DUST TO DUST.
In utter disregard of all precedent, I have placed this dedication at the end of the volume, deeming it meet and right, that the corpse should go before.
How very often the publication of a ponderous tome has been found to resemble the interment of a portly corpse! How truly, ere long, it may be equally affirmed, of both—the places, that knew them, shall know them no more!
Mæcenas was the friend and privy counsellor of Augustus Cæsar; and, accordingly, became, in some measure, the dispenser of executive patronage. The name of Mæcenas has been employed, ever since, to signify a patron of letters and the arts. Dedications are said to have been coeval with the days of his power.
In almost every case, a dedication is neither more nor less, than an application for convoy, from the literary mariner, who is scarcely willing to venture, with his fragile bark, “in mare Creticum” or criticum, unaided and alone. He solicits permission to dedicate his work to some distinguished individual—in other words, to place his influential name, upon the very front of the volume, as an amulet—a sort of passover—to keep evil spirits and critics, at a distance. If the permission be granted, of which the public is sure to be informed, the presumption, that the patron has read and approved the work, amounts to a sanction, of course, to the extent of his credit and authority. In some cases, however, I have reason to believe, that the only part of the work, which the patron ever reads, is the dedication itself. That most amiable and excellent man, and high-minded bibliopolist, the late Mr. James Brown, informed me, that an author once requested permission, to dedicate his work, to a certain professor, in the State of New York, tendering the manuscript, for his perusal; and that the professor declined reading the work, as superfluous; but readily accepted the dedication, observing, that he usually received five dollars, on such occasions.
There was one, to whom it would afford me real pleasure to dedicate this volume, were he here, in the flesh; but he has gone to his account. Grossman is numbered with the dead!
Reader—if you can lay your hand upon your heart, and honestly say, that you have read these pages, or any considerable portion of them, with pleasure—that they have afforded you instruction, or amusement—I dedicate this volume—with your permission, of course—most respectfully, to you; having conceived the most exalted opinion of your taste and judgment.
L. M. SARGENT,
Rock Hill, December, 1855.