Sir William d'Avenant 256 PREFACE We are told that the way of the transgressor is hard; but we are not assured, beyond our own minds, that he obtains periods of real enjoyment along the colourful course he follows--for, after all, the joy of one person is the sadness of another; there are sorts of pleasure, and no one of them is truly universal. So it is with the anthologist. Apart from the enthusiasm of hunting in half-forgotten coverts, the hot-and-cold feeling of tracing chance clues, and the thrill of delight at a "find," he is haunted now and then by the knowledge that, lurking along the wayside of publication, there are two literary footpads, each with a pistol-one bullet for the gold he brings, and the other for the jewels he has not brought. In other words, while a critical Scylla threatens to wreck him for omissions, a Charybdis of the pen is roaring to engulf him for what he has committed. Ah, well! the course of literature would run monotonously smooth if it were not disturbed from time to time by a critical gunshot across the honest voyager's bow, whether it comes from a pirate on the waters, or from a craft that has been properly authorised (first by Nature) to hold up all traders in contrabándo. And this is especially the case with those who have grown so blasé to adventure, or are so unconventional of temperament, as to be quick to accept any challenge that is not based on justice. Let be. Tritely, all things have their uses-pallid, still wines for the quiet of heart and mind; chamber music is excellent if well played in a chamber; the pomp and spirit of a martial air is not wanted at a mothers' gathering; it is not meet that the vegetarian should complain at the beefeater for that he loves it red and juicy. It may be said-possibly it has been said that to quarrel with an anthologist's tastes is about equal to finding fault with the subjects of a novelist or a painter. It is all a matter of taste, for which there is no more accounting than there appears to be reason in Nature's |