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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-