DEDICATION.

I GLADLY dedicate my little book to you, who first taught me to understand true and pure affection you first told me of His tender love, who hath called himself "Our Father," and I learned to comprehend that love, because I felt that it resembled your own.-When I think of you, Memory unlocks for me her cabinet of treasures, telling of a thousand dear associations, which even you may have forgotten, but which I can never forget. While I was yet a child, you proved to me the value of affection's slightest gift; for a look from you said more to my heart, than the sweetest words which other lips have spoken; this trifling token, then, of my love and gratitude will possess all the value I would fain endue it with; and I know I need scarcely say to my dearest Mother, in thus offering her my volume, "May you Like it.”

PREFACE.

I HAVE a vast deal to say for myself in this Preface; and yet I am in the condition of many an ignorant person, I don't very well know how to say it; but I will not take up much of those persons' time who read prefaces, I will merely tell them how this little volume was chiefly written.-I was sitting one evening among a family party, most of whom think me rather a superior personage; (not that I am). The children were just gone to bed: the tea-things had been removed: many fair fingers were plying their bright needles with delicate speed. I was alone idle, seeming to admire, with earnest attention, the slight firmness of an unfinished purse, intended for me; though,

perhaps, I could not help looking more at the small fingers round which the silver and green silk were twined.-" Will you read aloud to us this evening?" asked one of my fair companions; but I took it into my head. to say, that I would write for their amusement, and I wrote part of one of the Tales in this book, to my own surprise, for I never could relate a story: of course they all admired it, except one who was sleepy and went to bed when I was about to begin reading; there were eyes, though, which looked applause not at all sleepily, but those eyes always look kindly on me.

The next evening, my story was resumed, and soon after, with some others, finished; and then, I was advised to publish. "What," I said, "publish these hasty sketches ;" and I raised up one eyebrow, an odd habit of that said eyebrow, which has telegraphic communications with my feelings of surprise. Vanity is easily excited, and as easily persuaded; and a short time after, I actually presented the following Tales to my publisher, which he accepted.

"Shall you publish under your own name ?" I was asked. "Oh, no," I replied, "because I have really written these Tales after tea, amid a quiet family circle, and I have brought them to you just as they were put together; two only have been copied from the odd scraps of paper on which I first wrote them. Now, if I mention this in my own name, no one will believe it, or it may be. said, that I have no right to trouble the public with such hasty productions; besides, if I make it known, many wise heads will shake in judgement over that name, and say, Very childish performances these, for a man of Trinity."

By concealing my name, though the same opinions may be entertained, and I may hear them, still I remain unknown.

I must say a few more words on my strange little volume. The tales are addressed chiefly to young grown-up persons. I am aware, that "The Childhood of Charles Spenser" may be deemed only fit for a child's perusal, but I am one of those who delight in observing children and their man