 | Redwood |  |
PREFACE.
The multiplication of books is the
cause of much complaint, and it must
be conceded that the inconvenience is
not trivial to those who are, or suppose
themselves, under an obligation to pay
some attention to the current literature
of the day. When however the matter
is duly considered, it will be found that
this inconvenience, like most others, is
not an unmixed evil, but productive of
many advantages. It is not a conclusive
objection to a new book, that there are
unread. The elements of human
nature and human society remain the
same, but their forms and combinations
are changing at every moment, and
nothing can be more different than the
appearances and effects produced by the
same original principles of human nature
as exhibited in different countries, or
at different periods of time in the same
country.
As times and manners change, it must
be evident that attempts to describe
them must be as constantly renewed and
diversified. We are aware that apprehensions
are entertained by many intelligent
persons, that the stores of wisdom
and knowledge which have been collected
by our predecessors, will be neglected
and forgotten through an insatiable
appetite for novelty: but we think
too far. The acquisitions of knowledge,
wisdom, or even wit, once made, are
rarely lost, except by some of those great
changes which, for the time, subvert the
foundations of society. The original
fountains may be remote and unknown;
but the river laves our fields, and passes
by to diffuse its treasures among other
regions; and even if its waters are lost
to our sight by evaporation, they descend
again in showers to embellish and
fructify the earth in a thousand forms.
Just so it is with intellectual treasures.
Very few persons now read the works
of Aristotle, and not many those of
Bacon: but the wisdom which they first
taught, or perhaps collected, is now
spread far and wide by numerous modes
of diffusion, and is incorporated into the
minds of thousands who know nothing of
its origin: and we may even remark
that one cannot turn over the pages of
newspaper, without meeting embodied
in narratives of the incidents of
the day, the essence of the same jokes
which nearly two thousand years ago
Cicero related for the amusement of his
patrician friends.
We have suggested these reflections
with the double view of reconciling the
lovers of former excellence to the invariable
course of things, which ever
did, and ever must, offer the present to
our view in great magnitude and strong
relief, and gather over the past the constantly
increasing clouds of obscurity.
There have been in ages past, and we
trust there will be in future, individuals
whose productions in spite of all changes
of time and language, will command
attention and respect; but the course of
things nevertheless has been, that as
society has advanced, each generation
has drawn more and more upon its own
amusement and instruction.
If any doubt the propriety of these
remarks as being applicable to the general
course of knowledge and literature,
they may yet be disposed to admit their
justice so far as they relate to fictitious
narrative. It is the peculiar province of
that department to denote the passing
character and manners of the present
time and place. There is but one individual
(whom it would be affectation to
call unknown) who has had eminent success
in the delineations of former periods,
or what is called historical romance.
“The folly of the moment” must be
caught “as it flies.”
The attractions of novelty are too
numerous and too evident to require
argument or detail for their elucidation.
Every one knows that new books, and
especially new novels, will be sought
for and read, while those of more ancient
date are disregarded. Many read them
they do not come in competition with
any other description of reading, but
are merely suffered to seize on a vacant
hour which might otherwise be less profitably
employed.
We have dwelt at so much length
and with so much complacency on the
advantages and merits of novelty, because
we are sure that our production
will have that recommendation, and we
are not sure that it will have any other
—it certainly will be the last new
novel.
There are, however, some other considerations
which have contributed to
overcome our reluctance to appear before
the public. The love and habit of
reading have become so extensive in this
country, and the tastes and wants of
readers so various, that we cannot but
indulge the hope that there will be
found some who will derive amusement
if not instruction from our humble
claim the negative merit often ascribed
to simples—that if they can do no good,
they will do no harm.
A few words will be sufficient to indicate
the design of these volumes. We
have not composed a tale professedly or
chiefly of a religious nature, as if left
to the bias of our own inclination, we
might possibly have done. We do not
think that such attempts have heretofore
been eminently successful; or that narrative
sermons are of a nature to be
particularly interesting. Still we are
conscious that the religious principle,
with all its attendant doubts, hopes,
fears, enthusiasm, and hypocrisy, is a
mighty agent in moulding human character,
and it may therefore, with propriety,
find a place in a work whose
object it is to delineate that character.
It is a principle of action more permanent
and more universal than the affection
fictitious representations of human life,
there can be no reason why the greater
should be excluded by the less. On
these impressions we have acted. We
do not anticipate splendid success, but
we are sure that we cannot be deprived
of the consolation of having intended
well. It will be an ample reward if we
can believe that we have been able by
our trivial labours to co-operate in any
degree with the efforts of the good and
great, “to give ardour to virtue, and
confidence to truth.” Our anxiety is
only for the great truths of our common
religion, not for any of its subdivisions.
The sketch which has been introduced
of the society of Shakers was drawn
from personal observation. It would
have been withheld if we could have
supposed that it would wound the feelings
even of a single individual of that
obscure sect. But against this there is
is deemed just, and it is hoped would
not be thought offensive; and, besides,
there is little danger that these light
volumes will ever find their way into a
sanctuary from whose pale the frivolous
amusements and profane literature of
the “world's people” are carefully excluded.
Whenever the course of our narrative
has thrown opportunities to our
way, we have attempted some sketches
of the character and manners of the
people of this country. We have done
this with all faithfulness of purpose. If
we have failed, we trust the failure will
be ascribed, as it ought—to defect of
capacity. We live in a country which
is beyond parallel, free, happy, and
abundant. As such we would describe
it—but no Arcadia, for we have found
none.
We have indeed little sympathy with
that narrow-minded patriotism which
Our republicanism is founded on a broad
and general principle, which is opposed
to all coronations. We cannot, therefore,
unite in hailing our country the
“Queen of the earth:” and our religion
is too catholic to permit us to claim for
her the exclusive title of “Child of the
skies:” but we have a deep and heartfelt
pride—thank heaven a just pride—
in the increasing intelligence, the improving
virtue, and the rising greatness
of our country. There is something
which more excites the imagination and
interests the affections in expanding
energy and rapid improvement, than
even in perfection itself, were that attainable
on this earth; and therefore we
will ask, what country there is, or has
been, whose progress towards greatness
has been in any degree correspondent
with our own? Our change is so rapid
that the future presses on our vision, and
we enjoy it now. We heed not the
boasters.” The future lives in
the present. What we are, we owe to
our ancestors, and what our posterity
will be, they will owe to us.
| Redwood | |