But, being wholly unknown to the great names of literary consequence, I
shall not attempt a dedication, therefore must lose the benefit of the
stilt, the bladder, and the horse-shoe.

Were I to enter upon a dedication, I should certainly address myself,
"_To the Inhabitants of Birmingham_." For to them I not only owe much,
but all; and I think, among that congregated mass, there is not one
person to whom I wish ill. I have the pleasure of calling many of those
inhabitants _Friends_, and some of them share my warm affections equally
with myself. Birmingham, like a compassionate nurse, not only draws our
persons, but our esteem, from the place of our nativity, and fixes it
upon herself: I might add, _I was hungry, and she fed me_; _thirsty, and
she gave me drink_; _a stranger, and she took me in_. I approached her
with reluctance, because I did not know her; I shall leave her with
reluctance, because I do.

Whether it is perfectly confident in an author, to solicit the
indulgence of the public, though it may stand first in his wishes,
admits a doubt; for, if his productions will not bear the light, it may
be said, why does he publish? but, if they will, there is no need to ask
a favor; the world receives one from him. Will not a piece everlastingly
be tried by its merit? Shall we esteem it the higher, because it was
written at the age of thirteen? because it was the effort of a week?
delivered extempore? hatched while the author stood upon one leg? or
cobbled, while he cobbled a shoe? or will it be a recommendation, that
it issues forth in gilt binding? The judicious world will not be
deceived by the tinselled purse, but will examine whether the _contents_
are sterling.