an of my own poetry, even
when it was in the highest fashion with the million. It must not be
supposed that I was either so ungrateful, or so superabundantly candid,
as to despise or scorn the value of those whose voice had elevated me
so much higher than my own opinion told me I deserved. I felt, on
the contrary, the more grateful to the public, as receiving that from
partiality to me, which I could not have claimed from merit; and I
endeavoured to deserve the partiality, by continuing such exertions as I
was capable of for their amusement.

It may be that I did not, in this continued course of scribbling,
consult either the interest of the public or my own. But the former had
effectual means of defending themselves, and could, by their coldness,
sufficiently check any approach to intrusion; and for myself, I had now
for several years dedicated my hours so much to literary labour that I
should have felt difficulty in employing myself otherwise; and so,
like Dogberry, I generously bestowed all my tediousness on the public,
comforting myself with the reflection that, if posterity should think
me undeserving of the favour with which I was regarded by my
contemporaries, "they could not but say I had the crown," and had
enjoyed for a time that popularity which is so much coveted.

I conceived, however, that I held the distinguished situation I
had obtained, however unworthily, rather like the champion of
pugilism, [3] on the condition of being always ready to show proofs of
my skill, than in the manner of the champion of chivalry, who performs
his duties only on rare and solemn occasions. I was in any case
conscious that I could not long hold a situation which the caprice,
rather than the judgment, of the public, had bestowed upon me, and
preferred being deprived of my precedence by some more worthy rival, to
sinking into contempt for my indolence, and losing my reputation by what
Scottish lawyers call the negative prescription. Accordingly, those who
choose to look at the Introduction to Rokeby, will be able to trace
the steps by which I declined as a poet to figure as a novelist; as
the ballad says, Queen Eleanor sunk at Charing Cross to rise again at
Queenhithe.

It only remains for me to say that, during my short pre-eminence of
popularity, I faithfully observed the rules of moderation which I had
resolved to follow before I began my course as a man of letters. If
a man is determined to make a noise in the world, he