  Several pieces in the following Rhyme were written many years ago, and will be recognised by my early friends. They were the fruit of impressions derived from the local associations of boyhood, (of which, the reader, if inclined, may learn more in the notes,) and of an admiration created by the exquisite beauty and simplicity of Coleridge's 'Christabel,'—which I had by heart, and used to repeat to Thomas Miller, my playmate and companion from infancy, during many a delightful 'Day in the Woods,' and pleasing ramble on the hills and in the woods above Gainsborough, and along the banks of Trent. I offer but one apology for the production of a metrical essay, composed chiefly of imperfect and immature pieces:—the ambition to contribute towards the fund of Christmas entertainment, in which agreeable labour I see many popular names engaged,—and among them, one, the most deservedly popular in the literature of the day. The favour with which an influential portion of the press has received my 'Prison Rhyme' emboldens me to take this step; and if the flagellation of criticism be not too keenly dealt upon me for the imperfections in the few pages that follow, I will be content, in this instance, to expect no praise. 134, Blackfriars Road, THE |
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