Excerpt from This, That, and the Other

With what aim I have gathered these sketches into a. Volume, I can hardly say. I certainly have never aspired to be a professional book-maker, and my highest ambition is to find friends among my readers, those who dream over my pages beneath the trees in summer, or turn the leaves beside the cottage hearth in winter.

I have not borrowed from the dead world of books. I have only grouped together such fancies as the country sunshine writes out upon the meadow-grass, or the wild birds sing to each other while they build their nests. I have always found the world so kind, I do not doubt that there are some who will remember that my ¿owers are only violets of the spring, and will pardon me when they fail to find the Splendor of summer or the mellow ripeness of autumn.

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