PREFACE

TO

VOLUME V. OF THE FIRST EDITION.

A SPACE has been left for a Preface, and I am called on to fill it up; but, alas! I have little to say, but to thank my kind Correspondents, to whom the Bibliographical part of this volume is almost entirely indebted; more especially my liberal and learned coadjutor Mr. PARK, and his able friend Mr. HASLEWOOD, whose various articles in each number need not be pointed out to my readers.

I have been called on also to give the conclusion of the Poem on Retirement. This debt, I trust, I shall likewise be able to pay ere long. At present a fever on my spirits, and an unconquerable anxiety of mind, render me not only incapable of performing any promises of this kind; but even of expressing an apology for my omissions.

This, however, is a strain, in which I am aware that I must not indulge. There is nothing more offensive to the public than the language of complaint; and whatever a man has undertaken, he will be expected to execute in spite of all obstacles.

Yet some allowance every liberal mind will concede in favour of a periodical work, and of the individual, who, committing his name, has felt the

generous inclination to attempt the monthly amusement or information of the public, regardless of the avocations, of which he must have been in some degree aware.

Aug. 24, 1807.

SAMUEL EGERTON BRYDGES.

PREFACE

ΤΟ

VOLUME VI. OF THE FIRST EDITION.

THE result of the sale of the library of the amiable, industrious, and intelligent Isaac Reed, has been a gratifying confirmation, that this work has been mainly directed to subjects, which the united knowledge of those best versed in Old English Bibliography has deemed most rare and valuable. The vast prices, for which a great proportion of the books registered in this work, sold on that occasion, must, in candour, be admitted to prove that the present volumes are calculated to indulge a liberal curiosity, which none but two or three rich and fortunate collectors could otherwise have the power of answering.

For this I am indebted in the first place to my learned and most amiable friend, Mr. PARK; and in the present and preceding volume to the constant and zealous assistance of Mr. HASLEWOOD, of Conduit Street, of whose exertions in the midst of his professional pursuits it is not easy to speak in adequate terms of acknowledgment. To many other correspondents I am obliged for much valuable aid. Of the very profound and excellent contributions from Norwich, I am fearful of speaking as warmly as I think of them, lest I should offend the delicacy

of a venerable scholar,* to whom I am a stranger. Every man acquainted with sacred or classical literature will appreciate their value.

For my own part of the present volume I have little to plead. The times of peace and leisure, with which I had flattered myself from year to year, and month to month, are not yet arrived. I drag on my days in solicitude and perturbation; the mark of calumny; the prey of disappointment; the vietim of intrigue and oppression. Extortion and legal robbery are not ashamed to avow their triumphs over me; and revenge is allowed to commit her insults' unpunished, and even disregarded. But never will I resign the rights of my inheritance; nor the dear domain of my fathers; while I have a voice to speak, or a pen to write! Would that I dared at present to say more; but the cold-hearted will, I know, bitterly condemn me for having already said too much.

"And what has this to do," cries some beetlebrow'd critic," with the preface to your volume?"— Gentle Reader, who hast a bosom of sensibility, and a cultivated intellect, I appeal to you, if it has not much to do with it! I am apologizing for my languors, my inabilities, and my distractions. And surely thou wilt feel some sympathy for my sorrows, and make some allowance for my defects.

If in truth a premature old age is creeping upon me: if the alarming indolence which I have felt of late, is never again to be shaken off; and my humble faculties are to recover their usual tone no more, the signal of retreat is arrived. But "Hope still travels on;" and I am unwilling to close my labours. In the

*Rev. F. Howes, since deceased.

ardour of enthusiasm I formerly deemed no literary toil too great; and was happy as long as I could have books to think and write upon.

My ardour is gone; I only wish to wander in the woods, or dig in the fields without a purpose; and then sleep when I am fatigued; and thus while away the remnant of my life in an innocent and peaceful obscurity. If I could but pass my future time in this way in the beloved shades of my nativity, I should be happy. Or I may exclaim with Cowper;

“O for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where rumour of oppression and deceit,
Of unsuccessful or successful war,

Might never reach me more. My ear is pain'd,
My soul is sick, with ev'ry day's report

Of wrong and outrage, with which earth is fill'd.
There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart ;
It does not feel for man. The nat'ral bond
Of brotherhood is sever'd, as the flax,
That falls asunder at the touch of fire."

It is most melancholy, that literary pursuits, of all others, attach least good-will among the common members of society. The hours of the studious are spent alone; they cannot descend to the arts of intrigue and solicitation; they cannot lose their time in those petty offices, by which interest is conciliated, and a contemptible importance obtained; they cannot be foremost in the circles of country-squires; and obstreperous at Quarter-sessions, and Justice-meetings; they cannot keep up the honour of a family by