It is worth while to realize how dwarfed, and trivial, and childish, appears all tales of human ruin and shame and sorrow, by the side of the weird primeval tragedy. Well: the brute creation sympathizes with _us_ in our pain; but who are we, that we should presume to pity a fallen archangel? Truly, pious and right-minded men have done so, in all simplicity and sincerity. The story of the Perthshire minister is always quoted among the _Traits of Scotch Humour_; but I am sure the amiable zealot intended nothing irreverent, and saw nothing grotesque in his prayer. He had exhausted, you know, his memory and imagination in interceding not only for his own species and the lower orders of animals, but for "every green thing upon the earth," beside. He paused at last and took breath; then he went on--rather diffidently, as if conscious of treading on perilous ground, but in an accent plaintively persuasive-- "An' noo, ma freends, let us praigh for the De'il; naebody praighs for the puir De'il!" That is not a bad digression--taking it as a digression--from the boudoir of a _petite maîtresse_ to the bottomless pit. Whatever connexion may ultimately be established between the two, I am aware that it is neither usual nor justifiable to place them in such close proximity. But here I make my first and last act of contrition for all such divagations, in season and out of season, past, present, and to come. Reader of mine! you have always the resource (which I would were available in society) of banishing your interlocutor when he bores you, by skipping the paragraph, or throwing the book aside. I may not hope to instruct you; it is quite enough if your interest and yourself are kept awake. Whether this object would be promoted by writing "to order," is more than doubtful. If one's movements are naturally awkward and slow, they will scarcely gain in grace with the fetters on. Let us not force our talent, such as it is. Few qualities are more useful or estimable than that grave pertinacity of purpose which never loses sight for a moment of the end it has had in view all along. But then, one must _have_ a purpose to start with; and up to the present point, this volume is guiltless of any such element of success. It is in the nature of some to be desultory; and there are heretics who think that the prizes of Life--let alone those of authorship--would hardly be worth the winning, if one were bound down under heavy penalties to go on straight to the goal, never turning aside for refreshment by the way. _Peccavimus, et peccabimus._ If this literary ship must be shattered on rocks ahead, we will, at least, make no obeisance to the powers that have ordained the wreck. O younger son of Telamon! you have spoken well, if not wisely. The wrath of adverse gods is mighty, and hath prevailed; but let us die as we have lived--impenitent and self-reliant, without benefit of Athéne.