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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER,
In the Clerk's Office for the District Court of the Southern District of
New York.
W. H. TINSON.
STEREOTYPER,
24 Beekman St., N. Y.
TAWE, RUSSELL & CO.,
PRINTERS,
No. 26 Beekman Street

LETTER OF DEDICATION. TO
Dr B. Fordyce Barker,
Of New York. My Dear Doctor,

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When I began the papers which
make up these volumes, I had no intention of
giving them the form of a story; I purposed
only a short series of sketches, in the course
of which, I hoped to set forth some of the
harms and hazards of living too fast—whether

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on the Avenue, or in Paris; and some of
the advantages of an old-fashioned country
rearing.

It seemed to me that there was an American
disposition to trust in Counts and Coal-stocks,
in genealogies and idle gentlemen, which
might come to work harm; and which would
safely bear the touch of a little good-natured
raillery. By the advice of my publisher—who
thinks, like most people now-a-days, that the
old-fashioned race of essay readers, is nearly
extinct—I worked into my papers the shadow
of a plot, and have followed it up, in a somewhat
shuffling manner, to the close.

The whole affair touches upon matters of
money and of morals, which we have frequently
talked over by your fireside, with a
good deal of unanimity of opinion. I think
you will agree with most of my sentiments,
and only disapprove of the way in which I

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have set them down. Indeed, I wish as much
as you, that the book had been better made,
with more currency of incident, and more
careful management of characters. But it
has been written, you know, under a thousand
interruptions; some chapters date from a
country homestead, others from your own
hospitable roof; still others have been thrown
together in the intervals of travel through
Italy, Switzerland, and France. I have seen
no “proofs;” and have trusted very much
(and very fortunately) to the kind corrections
of my friend Mr. Clark, of the Knickerbocker
Magazine. I know it is a pitiful thing for a
writer to make excuses for his own neglect;
and I do it now, less in the hope of gaining a
hearing from the public, than of winning your
private charity.

Such as the volumes are, however, I dedicate
them to you.

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Once more, I want to guard you against the
error of thinking, from any tone of satire
which may belong to the book, that the writer
is wanting in regard for the worthiness of the
good people who live around you. I claim,
you know, to be an adopted son of your city;
and it is a claim of which I am proud. I can
never forget the kindnesses which have met
me there; and whose recollection brings a
pleasant home feeling to my heart, whenever
I catch sight of Trinity spire lifting over the
houses.

There seems to me a world-wide heartiness
about New York, which promotes a larger
hospitality for opinions, and for people, than
belongs to any other American city that I
know. New Yorkers wear their hearts—like
their purses—wide open. They may fall into
errors: but they are true American errors of
a generous liberality. It is in keeping with

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the spirit of our institutions to use large trust
towards all men: New Yorkers may lose by it,
in their purses, as they sometimes do in their
homes. But the loss, even, seems to me
worthier than the gain, which is secured by
a close-eyed suspicion, and a prudent inhospitality.

I am glad that you are now fairly domesticated
in that Prince of American cities. I
know that you will find your way in it to
fame, and to fortune: and I hope that you will
wear always your old cheerfulness of look,
however rare may prove the epidemics.