Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1839, in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York. PREFACE. THE story contained in the following pages, is the work of one who now ventures, for the first time, to appear before the public in the character of an author, or, perhaps he should rather say, as the writer of a book; for he has repeatedly seen himself in print in our popular magazines, among the swarm of authorlings whose productions, or at least a majority of them, a single wave in the stream of time is sufficient to sweep into the sea of oblivion. In thus whispering, as it were, in my readers' ears, previously to their entering upon the task of perusing this work, I design neither to solicit their favour, nor to ward off the critic's censure, by any effort to render him kindly disposed towards me. It is customary for an author to say something by way of introduction, and it is only in compliance with the "usages of the party” that I make these few remarks. In saying that I shall not attempt to produce a friendly feeling in my behalf, I do not mean to insinuate that I am indifferent as to what may be the fate of this my first bantling: far from it. I shall watch its progress with the anxiety experienced by the speculator, who launches his carrier-pigeon, and sees it cleave the air on its homeward passage, bearing news that may set him in a palace or consign him to a prison, according to the issue of his adventure. Should this story fail to interest those who may honour it with a perusal, I shall be sorry both on their account and my own; while, on the other hand, if it should be well received by the public, and pass the ordeal of criticism unsinged, it would be affectation to deny that such a result would afford me the highest pleasure. It would be unnecessary to declare, that I, at least, have a tolerably fair opinion of this production, with all its defects (for what parent does not imagine its own bairn to be the smartest and prettiest he has ever seen?); yet I confess that its success would be to me, no less a matter of astonisment than of satisfaction. I can say, in the language of La Bruyère, "Si on ne goute point ces Caractères, Je m'en etonne ; I have observed that this is my first novel. The judicious critic will, doebtless, perceive that such an announcement is superfluous, seeing that the numerous faults in which the work abounds, render it quite apparent that I am yet but a mere tyro in the difficult art of story-telling. Should he make such a discovery (and if he do not, I could almost bid him go and learn his trade), I sincerely hope that, for my sake, he will wipe his lorgnette, and endeavour to ascertain if there be anything good among so much that he may call bad; carrying to my credit, as a merchant would say, the sum of genuine coin that he may chance to find in my heap of baser metal. When the balance is struck -to continue the mercantile simile-I shall be able to decide whether I have sufficient character and means to justify my pursuing the vocation; or whether, like a bankrupt trader, I should close my doors, pay what I can in the pound, and withdraw from a business which neither capacity nor capital will allow me to follow. With these remarks I take leave of the reader, simply requesting him to bear in mind the following quotation from one of Horace's epistles: "Si te forte mea gravis uret sarcina charta, Abjicito." New-York, May, 1839. THE AUTHOR. |