University of Virginia Library

THE
EPISTLE DEDICATORY.

I dedicate this little book to thee with
many fears and misgivings of heart. Being
a stranger to thee, and having never administered
to thy wants nor to thy pleasures, I can
ask nothing at thy hands, saving the common
courtesies of life. Perchance, too, what I
have written will be little to thy taste;—for it
is little in accordance with the stirring spirit of
the present age. If se, I crave thy forbearance

for having thought, that even the busiest
mind might not be a stranger to those moments
of repose, when the clock of time clicks drowsily
behind the door, and trifles become the
amusement of the wise and great.

Besides, what perils await the adventurous
author, who launches forth into the uncertain
current of public favor in so frail a bark as
this! The very rocking of the tide may overset
him; or peradventure some freebooting
critic, prowling about the great ocean of letters,
may descry his strange colors,—hail him
through a gray goose-quill, and perhaps sink
him without ceremony. Indeed, the success of
an unknown author is as uncertain as the wind.
“When a book is first to appear in the world,”
says a celebrated French writer, “one knows
not whom to consult to learn its destiny. The
stars preside not over its nativity. Their influences
have no operation on it; and the most
confident astrologers dare not foretell the diverse
risks of fortune it must run.”

It is from such considerations, Worthy
Reader, that I would fain bespeak thy friendly
offices at the outset. But in asking these, I

would not forestall thy good opinion too far,
lest in the sequel I should disappoint thy kind
wishes. I ask only a welcome and god-speed;
hoping, that when thou hast read these pages,
thou wilt say to me in the words of Nick Bottom,
the weaver, “I shall desire you of more
acquaintance, good master Cobweb.”