ill admit that Professor Fish may be free from taint in this regard;
but many historians of to-day are, I fear, imbued with that most
dangerous tincture of historical cant which lays it down as a maxim that
contemporary history cannot be judicially written.

Those who have been kind enough to display some interest in the
controversy between myself and M. Rougegorge--of the Sorbonne--in the
matter of Lamartine's account of the elections to the Constituent
Assembly of 1848, will remark several hitherto unobserved errors in
Lamartine which I have been privileged to point out. For instance,
Lamartine (who is supported _in toto_ by M. Rougegorge) asserts that the
elections took place on Easter Sunday, April 27, 1848. Whereas, I am
able to demonstrate, by reference to the astronomical tables at Kew
Observatory, that in 1848 Easter Day fell upon April 23. M. Rougegorge's
assertion that Lamartine was a slave to opium rests upon a humorous
misinterpretation of Mme. Lamartine's diary. (The matter may be looked
up by the curious in Annette User's "Annees avec les Lamartines." Oser
was for many years the cook in Lamartine's household, and says some
illuminating things regarding L.'s dislike of onions.)

It is, of course, impossible for me to acknowledge individually the
generous and stimulating assistance I have received from so many
scholars in all parts of the world. The mere list of names would be like
Southey's "Cataract of Lodore," and would be but an ungracious mode of
returning thanks. I cannot, however, forbear to mention Professor
Mandrake, of the Oxford Chair, _optimus maximus_ among modern
historians. Of him I may say, in the fine words of Virgil, "Sedet
aeternumque sedebit."

My dear wife, fortunately a Serb by birth, has regularized my Slavic
orthography, and has grown gray in the service of the index. To her, and
to my little ones, whose merry laughter has so often penetrated to my
study and cheered me at my travail, I dedicate the whole. _89, Decameron
Gardens._

PREFACE TO A BOOK OF POEMS

This little selection of verses, to which I have given the title "Rari
Nantes," was made at the instance of several friends. I have chosen from
my published works those poems which seemed to me most faithfully to
express my artistic message; and the title obviously implies that I
think them the ones most likely to weather the maelstroms of Time. Be
that as it may.

Vachel Lindsay and I have often discussed over a glass of