I have too high an opinion of the understanding of my fellow-citizens to think of yielding them instruction, and I covet too much their good-will, to forfeit it by giving them good advice. I am none of those cynics who despise the world, because it despises them: on the contrary, though but low in its regard, I look up to it with the most perfect good-nature, and my only sorrow is, that it does not prove itself more worthy of the unbounded love I bear it. If, however, in this my historic production—the scanty fruit of a long and laborious life—I have failed to gratify the dainty palate of the age, I can only lament my misfortune—for it is too late in the season for me ever to hope to repair it. Already has withering age showered his sterile snows upon my brow; in a little while, and this genial warmth which still lingers around my heart, and throbs—worthy reader—throbs kindly towards thyself, will be chilled forever. Haply this frail compound of dust, which while alive may have given birth to naught but unprofitable weeds, may form a humble sod of the valley, whence may spring many a sweet wild flower, to adorn my beloved island of Manna-hata! THE END. [Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of two simple, four-petaled flowers on thin stems against a dark, cross-hatched background.] [Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a slender man in 17th-century peasant attire, smiling as he carries a sack and a mallet or large hoe over his shoulder.] ----- Footnote 1: The old Welsh bards believed that King Arthur was not dead, but carried awaie by the fairies into some pleasant place, where he sholde remaine for a time, and then returne againe and reigne in as great authority as ever.—HOLLINSHED. The Britons suppose that he shall come yet and conquere all Britaigne, for certes, this is the prophicye of Merlyn—He say’d that his deth shall be doubteous; and said soth for men thereof yet have doubte and shullen for ever more—for men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is dede.—DR. LEEW, CHRON. Footnote 2: