PREFACE. WE are asked sometimes by those we would amuse— 'Is it true?' If there were room here for a discussion as to what is 'truth' in such cases, I might, to such a question touching this our evening volume, answer Yes! to my own satisfaction at least; for I have a private conviction that a certain kind of truth lies at the bottom of all the pieces that compose it. They have been written in various moods; some gay, some grave; some hopeful, some a little desponding, as the characters or events of the hour tinged the thoughts with rose-color, sober grey, dreaded blue, and-perhaps the reader will think-an occasional shade of green. But every writer has before him an imaginary audience, and mine is usually composed of young people, so I will hope the sombre tints will not be found to prevail. One hates to be set down as a mere moralizer— a tiresome companion anywhere. A generally serious aim I am content to avow, and I confess also an ambition to make a peculiarly American book; not that I think |