“And why, Sir,” says an obliging and inquisitive reader, “should you deprive your friends and acquaintance of that pleasure, though you are willing to sacrifice it yourself?” “Why, Sir,—do you ask?” Ah that is the mystery Of this wonderful history, And you wish that you could tell![2] [Footnote 2: SOUTHEY.] “A question not to be asked,” said an odder person than I shall ever pretend to be, “is a question not to be answered.” Nevertheless, gentle reader, in courtesy I will give sundry answers to your interrogation, and leave you to fix upon which of them you may think likely to be the true one. The Author may be of opinion that his name, not being heretofore known to the public, could be of no advantage to his book. Or, on the other hand, if his name were already well known, he might think the book stands in no need of it, and may safely be trusted to its own merits. He may wish to secure for it a fairer trial than it could otherwise obtain, and intend to profit by the unbiassed opinions which will thus reach his ear; thinking complacently with Benedict, that “happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.” In one of Metastasio's dramatic epithalamiums, Minerva says, _l'onore, a cui Venni proposta anch' io Piu meritar, che conseguir desio;_ and he might say this with the Goddess of Wisdom. He may be so circumstanced that it would be inconvenient as well as unpleasant for him to offend certain persons,—Sir Andrew Agnewites for example,—whose conscientious but very mischievous notions he nevertheless thinks it his duty to oppose, when he can do so consistently with discretion. He may have wagers dependent upon the guesses that will be made concerning him. Peradventure it might injure him in his professional pursuits, were he to be known as an author, and that he had neglected “some sober calling for this idle trade.” He may be a very modest man, who can muster courage enough for publication, and yet dares not encounter any farther publicity. Unknown, perhaps his reputation Escapes the tax of defamation, And wrapt in darkness, laughs unhurt, While critic blockheads throw their dirt; But he who madly prints his name, Invites his foe to take sure aim.[3] [Footnote 3: LLOYD.] He may be so shy, that if his book were praised he would shrink from the notoriety into which it would bring him; or so sensitive, that his mortification would be extreme, if it were known among his neighbours that he had been made the subject of sarcastic and contemptuous criticism.