CONCLUSION.
The Author has no Explanations to Offer--Such as it is, it is--The
Chief of Two Reasons for Holding it in Esteem--A Whim that has been
Gratified--Mischievous Results of Confiding a Secret to One Female
Acquaintance instead of Fifty--Can anything be more Ridiculous than
to Suppose that there is a Word of Fiction Connected with the
foregoing Chapters?--Lakeside Publishers--The Public Invited to
Pocket their Scruples and Read History--Finale.
Positively, we must depart from a time-honored custom of the bookmaker, as
we confess with blushes that we have no confidences to exchange with the
reader, no explanations to offer to the public, and no fine epigrams to
repeat concerning that aged word--farewell. Such as it is, it is, and we
have no idea of making it better, by any such _supra legem_ performance.
If the reader is satisfied, we are; and if he is not, and will signify
that remarkable conclusion to the author, he shall have his money back,
together with fair wages for such portion of his valuable time as may have
been squandered on its pages. We could not think of taking such a mean
advantage of any one's talent for promiscuous reading, and beg to repeat
this announcement as a request.
If anybody's party-feeling has been ruffled, it may be taken in some sense
as a natural conclusion, for, besides having none ourselves, and treating
the subject from all sides, we may have had some such _dernier_ purpose in
view. Political tastes are so varied that they can rarely be consulted
with success in a literary venture of reasonable magnitude, and where this
is true, it can be no more than fair to ignore them.
The work has many imperfections, as all can see--imperfections which
cannot be cured, and hence resemble it so much to human nature that we
must be pardoned for alleging that circumstance as the chief of two
reasons (both disconnected from those philoprogenitive impulsions that we
sometimes hear of from mawkish writers) for holding it in esteem. The sun
has spots, and we once knew a critic whose grammar was execrable. Lest,
however, some persons should officiously infer that we mean to wrong a
very excellent class of people, we will state that the analogy between the
last-named objects does not cease here.
What we wish to say most in this concluding chapter, is that the work was
not written to invite anybody's pique, nor to avoid it, nor to flatter
anybody, nor to parody anybody, but to gratify a whim, and as it has been
announced that there would be no explanation, and the completion of the
task leaves us in a mood for conundrums, we shall not interfere with the
reader's prerogative of guessing its import. But it was a mere whim, and
now that it has been gratified, we feel better--vastly improved, in
fact--so much improved that, in order to reach a superlative that will fit
our case precisely, we find it necessary to go beyond the dictionary
standard, and adopt the beautiful newsboy euphemism, hunky-dory. And then,
too, the author has that self gratulation which could not fail to proceed
from the knowledge that, from the beginning, a brave effort was maintained
to avoid that notoriety which comes of even remote connection with such
labor as he has performed,--and which must have succeeded but for his
inadvertence in confiding the secret to one female acquaintance instead of
fifty. Now that the mischief has been performed, his partiality for the
sex leads him to say that he will be more thoughtful in the future.
An old friend, whose sagacity regarding such subjects is approved, has
informed us confidentially that the book will sell, and if it sells, can
it be anybody's business whether it is read or not? After revolving this
query in our mind, and inducing a fair analogy between what would be just
to the outside world and profitable to ourselves, we are left _statu quo_
until such time as the neighborhood debating society can be heard from.
Can anything be more ridiculous than to suppose that there is a word of
fiction connected with the foregoing chapters? A half-wit acquaintance,
who plumes himself on the accident which enables him to write M. C. after
his name, has obtruded this difficulty upon the author, and been
handsomely objurgated for his pains. Did we not do right? and why is it
that these men are permitted to lounge away from their places of
confinement at the most dangerous season of the year?
We here make the announcement, boldly and without fear of successful
contradiction (this form of expression is copied from J. Billings, with
some amendments in spelling), that nobody's facetiousness is chargeable
with one syllable of these sketches; and if they do not suit the public
palate, it is altogether attributable to the fact that that organ is in a
badly disordered state, and requires stimulants of a nature which the
Lakeside publishers will have no difficulty in supplying at the regulation
price for compounded drinks. More than this we do not feel at liberty to
divulge at present, but we do sincerely trust that those who compromise
their doubts far enough to purchase the book, will pocket their scruples
and read history.
THE END.
Footnotes:
[A] The reader's fancy, aided by the hints supplied in the text, has
doubtless informed him that these females had fallen victims to the lust
of the flying desperadoes; for, perceiving the hand of fate in the
impending catastrophe, and having nothing to hope from the indulgence of
their pursuers, they realized that this startling crime could only hasten
the denouement, not add to their weight of doom.
[B] An individual of the gowned fraternity, six feet six inches in height,
borne upon the shoulders of a comrade, who approximated the latter
condition.