The Oak Shade, or, Records of a Village Literary Association

EDITED BY MAURICE EUGENE.
PHILADELPHIA: WILLIS P. HAZZARD, 178 CHESTNUT STREET. 1855.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by
ALEX. C. BRYSON, (for the Editor,)
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
ALEX. C. BRYSON, PRINTER, 141 Chestnut Street.
In this age of prolific intellects, neither author nor editor is compelled to search for a patron of letters amongst a horde of illiterate and conceited noblemen, addle-pated princes and lords; nor is he, in this progressive country, constrained to beg the favor of some distinguished demagogue’s name to give caste or currency to the lucubrations of his brain, or the compilations of his industry. This may be regarded as a very favorable change in the times, yet it is not without its inconveniences, which the editor has fully experienced. Not being bold enough to violate a well-established precedent, and send his volume forth into the world without a dedication, he was for a while sorely perplexed in his inquiries for a proper person to whom to inscribe it. Although modern progress could freely dispense with the patronage of the nobility, it still retains the practice which perpetuates their former importance in the literary market. Thus the author who is too cautious to trample upon a time-honored custom, is frequently no little embarrassed in his laudable efforts to observe it, not having an array of aristocratic vanity, ever ready to be redeemed from its insignificance through a lying dedication, from which to make a choice to please his fancy.
True, the editor might have determined to send his volume adrift under false colors, by writing some imaginary creature’s name upon the title-page, and then dedicated it to himself,—for which, no doubt, he could have found precedents enough. After giving to this idea the careful deliberation to which it was entitled, he came to the conclusion that no better expedient could be devised to provide him with an even disposition; for should he hear his name noised about by every fool and knave, who are always so vociferous in their praise or censure as to overrule entirely the worthier opinions of the wise and honest, his temper would never fall below the seething point. He therefore wisely avoided, in this wilful manner, to hazard both his character and his happiness. “But,” he hears you ask, “had he no rich and flourishing acquaintance, who would gladly have permitted the inscription, and verily believed it a great honor?” He is not so fortunate (or unfortunate, if you please,) as to be without at least a score of the kind; but not one of whom would have failed to degrade his book, through a cursed propensity “to turn everything into a speculation.” Then, too, he might have dedicated it to some personal friend, but upon looking around, he could see none whom he particularly desired to own as such, except a few poor fellows with whom he occasionally whiles away an entertaining hour on a gloomy Sunday. Amongst these, however, he recognised none whose poverty,—than which few things sooner fall under the ban of the world,—did not seem too heavy a burthen to be borne by so unpretending a production.