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Of all the fooli&longs;h actions a per&longs;on
can commit, I think that of making
an apology for a voluntary error, is
the mo&longs;t ridiculous; therefore, tho' I
have taken up my pen to write a preface,
I am utterly at a lo&longs;s what to
&longs;ay.

If it is true that “Good wine needs
no bu&longs;h, and a good play no Epilogue,”
then mu&longs;t it be equally certain,
that a good book requires no
preface—and this affertion acknowledged
to be true, in what an

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awkward predicament do I &longs;tand, &longs;ince
to publi&longs;h this work without a preface,
will be tacitly to infer, that it is
good and needs no recommendation,
and &longs;o be de&longs;ervedly cen&longs;ured as a
conceited &longs;cribler.

Should I write a preface and condemn
the performance, confe&longs;s it has
innumerable faults, and reque&longs;t the
reader's pity and patience, I not only
prepo&longs;&longs;e&longs;s them again&longs;t it, but acknowledge
my&longs;elf an idiot, for &longs;uffering it to
meet the public eye, in &longs;uch an imperfect
&longs;tate. What then am I to &longs;ay, or
how fill up tho&longs;e few pages nece&longs;&longs;ary to
be placed at the beginning of a book?

Shall I tell the reader my de&longs;ign in
publi&longs;hing the&longs;e volumes? I will; It
was an anxious de&longs;ire to &longs;ee all my
dear country-women as truly amiable
as they are univer&longs;ally acknowledged
beautiful; it was a wi&longs;h to convince

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them that true happine&longs;s can never be
met with in the temple of di&longs;&longs;ipation
and folly, &longs;he &longs;lies the glare of fa&longs;hion,
and the midnight revel, and dwells only
in the heart con&longs;cious of performing
its duty, and is the con&longs;tant companion
of tho&longs;e, who, content with the
&longs;tation in which it has plea&longs;ed Providence
to place them, entirely free
from envy or malice, make it their
whole &longs;tudy to cultivate tho&longs;e amiable
virtues which will render them at once
beloved, admired and e&longs;teemed, by
all who know them.

Whether I have executed this de&longs;ign
well or ill, mu&longs;t be hereafter determined,
not only by tho&longs;e partial friends
who&longs;e kind encouragement prompted
me to &longs;ubmit the&longs;e pages to the inspection
of the public; but, a-well-a-day
for me, I mu&longs;t al&longs;o be judged by &longs;ome
&longs;age critic, who, “with &longs;pectacle on
, and pouch by's &longs;ide,” with

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lengthened vi&longs;age and contemptuous
&longs;mile, &longs;its down to review the literary
productions of a woman. He turns
over a few pages, and then

Then, alas! what may not be my
fate? who&longs;e education, as a female,
was nece&longs;&longs;arily circum&longs;cribed, who&longs;e
little knowledge has been &longs;imply
gleaned from pure nature, and who,
on a &longs;ubject of &longs;uch importance, write
as I feel, with enthu&longs;ia&longs;m.

I have taken the liberty of placing
a poem at the beginning of the work,
which was publi&longs;hed &longs;ome few years
&longs;ince in the novel Victoria, and as many
parents utterly forbid their daughters
reading any of that &longs;pecies of
writing, I thought I &longs;hould readily be
for introducing it here.

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I mu&longs;t confe&longs;s, I have neither sufficient
conceit or fortitude to enable
me to hear, unmoved, the deci&longs;ion
of judicious critici&longs;m; yet, con&longs;cious
that I never wrote a line that would
convey a wrong idea to the head, or
a corrupt wi&longs;h to the heart, I &longs;it
down &longs;atisfied with the purity of my
intentions, and leave it to the happy
envied cla&longs;s of mortals, who have
received a liberal education, to write
with that ta&longs;te and elegance which
can only be acquired by a thorough
knowledge of the cla&longs;&longs;ics.

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