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THE title of this Book gives a very imperfect idea of the contents. Perhaps it would be difficult to find a short phrase that would accurately describe a work so miscellaneous and so wayward; a work where there is far too much of personal gossip and of local scene-painting for the grave pretension of critical essays, and far too much of criticism and extract for any thing approaching in the slightest degree to autobiography.
The courteous reader must take it for what it is :an attempt to make others relish a few favorite writers as heartily as I have relished them myself. My opinions, such as they are, have at least the merit of being honest, earnest, and individual, unbiased by the spirit of coterie or the influence of fashion. Many of my extracts will be found to comprise the best bits of neglected authors; and some, I think, as the noble murder speech of Daniel Webster, the poems of Thomas Davis, of Mrs. James Gray, of Mr. Darley, of Mr. Noel, and of Dr. Holmes, will be new to the English public. Some again, as the delightful pleasantries of Praed, and Frere, and Catherine Fanshawe are difficult, if not impossible to procure; and others possess in perfection the sort of novelty which belongs to the forgotten. Among these I may class “Holcroft's Me
,""Richardson's Correspondence,” the curious "Trial of Captain Goodere," and the “Pleader's Guide." I even fear that the choicest morsels of my book, the delicious specimens of Cowley's prose, may come under the same category. Ah! I wish I were as sure of my original matter as I am of
selections. It is right to say that a few of these papers (like the first volume of my earliest prose work "Our Village") have appeared in an obscure journal.
BWALLOWFIELD, NEAR READING,