e more student of this class, Amelot de la Houssaie, in
the preface to his translation of "The Prince" of Machiavel, instructs us,
that "he considers his copy as superior to the original, because it is
everywhere intelligible, and Machiavel is frequently obscure." I have seen
in the play-bills of strollers, a very pompous description of the
triumphant entry of Alexander into Babylon; had they said nothing about
the triumph, it might have passed without exciting ridicule; and one might
not so maliciously have perceived how ill the four candle-snuffers crawled
as elephants, and the triumphal car discovered its want of a lid. But
having pre-excited attention, we had full leisure to sharpen our eye. To
these imprudent authors and actors we may apply a Spanish proverb, which
has the peculiar quaintness of that people, _Aviendo pregonado vino,
venden vinagre:_ "Having cried up their wine, they sell us vinegar."

[Footnote A: See the essay on Warburton and his disputes in "Quarrels of
Authors,"--ED.]

A ridiculous humility in a preface is not less despicable. Many idle
apologies were formerly in vogue for publication, and formed a literary
cant, of which now the meanest writers perceive the futility. A literary
anecdote of the Romans has been preserved, which is sufficiently curious.
One Albinus, in the preface to his Roman History, intercedes for pardon
for his numerous blunders of phraseology; observing that they were the
more excusable, as he had composed his history in the Greek language, with
which he was not so familiar as his maternal tongue. Cato severely rallies
him on this; and justly observes, that our Albinus had merited the pardon
he solicits, if a decree of the senate had compelled him thus to have
composed it, and he could not have obtained a dispensation. The avowal of
our ignorance of the language we employ is like that excuse which some
writers make for composing on topics in which they are little conversant.
A reader's heart is not so easily mollified; and it is a melancholy truth
for literary men that the pleasure of abusing an author is generally
superior to that of admiring him. One appears to display more critical
acumen than the other, by showing that though we do not choose to take the
trouble of writing, we have infinitely more genius than the author. These
suppliant prefacers are described by Boileau.

Un auteur a genoux dans une humble preface
Au lecteur qu'il ennuie a beau demander grace;
I