feel flattered if I thought I bore the slightest resemblance; but in
truth I write after no model that I am conscious of, and I write with
no idea of imitation or competition. In venturing occasionally on
topics that have already been almost exhausted by English authors, I
do it, not with the presumption of challenging a comparison, but with
the hope that some new interest may be given to such topics, when
discussed by the pen of a stranger.

If, therefore, I should sometimes be found dwelling with fondness on
subjects that are trite and commonplace with the reader, I beg that
the circumstances under which I write may be kept in recollection.
Having been born and brought up in a new country, yet educated from
infancy in the literature of an old one, my mind was early filled with
historical and poetical associations, connected with places, and
manners, and customs of Europe; but which could rarely be applied to
those of my own country. To a mind thus peculiarly prepared, the most
ordinary objects and scenes, on arriving in Europe, are full of
strange matter and interesting novelty. England is as classic ground
to an American as Italy is to an Englishman; and old London teems with
as much historical association as mighty Rome.

Indeed, it is difficult to describe the whimsical medley of ideas that
throng upon his mind, on landing among English scenes. He, for the
first time, sees a world about which he has been reading and thinking
in every stage of his existence. The recollected ideas of infancy,
youth, and manhood; of the nursery, the school, and the study, come
swarming at once upon him; and his attention is distracted between
great and little objects; each of which, perhaps, awakens an equally
delightful train of remembrances.