 | Prismatics |  |
PREFACE.
A PREFACE is a happy medium between the author and the public.
It is usually apologetic too, and therefore modest—like a veil; I will
not say how transparent.
Gentle Reader,—
I do not pretend to exhibit truth, clear and pellucid, but
rather, as the title indicates, tinctured with imperfections.
Life is many-hued,—
Stains the white radiance of Eternity.”
The purest are not immaculate; the impure, though double-dyed
with guilt, have some tinge of humanity—some obscured indication
of divine origin; we are all more or less prismatic.
If there be one earnest, honest purpose beneath the strata of
condition of two classes—the rich and the poor. Perhaps the
reader will discover some hints tending toward this vital subject, in
the volume before him. If so I am rewarded. What if I fail?
Other minds, more comprehensive, will succeed.
Servile prejudices, political and conventional, are gaining ground
in our larger cities. Young America does not promise to represent
the noble estate purchased for him by the blood of the Revolution.
Instead of that sense of independence which befits the spirit of his
age and race; instead of cultivating what is manly and dignified;
instead of making himself familiar with letters and the arts; and
the political history of this, the greatest of republics; he is daily
becoming more emasculate; less fitted to bear a part either as citizen,
merchant, or legislator.
This is not said or meant unkindly; it is not a satire levelled at
a particular class; the subject is too serious; at once too high,
and too low for ridicule. But is it not true? Is there not
something better worth the attention of young men about town
than acquiring a taste for petty bijouteries; extravagance, and the
means of gratifying it; parading, like lackeys in the cast-off habits
of men of fashion, gaining from the society of the gentler sex not
even teh forms of polite courtesy, and indulging in a vocabulary of
slang phrases, which indicate any thing but the man of refinement,
of education; in fact, the gentleman?
As to the other class, for whom, happily here, the portals of universal
education stand wide open, there is greater hope; thank
than that which obtains among their denationalized cotemporaries.
I will endeavour to illustrate with
A Fable.
A diamond fell among the grass, and when the morning came,
behold! around it innumerable dew-drops, sparkling with iridescent
light. Then scornfully it spake, being touched with envy, and said,
“Vainly ye glitter and please the eye of the beholder, while I lie
here unnoticed; a brief hour, and ye will vanish from the earth,
but ages shall roll over me without diminishing my lustre.” Then
a low voice arose from the starry multitude: “Unhappy one! admired
as thou art, wouldst thou still disparage the lowly and the
unoffending? Dost thou not grace the crown of the monarch and
stud the sceptre of empire? Dost thou not encircle the white arms
of queens, and repose upon the bosom of haughty loveliness? Yet,
not content with thy lofty station, thou desirest to show thy contempt
of those who have injured not thee. Know then, since thou hast
sought it, the difference between us. Thou art brought forth
with stripes and the unrequited labor of the slave; we descend from
heaven that the children of men may have respite and sustenance.
Thou art the minister of crime, of cruel war, and oppression; but
prosperity and peace are the followers of our footsteps. Where
thou art is pride, envy, and covetousness. Where we are, the voice
of thankfulness arises from universal nature. Whether in the mine
pavilion of the sun, and build the tinted arch of the rainbow.”
Then the breath of the morning came, and the dew-drops were
exhaled to heaven, but the share of the peasant turned the clods
upon the diamond, and he trod it under foot, and passed on.
So much for the pervading hue of prismatics; there are others
less evident; some of which let me explain.
Americans are said to be the most thin-skinned people in the
world: by way of a test, the articles on the habits of Irishmen and
Scotchmen were written. I hope the motive will not be misunderstood;
I could not afford to lose one of the many I claim as
friends who represent either nation, by any ill-timed levity, that
might be misinterpreted. But if by chance I do manage to excite
a little of that feeling in others which is said to be peculiar to
my own countrymen, I may, emboldened by success, publish a geography,
with the habits of Englishmen, Frenchmen, etc., enriched
with illustrations.
I was informed, some years after the story of the “Last Picture”
had been published in the Knickerbocker Magazine, that it, or something
like it, was to be found in “The Disowned,” by Bulwer, a
novel I have never read. Still I concluded to republish it, as it was
told me, by an old lady, when I was a boy. She came from Cumberland,
in the north of England; she had seen the picture and
there is no doubt of the story being authentic.
I would be wanting in gratitude if I neglected to acknowledge
illustrated this volume. It was a voluntary offer on their part; but
for their suggestions it might, perhaps, never have been printed.
In conclusion, I trust, these essays, which have afforded me so
much enjoyment and employment in long winter evenings, when
other duties were finished, will not be entirely disregarded; not for
my sake, but for the sake of all who feel, and all who need sympathy.
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