equivocal character, must be my only excuse whenever the language, without luxuriating into verse, borrows flowers scarcely natural to prose. Truth compels me also to confess, that, with all my pains, I am by no means sure that I have invariably given the true meaning of the cipher; nay, that here and there either a gap in the narrative, or the sudden assumption of a new cipher, to which no key was afforded, has obliged me to resort to interpolations of my own, no doubt easily discernible, but which, I flatter myself, are not inharmonious to the general design. This confession leads me to the sentence with which I shall conclude — If, reader, in this book there be anything that pleases you, it is certainly mine; but whenever you come to something you dislike, — lay the blame upon the old gentleman!
London, January 1842.
N. B. — The notes appended to the text are sometimes by the Author, sometimes by the Editor. I have occasionally (but not always) marked the distinction: where, however, this is omitted, the ingenuity of the Reader will be rarely at fault.
VOL. I.b
