Though I intend this preface, prelude, or proem shall occupy but
a single page, and be a _facile_ specimen of the _multum in parvo_
school, I find I have so little to say, I might spare myself the
trouble of saying that little, only it might look a little odd
(excuse my nibbing my pen) if, after writing a book, which by the way,
may prove no book at all, I should introduce it to my readers,--did
I say "READERS?"--what a theme to dilate upon! But stop, stop, Mr.
Exultation, nobody may read your book, _ergo_, you will have no
readers. Humph! I must nib my pen again. Cooks, grocers, butchers,
kitchenmaids, the roast! Let brighter visions rise: methink I see it
grace every room _Peckwater_ round: methink I see, wherever _mighty
Tom_ sonorous peals forth his solemn "Come, come, come!" the sons of
OXON fly to _Tallboys'_ store, or _Parker's_ shelves, and cry "_the_
Book, _the_ Book!" Methink I see in GRANTA'S streets a crowd for
_Deighton's_ and for _Stevenson's_--anon, "_the_ Book, _the_ Book,"
they cry "Give us _the_ Book!" "_Quips, Quirks, and Anecdotes?_" "Aye,
that's _the_ Book!" And, then, methink I see on CAMUS' side, or where
the Isis by her Christ Church glides, or Charwell's lowlier stream,
methink I see (as did the Spanish Prince of yore a son of Salamanca
beat his brow) some _togaed_ son of ALMA MATER beat, aye, laugh and
beat his brow. And then, like Philip, I demand the cause? And then
he laughs outright, and in my face he thrusts a book, and cries,
"Sir, read, read, read, ha, ha, ha, ha!" and stamps and laughs the
while;--and then, ye gods, it proves to be _the_ Book,--_Quips,
Quirks, and Anecdotes_--ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! I cry you mercy, Sirs,
read, read, read, read! From ETON, HARROW, WINCHESTER, and WEST, come
orders thick as Autumn leaves e'er fell, as larks at Dunstable, or
Egypt's plagues. The Row is in commotion,--all the world rushes by
_Amen Corner_, or _St. Paul's_: how like a summer-hive they go and
come: the very CHAPTER'S caught the stirring theme, and, like King
James at Christ Church, scents a hum.[1] E'en CAXTON'S ghost stalks
forth to beg a tome, and _Wynkyn's_ shroud in vain protests his
claims. "There's not a copy left," cries _Whitt's_ or _Long's_, as
Caxton bolts with the extremest tome, and Wynkyn, foiled, shrinks
grimly into air,
Veil'd in a cloud of scarce black-letter lore.
Had Galen's self, sirs, _ab origine_, or Æsculapius, or the modern
school of Pharmacopoeians drugged their patients thus, they long ago,
aye, long ago, had starved; your undertakers had been gone extinct,
and churchyards turned to gambol-greens, forsooth. Mirth, like good
wine, no help from physic needs:--blue devils and ennui! ha, ha, ha,
ha! Didst ever taste champagne? Then laugh, sirs, laugh,--"laugh
and grow fat," the maxim's old and good: the stars sang at their
birth--"Ha, ha, ha, ha!" I cry you mercy, sirs, _the_ Book, _the_
Book, _Quips, Quirks, and Anecdotes_. OXONIANS hear! "Ha, ha, ha, ha!"
Let GRANTA, too, respond. What would you more? _the_ Book, sirs, read,
read, read.
'Tis true, my work's a diamond in the rough, and that there still are
_sparkling bits_ abroad, by wits whose wages _may not be to die_,
would make it, aye, the very _Book of Books!_ Let them, anon, to
_Cornhill_ wend their way (P.P.) to cut a figure in ED. sec. 3d, or
4th, from Isis or from Cam. What if they say, as MAUDLIN Cole of
Boyle, because some Christ-Church wits adorned his page with their
chaste learning, "'_Tis a Chedder cheese made of the milk of all
the parish_,"--Sirs, d'ye think I'd wince and call them knave or
fool? Methink I'd joy to spur them to the task! Methink I see the
mirth-inspired sons of Christ-Church and the rest, penning Rich Puns,
Bon-mots, and Brave Conceits, for ages have, at OXON, "borne the
bell," and oft the table set in _royal_ roar. Methink I see the wits
of CAMUS, too, go laughing to the task,--and then, methink, O! what a
glorious toil were mine, at last, to send them trumpet-tongued through
all the world!
[1] Sir Isaac Wake says in his _Rex Platonicus_, that when James
the First attended the performance of a play in the Hall of
Christ-Church, Oxford, the scholars applauded his Majesty by
clapping their hands and _humming_. The latter somewhat surprised
the royal auditor, but on its being explained to signify
applause, he expressed himself satisfied.