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AVING written one conclusion within the confines of this 

 ^ volume, it becomes an easy task to write another. In this 

 one I am given opportunity to say that if readers knew 

 how tired an author grows of his book by the time he 

 sends his last proof to the publisher, they would not deem him an object 

 of envy. What the writer looked upon in its preparatory stages as a 

 labor of love, at last so wearies him that he is glad to get it out of 

 sight. Reading the same thing over and over, as the proofs are returned 

 for the correction of mistakes, makes him so tired of what was once a 

 pleasure that he goes through it as mechanically as if it were the work 

 of some one else, and feels that his readers should be under obligations 

 to him for getting the words in readable shape. The worst of it is that 

 repeated proof-readings so dull the senses that the overlooking of errors 

 is rendered easy ; so that after the types are set and the forms struck 

 off beyond recall, the author sees staring at him errors which in bitter- 

 ness of spirit he reproaches himself for not seeing in time. These are 

 repetition of words in such close connection that they mar the harmony 

 of composition, and other mistakes equally unpleasant. I call attention 

 to this, so that when the reader comes across anything bearing criticism^ 

 he will know I am aware of it also. 



I may mention another source of annoyance. This is, when too late 

 to remedy the matter, the author sees what fine things he might have 

 inserted to enliven certain dull pages; but now, alas! impossible, since 

 the book is printed and the cold, cold type distributed. 



Thus commenting, I start off my Book with the old saying, 



" What's writ is writ ; would it were worthier." 



