A CHAPTER ON PREFACES.

I always read the Preface of a book. The most frequently unread portion of a work; it is yet generally as curious and interesting as any. Often instructive, it as often is calculated to afford food for serious reflection. Sometimes we have touching stories of the sorrows and trials, or encouragements and rewards, of authors-such as deserve to be classed among the curiosities of literature. An author's own estimate of his task is generally to be found there recorded, while his fears or his hopes are perpetuated. Sometimes the favor of an indulgent public is humbly craved; at others, it is utterly disregarded. Sometimes the writer throws himself upon the merey of the critics; at others he breathes defiance. Some prefaces give a little history of the book to the time of publication. Some are meant to confirm and establish the principles advocated, and to defend the course adopted by the author. Very rarely a preface is wanting. Formerly it was common to have, beside the preface, a Dedication-not your smooth and polished one of modern times, in length and style much like an epitaph-but a long and elaborate essay: the dedication of his "Institutes" to Francis, King of France, by Calvin, is a remarkable example which finds its counterpart in some respects in Barclay's dedication of his "Apology for the Quakers" to Charles II. Besides preface and dedication, there were "The Printer to the Reader;" "Recommendations and Eulogies" of the Author and his work. Time would fail to describe all the varieties and peculiarities of these compositions, but the reader is presented with an extract or two, as specimens, from curious and uncommon books published many years ago.

Here is an old book printed in black letter with many abbreviations and contractions: it is bound in oak boards covered with leather. Open its clasps. Its very title-page is a curiosity-two short lines in a gothic-looking character, with contractions: Boetius de disciplina, scholarium, cum notabili commento'; and the date on the last page A. D. 1500, August 18. The preface thus begins:

"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.' These words are written in the first of Canticles. Their occasion and sense according to some is this:-Solomon wished to marry

Pharaoh's daughter, and sent messengers to her. When they arrived, she asked

666 'Who is your master ?'

"The messengers replied 'Our master is king of kings, lord of lords, the king of glory, and the king of peace.'

"She said, 'Is he also beautiful?'

"They answered, 'Sun and moon admire his beauty.' "She asked again, 'Is he rich ?'

"The messengers replied, 'Glory and riches are in his house." "Then she, 'Is he also powerful?'

"The messengers, 'His power is from sea to sea.'

"When she heard these things, she said, 'Let your master come and kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.'

"The words thus introduced may be applied to our purpose in this way, for that most opulent queen herself, even Wisdom, makes enquiries of every student to whom she speaks after this manner: Let him kiss me, &c.' Ere she does this, she asks first, 'Who is your master?' i. e. 'Who is the student? is he good or bad? If good, let him kiss me, and I will lead him into my wine-cellar: but if bad, let him be far from me, for wisdom will not enter an evil disposed mind.'

"She asks moreover, 'Is he also rich and powerful? or is he poor and feeble?' If powerful and rich, let him come to me: If poor and feeble, let him be far from me, for it is better for a poor man to seek for wealth than philosophy.'

"Further, she asks, 'Is he also beautiful?' i. e. whether the student be handsome and well-proportioned, or ugly. "If handsome, let him come to me; if ugly, let him retire far from me,' as Boetius persuades below respecting the son of Timorreus, &c."

This is curious; but here is another, also from the Latin, printed in common type, but much contracted "Seneca on the Four Cardinal Virtues." The date of the book also at the end is "A. D. 1506, in the month of May." The preface runs thus"Seneca of Cordova, philosopher, a very learned man, a disciple of Stratinus the Stoic at Rome, the uncle of Lucan the poet, flourished at Rome in the time of the Emperor Nero, whose preceptor he was. In his time the glorious Apostles Peter and Paul preached at Rome.

"Now Seneca was a man of honorable life, of great modera

tion, of accomplished manners, and of moderate indulgence. When therefore Seneca and many of the household of Cæsar flocked to Paul, he was on more familiar terms than others with the blessed Paul for the divine knowledge which he saw in him, so that he would scarcely refrain himself from his company, and when he could not personally converse with him, he enjoyed his friendly intercourse by the frequent interchange of letters. He also read Paul's writings before Cæsar, and made him welldisposed towards him in all things. The senate also entertained a high opinion of Paul.

"This Seneca was most continent of life; the blessed Jerome reckons him in the catalogue of the saints, led to it by the epistles which remain from Paul to him, and from him to Paul. "Two years before Peter and Paul were crowned with martyrdom, he was put to death by Nero. For one day when Nero saw him he remembered the chastisement which as a boy he had received from him, and fell in a rage. As if to be revenged on him for some crime, he ordered him to choose what kind of death he would. Seneca thinking it an easy death to die in a bath, chose it, and had a vein opened in each arm, &c."

From these two prefaces alone, a chapter might be written upon monkish legends and what are paradoxically called "pious frauds." There is no historical truth in the story here about Solomon and Pharaoh's daughter; and just as much in that about Seneca and his intimacy with Paul, the epistles being evidently a forgery, though in all probability Seneca had as good a right to the title of saint as many whose names are in the calendar.

The preface to the "Defensio Regia" of Salmasius is an unequalled specimen for violence of language. It was this book which summoned John Milton to a fresh exertion of his wonderful powers.

Passing over many remarkable prefaces, that of Dr. Johnson to his English Dictionary may be named as containing some characteristic expressions of that remarkable man.

But let all who would do justice to an author and to his subject not fail to read the preface, whether long or short, grave or gay, and I promise an amount of profit from the volume itself, greater than in most cases would otherwise be realized. B. H. C.

WISDOM BY THE WAYSIDE.

Mr. Young. Well, boys! here's a fine afternoon.
Albert. O do, sir, give us a half-holiday?

Harold. Do, sir, do?

Mr. Young. What say you, Willie?

Willie. I should have said the same, sir, but that it is chemistry-day, and you promised us some experiments.

Mr. Young. True: but we can have our lecture out of doors.

Albert. Capital!

Harold. Bravissimo?

Willie. So we can, sir, if you will give it us.

Mr. Young. Then make up your minds for the hills--as soon after dinner as you please, and I will do my best to teach you something by the way.

All. Hurrah! hurrah!

The dinner hour passed over pleasantly enough: the whole party were full of spirits-the weather was warm and bright, the season being the early part of Autumn. The walk to the chalk downs was up hill for the greater part of the way, and the heat and glare combined, rendered it rather wearisome. But no sooner were the young folks fairly on the turf, fragrant with wild thyme, and studded with litttle knots of box and juniper, than they forgot all their troubles, and began to enjoy themselves in good earnest. Albert, however, did not appear to be in the best of spirits. But the cause was not a very unfrequent one with young folks, nor was it difficult of removal. He was very thirsty-a climax, as Willie said, so extremely ridiculous, considering the fuss he made about it, that its announcement caused no little merriment at his expense.

His tutor, however, had more sympathy. He remembered how, in his school-hours, when a little fellow, he had often suffered from excessive thirst, and at once proposed to go in quest of water. There were tinkling streams breaking out at intervals all along the range of hills on which they were seated; but he was at that moment considerably above them, and 'distant a long way from the nearest. A low thatched cottage stood on a little ledge jutting out from the round smooth knoll close beside them, and he determined to go

there and beg a glass of water. The door stood open, and a quaint old dame was setting things in order within. She had no water in the house, but cheerfully furnished him with a glass, telling him at the same time that a draw-well stood just beside the back entry. The boys were delighted at the prospect of drawing for themselves: the bucket was thrown over, the chain and rope ran down with a loud whirr, and the winch flew round till it became almost invisible. But the winding up was another matter: the bucket at length came in sight, and was hauled with such hearty good will on to the siding, that Albert's shoes were half filled with water. The glass was dipped in, and a bright and sparkling bumper tossed off with little loss of time. Even those who had protested they were not in the least thirsty, seemed to have forgotten it, for the whole party tested the merits of the well, and then carried the remainder into the cottage, as an acknowledgment of their obligation.

"I wonder how deep that well is," said Willie, as he pitched down a small pebble.

"Wonder is very cheap," said Mr. Young,-"Is it too much trouble to work out the problem ?"

up.

Harold. But we're too late now, sir,: the rope is all coiled

Mr. Young. So much the better, you can count the coils. The hint was soon taken. "Twenty-three upon the roller, and fifteen over them," cried Harold.

Mr. Young. And the roll is-how wide ?

Albert. About ten inches, I should think.

Willie. (after a pause,)-That would be about four hundred inches altogether.

Mr. Young. Those are diameters, my boy; but you want the circumference. Multiply by twenty-two, and divide by seven, and the result will be about a hundred and four feet. I'll promise you, our old friend at the cottage has never made the calculation.

Willie. Suppose we ask her.

Albert. Do.

Harold, (to the old lady.) I say, Mrs. Smith, how deep do you call your well?