See them
how they stand in rank ready for assault, the jolly, swaggering
fellows!
First come the Neologisms, that are afraid of no man; fresh, young,
hearty, and for the most part very long-limbed, though some few short
and strong. There also are the Misprints to confuse the enemy at his
onrush. Then see upon the flank a company of picked Ambiguities
covering what shall be a feint by the squadron of Anachronisms led by
old Anachronos himself; a terrible chap with nigglers and a great
murderer of fools.
But here see more deeply massed the ten thousand Egotisms shining in
their armour and roaring for battle. They care for no one. They
stormed Convention yesterday and looted the cellar of Good-Manners,
who died of fear without a wound; so they drank his wine and are
to-day as strong as lions and as careless (saving only their Captain,
Monologue, who is lantern-jawed).
Here are the Aposiopaesian Auxiliaries, and Dithyramb that killed
Punctuation in open fight; Parenthesis the giant and champion of the
host, and Anacoluthon that never learned to read or write but is very
handy with his sword; and Metathesis and Hendiadys, two Greeks. And
last come the noble Gallicisms prancing about on their light horses:
cavalry so sudden that the enemy sicken at the mere sight of them and
are overcome without a blow. Come then my hearties, my lads, my
indefatigable repetitions, seize you each his own trumpet that hangs
at his side and blow the charge; we shall soon drive them all before
us headlong, howling down together to the Picrocholian Sea.
So! That was an interlude. Forget the clamour.
But there is another matter; written as yet in no other Preface:
peculiar to this book. For without rhyme or reason, pictures of an
uncertain kind stand in the pages of the chronicle. Why?
_Because it has become so cheap to photograph on zinc._
In old time a man that drew ill drew not at all. He did well. Then
either there were no pictures in his book, or (if there were any) they
were done by some other man that loved him not a groat and would not
have walked half a mile to see him hanged. But now it is so easy for a
man to scratch down what he sees and put it in his book that any fool
may do it and be none the worse - many others shall follow. This is the
first.
Before you blame too much, consider the alternative. Shall a man march
through Europe dragging an artist on a cord? God forbid!
Shall an artist write a book? Why no, the remedy is worse than the
disease.
