University of Virginia Library

PREFACE.

THIS book is neither more, nor less than it pretends
to be; it is a collection of those floating Reveries
which have, from time to time, drifted across my
brain. I never yet met with a bachelor who had not
his share of just such floating visions; and the only
difference between us lies in the fact, that I have
tossed them from me in the shape of a Book.

If they had been worked over with more unity of
design, I dare say I might have made a respectable
novel; as it is, I have chosen the honester way of
setting them down as they came seething from my
thought, with all their crudities and contrasts, uncovered.

As for the truth; that is in them, the world may
believe what it likes; for having written to humor the
world, it would be hard, if I should curtail any of its
privileges of judgment. I should think there was as
much truth in them, as in most Reveries.

The first story of the book has already had some
publicity; and the criticisms upon it have amused,
and pleased me. One honest journalist avows that it
could never have been written by a bachelor. I
thank him for thinking so well of me; and heartily
wish that his thought were as true, as it is kind.

Yet I am inclined to think that bachelors are the
only safe, and secure observers of all the phases of
married life. The rest of the world have their hobbies;
and by law, as well as by immemorial custom
are reckoned unfair witnesses in everything relating
to their matrimonial affairs.

Perhaps I ought however to make an exception in
favor of spinsters, who like us, are independent spectators,
and possess just that kind of indifference to
the marital state, which makes them intrepid in their
observations, and very desirable for-authorities.

As for the style of the book, I have nothing to say
for it, except to refer to my title. These are not
sermons, nor essays, nor criticisms;—they are only
Reveries. And if the reader should stumble upon
occasional magniloquence, or be worried with a little
too much of sentiment, pray, let him remember,—
that I am dreaming.

But while I say this, in the hope of nicking off the
wiry edge of my reader's judgment, I shall yet stand
up boldly for the general tone, and character of the
book. If there is bad feeling in it, or insincerity, or
shallow sentiment, or any foolish depth of affection
betrayed,—I am responsible; and the critics may
expose it to their hearts' content.

I have moreover a kindly feeling for these Reveries,
from their very private character; they consist
mainly of just such whimseys, and reflections, as a
great many brother bachelors are apt to indulge in,
but which they are too cautious, or too prudent to lay
before the world. As I have in this matter, shown a
frankness, and naiveté which are unusual, I shall ask
a corresponding frankness in my reader; and I can
assure him safely that this is eminently one of those

books which were `never intended for publication.'

In the hope that this plain avowal may quicken the
reader's charity, and screen me from cruel judgment,

I remain, with sincere good wishes,