f humbug, their slavishness, their dressings, their goings out,
their scraping and bowing to great people; it is the showing up of
"gentility nonsense" in Lavengro that has been one principal reason for
the raising of the above cry; for in Lavengro is denounced the besetting
folly of the English people, a folly which those who call themselves
guardians of the public taste are far from being above. "We can't abide
anything that isn't true!" they exclaim. Can't they? Then why are they
so enraptured with any fiction that is adapted to purposes of humbug,
which tends to make them satisfied with their own proceedings, with their
own nonsense, which does not tell them to reform, to become more alive to
their own failings, and less sensitive about the tyrannical goings on of
the masters, and the degraded condition, the sufferings, and the trials
of the serfs in the star Jupiter? Had Lavengro, instead of being the
work of an independent mind, been written in order to further any of the
thousand and one cants, and species of nonsense prevalent in England, the
author would have heard much less about its not being true, both from
public detractors and private censurers.

"But Lavengro pretends to be an autobiography," say the critics; and here
the writer begs leave to observe, that it would be well for people who
profess to have a regard for truth, not to exhibit in every assertion
which they make a most profligate disregard of it; this assertion of
theirs is a falsehood, and they know it to be a falsehood. In the
preface Lavengro is stated to be a dream; and the writer takes this
opportunity of stating that he never said it was an autobiography; never
authorised any person to say that it was one; and that he has in
innumerable instances declared in public and private, both before and
after the work was published, that it was not what is generally termed an
autobiography: but a set of people who pretend to write criticisms on
books, hating the author for various reasons,--amongst others, because,
having the proper pride of a gentleman and a scholar, he did not, in the
year '43, choose to permit himself to be exhibited and made a zany of in
London, and especially because he will neither associate with, nor curry
favour with, them who are neither gentlemen nor scholars,--attack his
book with abuse and calumny. He is, perhaps, condescending too much when
he takes any notice of such people; as, however, the English public is
wond