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PREFACE.

If men were so concerned to have as they are disposed to affect wisdom, it would not be so rare; and the flood of learned jargon with which the world is deluged would not be so overwhelming. The results of their misguided energies, while less voluminous, might be more edifying to their readers, and possibly more gratifying to the ambitious writers. At all events the world would not suffer from an abatement of the prevalent ardor for authorship. My library, selected from time to time, and with a view to literary utility, contains many eubullitions, instances of the inability of the wise to suppress the divine afflatus. From the times of the Socratic Phædo and the Euclidian Phoenix on down through the cycles to those of the Analogy and the Age of Reason, and to the present, there have been few wilful violations of the edict against concealing light under a bushel. In view of the universally inherent communicativeness of the learned the admonition were quite superfluous; they seldom deserve censure for knowing more than they are willing to impart to or inflict upon their fellows.

Were true wisdom commensurate with or if it pervaded the mass of what is written, one of average capacity would grapple but feebly with its immensity, and the meagre allotment of three score and ten would scarcely suffice to invoice the various and voluminous effluvia. But wisdom and learning are not convertible terms. Great learning may be evinced in the ethereal imagery of the Poet, in the recondite reasoning of the rationalist, and in the carping cavil of the critic, without augmenting or exalting wisdom. As numerous and various as are the subjects of the countless contributions to the immeasurable mass, slight acumen will suffice to detect the invariable object of their authors. Myriad memorials are left to remind an ungrateful world of its obligations to the illustrious dead. Some seem destined to abide with time and thought. It is dif

ficult to conceive why some should endure to stigmatize literature and the memory of their authors. Many of stupid selfconceit are buried in oblivion ere their authors escape to the tomb, and many others should be.

A ramble through this field and a view of some of the laborers and their works may not be amiss in one whose life has been a contemplation of and devotion to it. A candid inquiry into their various merits may work no more ill than slightly to increase the mass, the bulk of which embarrasses more than it edifies the votary to progress, engenders thought as variegated as the features and complexions of men, and hinders rather than promotes the march of intellect. The paradoxical position that one properly may write to show that too much is already written is confidently assumed. The manner in which it is maintained and its success are matters for the discernment of the reader. One ought not to bespeak charity for such a work as is here proposed. Yet such a plea might be prompted if not excused by a due appreciation of the magnitude of the undertaking. If self-conceit blinds some writers to their own folly, it may sustain others against a humiliating consciousness of inferiority. Were my position consistent with justification by precedent, it might be observed that one is not far from fashion merely in the fact that his own overweening assurance is the only assurance he has that he will not meet merited mortification.

The boldness of the undertaking will dwindle to diffidence. when compared with the effrontery of savants, prescribing the plans and portraying the purposes of Providence. Under their auspices and with a servile sycophancy Religion is found catching at the hem of the garment of Science. Its apologists (not its promoters) assume the authority to enunciate a divine (moral?) philosophy, to vouch for the veracity of divine verity, and to defend Omnipotence against Impotence, whose assaults derive their chief importance from the concern of pedantic fanatics.

I propose to inquire what some great literary luminaries have done, and to show in some instances what were better left undone, for the enlightenment of Mankind. And in this

retrospect we will observe the acknowledged Titans engaged in Herculean labors to establish truths which, in the nature of things and of mind, are either self-evident or unprovable. We will observe minds which have given the world some of the most superb thought, grouping the rarest gems in clusters with the veriest peter-funk. We will behold exhibitions of power out of all proportion with principle, in many instances entirely without it, but occasionally we will be refreshed with an instance in which the renown of the author is not the soul of his effort, and his profit is not its stimulus.

He who intelligently and conscientiously writes for the betterment of Mankind, deserves the abiding respect and gratitude of the race. He who writes to assert himself, or for his own profit, deserves undisturbed oblivion, and to "fill his belly, with the husks that the swine did eat," He who writes to foster fanaticism, sanction superstition, or vindicate vice, especially in its priestly robes, deserves notice only for the purpose of execration. As they pass in review a superficial glance might in some instances betray the beholder into undeserved and illadvised condemnation, or, commendation. A close examination, a careful consideration, and candid conclusion are due to the subject; to its writer, and to the reader. And they will disclose that if utility were recognized as an element in the law of literature, thousands of groaning shelves would be relieved of their burdens by bonfires throughout the length and breadth of the civilized world. There should be no statutes of limitation in literature. Titles should not be acquired by prescription. Quackery, imposture, and frivolity, should not be made. venerable with mere age.

CONTENTS.

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