Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by

CHARLES SCRIBNER,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

C. W. BENEDICT, STEREOTYPER AND PRINTER, 201 William Street.

PREFACE.

As a general thing, it may be considered true that explanation rarely suffices to explain, and that apology is not apologetic. Books will, for the most part, tell their own story and interpret themselves. Sometimes it may be advisable to preface a few words.

"Let me ask," says one, who comes up familiarly in the street, "Is that Rector of St. Bardolph's intended to be a journal of personal experience?"

If there be anything disagreeable or amiss, it is to have a direct question put to you without warning, for which you are imperatively required to render up an immediate aye, or nay. In this juncture you are like a bear poked at through the bars with a stick. Common politeness makes it necessary to return some answer, if it be only a growl, and Christian principle to avoid subter2887

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fuge and give the true one; to sheer from which course, by the slightest variation of an hair, would be to tell a downright lie. Suppose that you not wish to answer. There is then one remedy whereby to escape from the predicament into which you are brought. That is to be rude in return. This may be illustrated by the case of a country doctor. When he was going on his rounds he was very much annoyed by inquisitive people whom he met by the way, who would accost him, and compel him to rein up, and inquire what was the matter and whither he was going. The case is that of old Doctor Minime, who about sixty years ago, not far from the date of this narrative, used to be held in great esteem on the south shore of Long Island, a region of remarkable intelligence. There was not another physician of equal experience within fifty miles. One day, in an overpowering rain-storm, he was sent for to go in post-haste on a case of life and death. Off he went, with the top of his sulkey up, and his leathern apron upon his lap, which was soon filled with water like a basin, whacking a nag gifted with the virtue of endurance, like his master-a good, old, raw-boned beast, who would go through hail, and snow, and sleet, and face the Atlantic breakers and the north-east wind, only with his head a little down. The