con
temptuously by. It cannot be written at any
time, in any fashion, and by any pen; and those
serarn vxxx.n m xijussxbx.
infatuated persons who unvariably skip the
Preface —the entire fair sex we believe are
among that number —may now learn what trea
sures of delight, their neglect has lost them.
Cicero mentions, in a letter to Atticus, that
lie kPpt always by him, for convenient use and
reference, a collection of Prefaces: which he
seems to have esteemed as of great value, and
somewhat as articles, of rirtu, while the Italians
call them ‘the sauce of the book."
The binding of a book, its general physiog
nomy and the title-page, are doubtless of some
import, and have their influence in sending a
I took to the library or the garret. The title-page
takes precedence of the Preface in the order of
arrangement and “ Dedications ” which read by
the Dedicatee and “ Errata ” which no body
reads, save the author himself—poor fellow who
reads them, weeping, twenty times daily!)—
often encroach upon its dominion; but it is the
Preface, after all, which should decide the fate
of a book. Title-pages and turkev-morroco
may invito examination, induce a fluttering of
the’ leaves, and a cursory glance; in fine, inveigle
the readers as far into the book as the Preface,
.but it is the last which is the true criterion by
whieh the author should be judged, the test to
which he must submit, and fearful ordeal
through which he must pass. And, when
rightly written, it is the Preface which enchains
and rivets attention: which creates that thirst
audlonging which nothing short of perusal will
assuage.
Preface, as all the world knows, means the
putting, to put, or the thing put, before ; but in
the matter of books the Preface does, and does
not go before; that is to say: Though it be first
in the order of printing and binding, it is last in
the order of writing, and many an author who
has galloped over reams of foolscap, and written
Finis! in triumph, has brought up with a short
jerk and a sharp jolt, when Preface, the sine
qua non to completeness, him like a
ghostly sjiectre in the face. Now, how he
champs his pen! What drops of laboring sweat
bedew his brow!
The book is finished save the commencement.
The picture stands upon the easel; the lips are
there, and the eyes, and the color in the cheek;
but one more stroke is wanting: yet is that the fin
ishing stroke, the master-line, the breath! ’Tis but
a touch, yet of what portentous moment 1 Tis to
give the author immortality, or consign him to ob
scurity—to write his name in letters of light, or
streak his face like a harlequin’s ; make him a
bright point in the empyrean, or a fading speak
on the horizon’s verge—the centre of attraction
and cynosure of all eyes, or butt of ridicule and
fair target for sneers.
The author over his Preface is like a guest,
for the first time, at the door of a king’s banquet.
Within he hears the hum and din of greatness,
and fancy pictures to his affrighted sense, the
bewildering splendor, the embarassing ravish
ments of the novel scene. He would fain retire,
but there is no retreat. He would fain prepare
himself—gather his scattered faculties, practise
his bow, and take a turn or two in the court to
soothe his perturbed spirits; but there is no
time. The doors are about to open on him—in
a moment more he will be announced! Dolt!—
how came he there ? Why did ho not think
of this at home? If he were but *4 Mpd had a
quiet comer, he could tete-a-tete with the queen.
If he were but in, and had the enchanted circle
of listeners around him he could talk, eloquently,
divinely, sublimely. But to get in—to summon
that charmed circle about him when he hath got
in? How will he endure the boding silence
which will follow his bow?—the bow which
every eye will critically scan, and by which he
will lie measured —hailed as somebody and
courted, or written down noliody and shunned 1
What shall he say first? how much, nnd how
shall it be said? Verily this is like the first
Preface to a first book.
But now, let no verdant reader imagine that
we, having undertaken this difficult subject of
Prefaces, are about to retire in dismay from the
task. Hear! oh thou timid one, what Prefaces
are, and are not—what they ought, and ought
not to be:—
A preface should lie like the color of a melon,
which though refreshing and grateful to the eye,
is only suggestive of the sweets within; and as
the green rind of the outer, is surpassed by the
luscious, sparkling carnation of the inner melon,
so should the excellence of the book surpass
that of the preface. Y et, let the Prefacer beware
of too high a coloring: let him not exult in too
warm a tone. A splendid prelace to a mediocre
book is like a beautiful lawn, tree skirted, and
flower fringed, but ending in a hovel. The
reader's appetite must not be too sharply whet
ted, lest being raised to untoward heights of
anticipation, he should retire in disgust when
the reality eometh upon him.
How infinitely more important that the tone
should be warm enough —the whetting stop not
short of an edge. It is from the preface that
first impressions are formed —those impressions,
which, like certain doomed spots will not out;
and woe be unto that author with whom the
reader is palled at the first taste of his quality.
It is quite compatible with the requisite de
gree of coloring, to have the preface tantalizing,
curiosity-rousing, thirst-begetting. Indeed it
is for this end chiefly that the author must
strive. The preface should not be a mere in
vitation to dine; but as it were, a seating of the
guest at table, and a prevailing upon him to
taste. It is upon this principle that predatory
circus and menagerie men, treat the public to
spirited representations of the wonders to be
seen beneath their canvass, that their victims
may be led to sigh for the reality of which the
pictured scenes are but faint shadowings-forth—
the drop which wets the lip, and begets a desire
for more; and that proprietors of peep-shows,
will give an urchin the first peep gratis, well
knowing that if importunity of parent, untiring
perseverance and juvenile ingenuity can compass
it he will command the whole panorama to move
majestically before him. It behoves the author,
in like manner, to give his reader a peep behind
the curtain, not failing to drop it when he sees
in his sparkling eye the rising cravings of ap
petite. He should by no means produce his
finest wares at the outset: only a sufficiency of
them to intimate that farther on, still more pre
cious are to be expected.
A preface should never be long, (Dryden to
the contrary notwithstanding) lest the good ef
fects it begins to produce’ be afterward counter
acted. How often alas! hath prolixity upset
the work of conciseness in other matters than
prefaces. Many a sinner, on the brink of re
pentance, has been turned away by some ad
ditional word, sentence, or argument, thrown in,
perhaps, for good measure, which by,provoking
his smile, or diverting his attention, or ruffling
his prided has given another hue to his thoughts.
Mauy an iron heart, melted at last into pity,
over the letter of some poor alms-seeker, “hum
ble petitioner,” or fro ward child, hath returned
to its native ferruginousness, as the cold eye
above it lighted on an unexpected “fourth page."
Aye, and many a wooer hath lost his love, by
excess of profession—by not pausing at the gold
en moment when the unsvllabled “ yea” trem- i
bled on her lip, to be driven away by some un
lucky addendum suggesting to the maid that
coldness of heart is sometimes concealed by ex
travagance of lip. Else the luckless word may
jar upon one of those minutely delicate prejudices
peculiar to the daughters of Eve, or, by one of
those inscrutable processes of the female mind,
which men have never understood, nor ever can.
it may suddenly transmute her half uttered
affirmative into an emphatic negative —beget a
sudden dislike, an almost loathing, which the
maid cannot herself explain, it being identical
with Doctor Fell s* unpopularity with the fai/.
One word too many may change a first intention,
as a pebble will sometimes divert the cuirent of
a stream. The preliminaries of courtship may
be numerous, ample, ingenious—but when the
time comes for genuflexion, the question should
be popped—and dropped!
Let Prefaces then be brief, as should be ser
mons, and songs—editorial leaders —begging and
business letters. No man likes to sit long in
your porch: nor will any sit there patiently,
save a creditor or poor relation. The reader
shoidd lie admitted quickly as jiossible to the
penetralium, which is the book; lest haply, he
should retire in a huff—promising, it may be,
to return, but meaning thereby nothing more
than politeness. Who ever yet saw a patient
audience before a tardy curtain at play or opera ?
—a bevy of damsels waiting contentedly for the
ball to open ?—or, an urchin saying long grace
over plum-cake?
But if, from the nature of the case, the Preface
must be long, let it be also pleasaut. Napoleon
understood this,when he placed sofas and lounges
in the ante-chamber of his audience-roooin. The
long Preface should be sprightly; pleasing and
taking to the eye; stuffed, as it were, with
sweets and comfits, anil daily spiced with piq
uant phrases, and lively fresh-looking words ;
borrowing what aid it can of clean, fair type,
clearness of impression, and immaculateness of
paper; for, there is a pliisiognomy in Prefaces,
as in books and men—kine and canine ani
mals —and one may shun a Preface, as one
cuts a new acquaintance, because he likes not
his looks.
If the author be poor, out at elbow, in a
garret —if he dwell in Grub street and is wri
ting for belly and back, on no account should
he mention it; lest he thereby lessen the
clianees that rich folks will read him. As for
poor folks, none despise them so heartily as
they despise each other. A fellow feeling does
not always make us kind.
If he bo rich and writing for fame, he should
also assiduously suppress that fact. Rich folks
may seek to deny him the envious distinction
—the only advantage he hath over them which
money will not buy—and seek to keep him
down to that level, above which, wealth per se,
raises no man. Poor folks will take the men
tion of his wealth as a hint, palpable as a kick,
that he writes not for them. “ What 1 forsooth,
hath Croesus to say to them ?—how can he know
their wants? —or knowing, sympathise with
them ? So, —they may not only toss the book,
aside, but turn up their scornful noses at it, as it
lies on the floor.
It is highly essential in Prefacing to sink self,
and become nobody. Every self-complacent sen
tence, betrayal of "pride, or little vanity of au
thorship, is a handle by which the captions
and the critics may wring an author’s neck.
Far more essential is it for the author to
assert himself somebody, and that most unam
biguously. For if a man holdeth himself cheap
ly, and respect not himself, he may lie sure
that the world will never rate him above par.
If by any tremor of voice, agitation of man
ner, or ambiguity of expression, an author
should intimate that his book is less worthy
than its predecessors in the same literary walk,
he may count upon neglect for his book, and
reprehension for his folly. “Why foist his
failings upon the public?—why levy so un
just a tax upon their pockets? Why add to
the number of books, instead of to their value ?
—these things will the public surely ask.
Neither should he expect to be hereafter
eclipsed; lest the discreet, and in the matter
of book-buying the world is often most com
mendably discreet, should await the coming
book. The world was delighted with turn
pikes, till locomotives whistled them down.
Moreover, what is the use of buying up imper
fections ?
But to say or even hint, in one’s Preface,
that the book it precedes, has eclipsed all others,
never itself to be eclipsed, is an error, from
whose direful consequences, there is no es
cape. In that case the reading-world will
probably leave the happy author to quiet en
joyment of his masterpiece.
Tlio great art of Prefacing, is the great art
of success in general; and consists in preserv
ing the golden mean between extremes. A bully
and a coward are two radicals to be found in
any street rabble. ’Tis less easy to lay your
finger on the man who knows when to hold
his hand—when “’tis his cue to fight.” Like
unto him is the finished Prefacer. A Preface
should be “ done to a turn,” like an omelette
or an egg. Hence it is that the French, the most
refined of all nations, excel all others in
letting, poaching, boiling, and Prefacing. Your
English omelette, like an English steak, is in
variably a little rare; while the omelette Ameri
can, is as sure to be overdone, as are Ameri
can attentions to foreign celebrities in painting
music and patriotism.
The style of the Preface, while it may be
allowed in some measure to resemble the book,
should by no Vneans equal or excel it—as we
have previously hinted. If a gentleman’s man
ner fail to distinguish him from the footman
by whom he is announced, the gent is surely in
melancholly case.. This hint, while indicating
the correct policy, will lie found difficult of adop
tion. The graceful writer is much exercised in
humiliating his style to the needfid poverty of a
Preface; as an excellent penman finds it irk
some to imitate pot-hooks and scratches. The
fire of genius, is like the innate grace of a Diana'
or Venus; let her but sigh, or breathe, or step,
she is betrayed! It will not willingly lie en
tombed, nor dark-lanterned. ’Tis not with Sol
and Luna, as with rush-lights and tallow. You
cannot clap an extinguisher upon them ! Never
theless, the radiance of genius as of the sun and
the moon, may be chastened, and softened.
And the aufhor who can stand in his own light,
long enough to write his Preface. achieves the
highest triumph of his art.
A profusion of prefatorial explanations, such
as catalogues of impelling motives, inventories
of objects sought to be attained, and minute in
structions as to how the book must be read,
while indiscreet and cumbersome, are not spe
cially complimentary to the reader. It is sup
posed. and justly, that these matters will be ap
parent to ordinary sagacity, in the work itself.
Some attention may be given, in works of an
unusual character or of profound depth, to clear
ing the path; and if very tortuous, a brief jOut
*“ I do not like thee Doctor Fell;
The reason why I cannot tell; '
But this I know, and that full well,
I do not like thee. Doctor Fell.”
line of the route may be indicated. Perhaps no
authorial privilege, however, is more frequently
and grossly abused than this. While almost any
work can be made to speak for itself) how often
do we find the Preface an officious interpreter !
How often, using the same language with that
to be translated! Let authors beware how they
weary a gentle reader at the start. Allow him
to keep his perspiration for the journey, his shoes,
his staff, and his strength—mindful of that silly
Dutchman, who, wishing to leap one of his na
tive ditches, ran too far for a “start,” was breath
less when the dyke confronted him, and sank
jaded and fainting upon its brink.
It is a vile taste which allows an author to
point out the beauties or blemishes of his work.
Aside from the vanity, weakness and presump
tion it betrays, the task is supererogatory. Suns,
moons, stars —whether they shine in the firma
ment of a book, or that loftier one above us, shine
for themselves. If some sapient reader should
mistake Jack-o’-Lantems for stars, pray let him.
How can it harm his authorship ? Nor let any
fear that fault sufficient will not be found in his
most finished productions.
To prate of one’s lieautics, is silly. Something
must be left to the reader. It is his pleasure to
discover for himself the fine passages of a book;
to ferret out the moral, stare at the erudition, de
termine what strong points are made, what
weak ones strengthened, what in fine, the book
means, or seeks. And these should be patent
on its face. ’Tis a dull sword which must be tried
with a hair, that the world may have assurance
of its edge. ’VVofully lack-lustre must lie that
wit which shines only under a lens—which has
no inherent glitter like a diamond, flashing in the
dark. Such a book must have a dunce for its
author, and a prince for its publisher.
As regards the critics, silence is recommended
from title-page to finis, though obliviousness of
them is indiscreet. Very little is to be made
by a tilt with these gentlemen. Conciliation is
an acknowledgedment of their power for which
they are not always gratefnl. Indeed those tri
butes which are the offspring of fear seldom
come to us with a relish. Defiance is to bid
them do their worst, an injunction which they
obey with wonderful precision, and great alac
rity. Indifference, while seldom getting the
credit of sincerity, if it be genuine, is virtually to
slam the door in the face of improvement. Better
then, than bated breath, or bluster, or sto
lidity, is silence. Let the critics alone and they
will not denaturalize themselves, by brutal as
saults upon your person, your book, your ante
cedents, and grandmother; but will bo most
likely to mete out to you that justice which you
have given them no reason to withhold.
It is worthy of remembrance that critics are
among the stern necessities of that despotic
realm, misnamed “The Republic of Letters.”
They are the refiners who separate the gold
from the dross; the assayers, who, after the
smelting, weighing, and testing, pronounce upon
the fineness of each golden ingot, and prescribe
the number of its carats —as, brushing away
the refuse, they toss the precious fragments to a
waiting worid. They are cocks of the walk,
who’ strip the jackdaw of his borrowed
plumes, and turn him into the world, naked and
justly disgraced; the Detective Police who run
down literary Peter Funks and bring them be
fore the Mayor, to be calaboosed and condemned:
the lapidaries but for whose labors we should
have none but rough diamonds; but for whose
acuteness and stern sincerity, paste would be
shining in triumph, and green glass vaunting
itself emeraldic 1 How much should true au
thors —real diamond-merchants be indebted to
them 1
If any innocent scribe should imagine the
critics to lie barking dogs merely, let him change
his opinion in time. That they will bite, many
a fool-hardy scribbler who has provoked them
can testify. Upon such an one, who hath pro
voked and been bitten, Coroners have passed
various verdicts—sometimes that of “ died of a
broken heart ” —but the Doctors knew that be
fore the broken heart there was the super
inducement of a bite. Their verdict conse
quently, despite the Coroner, has been Hydro
phobia. In view of all which, oh my brother,
ye author, think what thou wilt of the critics
but say naught of, to, or about them; choose to
think them bloodthirsty, cruel, rapacious, but
also choose to be silent, and keep thy own coun
sel, noting well what they say of thee, that it
may do for thee what it never was intended to
do—assist thee. Some critics have some sense—
thou dost not know all things. Verbum sop!
It is interesting and curious, and would be
amusing, were it not often saddening, to note the
great variety of preface to be found in books;
and observe how fear, hope, interest, modesty,
egotism, magnanimity, bitterness, have lent their
hue to the preface, and betrayed the mood in
which it was penned. Some of these, let us
glance at : First, there is the not uncommon.
Preface Pusillanimous, in which the author
comes out with drooping head, limbs a-quiver,
features long—a condemned criminal before trial.
Self-upbraidment seems his forte: Peccavi is his
first word ; and while pleading the pardon of the
public, he plays the toad}' to the critics. These
gentlemen, he hopes, will not notice him. He
is not worthy such condescension. ’Tis not their
praise lie desires —[there is nothing on earth for
which he so ardently longs] no, no! He does not
even want to arrest their attention. If they will
but allow his “humble little offering” to pass
unchallenged, he will be infinitely obliged, and
will bless them every one. As for criticism he
would by no means undervalue it; but he is per
suaded their highnesses, the critics, will not stoop
to assail his little venture, which is really be
neath their august attention, and by no means
intended to attract their notice. Finally, he
throws himself upon the public generosity, and
retires to chuckle over his success. This craven
has adopted as a cardinal rule, a saying of the
Great Bear, (Dr. Sam. Johnson) dropped at a time
when he was growling, (as he admits, he often
did) not for truth, but for victory—which saying
is to the effect that ‘mo man but a fool ever
wrote, except for money ;” as arrant a figment
as that other saying of his, that “a man is a
scoundrel who is afraid of anything,” which is
contradicted by a sweet singer, who tells us that
a certain fear which he names, is the “beginning
of wisdom.” There is no counterfeit more easy
of detection than counterfeit novelty—no distinc
tion more obvious than between true humility
and lick-spittleism. Our whiner, therefore, no
sooner ceases whining over his imperfections,
than he is made to whine over critical assent there
to. As when a dog sticks his tail between his
legs, and will not show even the semblance of a
“front,” the whole pack, cowards and all, mount
him straight, so our smooth apologist is at once
beset. The public treat him coolly, while the
critics, made furious by so transparent an at
tempt to sneak the gauntlet, belabor him with
zealous good will, and dismiss him with a sting
ing paragraph endorsory of his own estimate of
his labors.
The Preface Stoical. The Stoic author is the
most sensitive of his tribe. Extremes meet, and
the Stoic, though seemingly callous and unflinch
ing. is no sooner probed than he betrays the
exceeding thinness of his skin.. Dearly do the
critics love this vaaunted, invulnerable target;
nor is it long, ere they find the AchiUian heel. The
world, when a man a man sets up to be marble,
love to pinch him, and prove him not marble, in
deed only the shrinking flesh of poor humanity.
Byfon affected the stoic ; and ‘‘deceived some.”
But his withering blast against ‘‘My Grandmoth
er's Review,” will forever show how keenly even
a stoic may feel; how the arrow rankles and
festers iif the most obdurate flesh. [And yet,
to turn aside here fora moment, how void of all
true feeling was that proud, cold man; what an
insight into his heart is afforded by that very ti
tle, “My Grandmother's Review; and how little
must the good woman have been loved by
this scomer of the good, before he could thus
have put her name to a work that he despised.
Charity may hope, and will hope, that he gave
way to custom, and was thoughtless in his
christening. But not to lose the point, how
heartless must be the sett, clan, and age, which
must goto its Grandmother’s silvery head, for an
epithet of scorn !]
No man, we resume, is so difficult to sympa
thize with as the stoic. Diogenes and his tub
have found but few imitators. The world has
no fancy for the ism, and, ever chary with its
sympathies, is sure to withhold them from the
man who seems in no need, and moreover de
clares himself not needy.
The Preface Braggadocio—is from the pen of
an author on excellent terms with himself. He
flaunts his leaves in the face of the critics—
challenges them to produce as good—defies them
to despoil them—cares not a groat for public
opinion, and thinks the world, not he, will be
the loser, should his book be neglected. The
literary bully is as great a coward as the bully
of any other class; and though he concludes his
Preface with brave flourish of trumpet, you may
see the nod of the “ white feather,” in the affect
edly humorous vein in which he makes his
boasts and fulminates his threats. If taken as
bona fide, well; if not, ’tis only a joke. The
public are sometimes gulled by this blusterer.
Taking him for what he seems, or as a very
good fellow at bottom, they may buy and read
him. But the critics are not to be caught with
chaff. They say nothing perhaps of the defiant
Preface, but the braggart knows as he gulps
their bitter pill, that his vauntings have been
read, and his challenge been accepted.
The Preface Apologetic—and very apologetic
it is. The author regrets that he has not had
time to do himself justice: that helms not had
■ the necessary material or the proper appliances
with which to ensure success; the triteness of
the subject or its novelty : ho has been diverted
from his work by other cares, and could only
devote to it an odd momemt when business left
him free: his style is less smooth than he could
have wished; he has not had a sight of the
proofs; the book has been put to press in great
haste ; he has not had an opportunity to consult
a new work on the same subject, or found it im
possible to procure an old one on account of its
rarity; he has necessarily been indebted to
this author and that for his principal data : he
does not hope to be compared with other au
thors on kindred subjects, Ac., Ac., Ac., Tims
does he, with apologetic palaver, strive to forestall
every possible objection which can be brought
against him; not forgetting to flatter himself in
due season, that his work will prove a not unac
aeeeptable contribution to that branch of science
or literature whose study has ever been his
chief delight; nor to hope that the arduous diffi
; eulties to lie surmounted, have not wholly tri
! umphed over his efforts.
I The Preface Disinterested —wishes in a vol
ume which would never have been printed but
for the earnest solicitations of friends whose su
perior judgment, and perhaps too kind opinions,
the author did not fe*l at liberty to disregard.
Often it was not intended for the public eye at
all. and consequently was not penned with def
erence to the popular taste. Sometimes it was
written to meet an exigency and servo a good
cause which the author discovered to need sup
port, and therefore came to the rescue in time;
or it was deemed proper to fill some gap which
the whole world of authors had hitherto strangely
neglected. A desire to accumulate either money
or fame is warmly disclaimed by the disinter
ested aflthor, who concludes with the nobly gen
erous declaration that if a single misguided in
dividual shall, from perusal of his book, see the
error of his way, he, the author, will be abun
dantly rewarded—an inducement which seems
somewhat feeble to those who know from sad
experience that book-making is not a pastime;
an inducement in fact which seems entirely in
adequate to the production of a volume of even
two or three hundred pages.
The Preface Negative, next claims our atten
tion—whose author is at great pains to tell us
what he might have done, but did not do; he
points out the errors he has escaped, and the
useless labors ho has avoided; mentions sun
dry points which he refused to clothe with ob
scurity, and sundry others which he refrained
from, lest he should insult the intelligence of
his readers, Ac. So assiduous is ho to make it
appear what he has not done, the reader often
feels anxious to know what he has done—a de
sire not always gratified either in preface or
book.
The Preface jocose—is the product of a dis
mal pen— very often : it being the nature of most
men to attempt that for which they are unfitted,
and wish fir that which they do not possess.
This gentleman’s first pass, as he comes upon
the stage, is, to beguile his auditory into a good
humor. Accordingly he puts on tho merry fel
low, assumetli great honhomnie, and intimates
that he will improve on acquaintance. He chats
familiarly with his reader, hobnobs with him
sociably, cracks a joke or two about those poor
devils, the authors—their garret, brown bread,
and rags; and concludes with a friendly con
signment of his work to the reader, hoping it
may shorten some long face, give some one a
stitch in the side, or beguile some one’s tedious
hours, not forgetting as he retires, to give his
reader a punch in the ribs, as he advises him to
turn to the mutton; and so with a jocose squeak
exit the jocose author. So some stale jester
when his jokes wear threadbare, gives them new
point by a cackle at the end, which he hopes
may prove infectious. .
The Preface Confidential—perhaps we should
cdll it the Preface Exclusive. Its author writes
only for a class, which class he mentions con
fidentially includeth himself, and you, reader,
whoever you may be. He does not write for
the mob—the rift-raifi, tho rabble, the cold and
heartless, not he. He confides this fact to the
reader; and though he has no eartlily means of
ascertaining who that reader may be, he never
theless takes upon trust all who may see his
book, and assures them, they are those for
whom he writes—the not cold, not heartless—
not one of the riff-raff nor rabble. He is confi
dent that a proper understanding between him
self and the reader will not be wanting, and as
for the rest of the world, he cares nothing. And
why should he ? To him there is no rest of the
world, since to whoever picks up his book, he
gives his confidence.
Many other Prefaces would we like to dis-