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his book, is not altogether in accordance; but it may literally be affirmed of him, to use a homely saying, that his bark was worse than his bite. Personalities there are none throughout the whole work. Taking for his motto—“parcere personis, dicere de vitiis,”he visited the offence not the offender, regardless of the hacknied objection that, to exercise such a misplaced lenity, is to lash the dice and to spare the dicer. That predilection for point and antithesis to which we have already alluded, and which forms the besetting sin of his stile, often betrayed him into a severity of expression quite foreign to his real nature. He might be caustic with his pen, especially if an epigrammatic turn were at stake; but his lips could not utter anything intentionally bitter, nor could his heart harbour a single angry feeling. This is not the place, however, to expatiate upon his character, as it is my intention to make his life, for which I had been collecting materials long before his decease, the subject of a second volume; and I avail myself of the present opportunity, to request that his Yorkshire and other correspondents will add to my large stock of his amusing letters, by forwarding any that they may possess, to the Publisher of this work, under whose inspection they will be copied, and punctually, as well as thankfully returned, to their respective
Most of the peasants and cotters in the northern and western wapentakes of Yorkshire, were familiar with the Doctor's old white-tailed dun horse, as well as with his antique broad-winged whiskey. In the boot of this rickety vehicle were usually stowed a medicine-chest, a box of linen, and other travelling indispensables, the respective packages being steadied by a few well-worn books wedged in between them. Latterly he had seldom made an excursion without “honest Tim,” whose pranks, jokes, and buffooneries, lent some support to the idea entertained by many strangers, on their first appearance, that the companions were an itinerant Quacksalver and his Zany. Nor was it easy to remove this impression, so far as the Merry Andrew was concerned; but it was impossible to gaze upon the benevolent countenance of his friend, whose Quaker's attire, bald forehead, and silver side locks descending to his shoulders, gave him altogether a most venerable appearance, without a quick conviction that his errand was one of pure philanthropy,and that his purposes, like his aspect, were high and holy.
By his will, Dr. Chatfield bequeathed to the Editor, the whole of his manuscripts, consisting of tales, ancient and modern—fugitive poems—a few essays on medical subjects, and the volumes now submitted to the public. From his poems I have made such a selection as will afford a fair sample of his general powers in this department of literature. They exhibit
much smoothness and facility in the versification, and no small diversity of stile, since they are perfectly free from the forced conceits and artificial glitter of his prose compositions. Respecting the Tales, he left no instructions-and future circumstances must decide whether any of them shall ever see the light; but it was one of his last requests that, “ The Tin Trumpet" should be prepared for immediate publication. The quantity and the confusion of the materials, rendered their selection and arrangement a matter of no small difficulty and of some unexpected delay; but I have executed my task to the best of my ability and judgment, and I now commit the work to the indulgence of the reader, again requesting him to bear in mind that I broadly dissent from many of the crude notions and fanciful theories broached by my late excellent but eccentric friend.
THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
Ad Candidum Lectorem.
Cum legis hunc nostrum, Lector studiose, libellum,
Decedat vultu tetrica ruga tuo.
Non Heraclitis, non gravibus Curiis :
Adjicere huc oculos et legere ista velint, Multa hic invenient quæ possint pellere curas,
Plurima quæ mæstos exhilarare queant.