ON THE THRESHOLD.

No book at the present day is fully rounded out to the satisfaction of those who peruse it, unless it be capped with, at least, the shadow of a Preface. Deprived of this finial, the most attractive work is likely to be regarded as but a handsome church without a spire, or a warrior bereft of his helmet. The Italians term this la salso del libro, - the sauce of the book, and if well seasoned, it doubtless, as D'Israeli observes, creates an appetite in the reader to devour the tome itself. And yet it is often tendered by its composer, with fear and trembling, for in our day readers are quick to jump at conclusions. The most eloquent grace will hardly make a poor dinner palatable; the liveliest prologue will fail to save a tiresome play; the most spirited preamble will not make up for dreary and insipid resolutions. Thus, however vigorous the craving that the sauce may excite, it soon palls over windy meats and the heavy concoctions of an unskillful cook.

And after all, what is a Preface? It is a literary chameleon, and changes its hue according to the situation. There with the crafty writer beguiles his readers into the belief that something is coming, when he knows that only emptiness will appear when the cover is raised. The enthusiastic Dryasdust employs it to bring forward vast masses of antiquarian lore, like the impedimenta of an army, which cannot be received into the ranks without fatally obstructing its progress. With the timorous, it is a conciliatory puff, designed to forestall public opinion and deprecate the harshness of criticism. Often it is a verbal will-o'-the-wisp that will lead one deeper and deeper into the bog, till further progress is barred by the gulf of vacancy. It may be a trap for the weak; a brilliant soap-bubble to tantalize the foolish; a penitent confession to gain the sympathy of the world; a lofty assumption of superiority; a guide-board; an epitaph; a eulogy; a requiem at times it is only the "Cave canem" at the door of the kennel. What it really is, depends upon circumstances. Hence, in our day, but little confidence is for the most part reposed in its professions, however winning to the eye. The great majority of readers skip nimbly over it; tritely reflecting that the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and

not in the glistening eyes, the smacking lips, and the incipient clatter of knives and forks which herald its approach.

It was for these reasons, with others, that I decided to send this somewhat slender sapling into the world without a Preface, and depending solely on such attractions as might be found lying perdu within its covers. To the above remarks I will, therefore, simply add, that the volume consists of desultory sketches, and essays upon numerous subjects that took my fancy during a long foreign tour. It is not, either in size or significance," so deep as a well, or so wide as a church-door; but 't is enough; 't will serve" my object, certainly, which was quite as much my own entertainment, as that of any possible readers. Having undergone a wide experience during the last two years as European correspondent of the "Boston Post," I have been encouraged by the reception of my letters to offer the public some further results of foreign travel. They have been prepared with care and a genuine desire to aid the popular improvement. I have, in many parts, employed the present tense, both because it gives more life to the narration, and because the events described have so lately taken place, that they can hardly yet be said to belong to the past, at

least they have scarcely receded into the domain of history. Though the leading title of the book is "The Great Exhibition," I may here say that it does not profess to give a general or complete account of that wonderful industrial pageant. The pages devoted thereto contain but fugitive and random chronicles of some of its more peculiar aspects, which I hope will be regarded only in that light. It will be noticed, that in many places I have made use of passages and expressions from other authors to convey my meaning. These are not always designated by marks of quotation, partly because they would too often disfigure the printer's handiwork, partly because those extracts are so well known to most readers, that no peculation prepense could well be imputed to me. To those who are not familiar with them, the presence or absence of their literary car-marks would signify but little.

Commending this volume to the indulgence of its well-wishers, I leave it to them. Whether these preliminary words shall serve as the flourish of trumpets to announce a victory, or, like flying Mamelukes, to cover a retreat with clouds of glittering dust, the author will have the satisfaction of knowing that he has done what he could to carry day. The natural vanity of every writer prompts

the

him to say boldly, "I look with pleasure on my book, however defective, and deliver it to the world with the spirit of a man that has endeavored well." Should no other merits appear, the most hypercritical may safely admit that the tenor of the motto on the title-page has been followed. Having performed my task, to say the least, conscientiously, I am prepared to receive either the congratulations, or the melancholy sympathy, of my friends with equal · aplomb.

With the example of Cicero before me, I feel that I may, in conclusion, be allowed a solitary pun, without exciting too severely the popular execration, and those who reach the end of the book, if they discover nothing else, will, at all events, perceive that "Finis coronat opus.'