The Dance of Death - William Herman

The writer of these pages is not foolish enough to suppose that he can escape strong and bitter condemnation for his utterances. On this score he is not disposed to be greatly troubled; and for these reasons: Firstly—he feels that he is performing a duty; secondly—he is certain that his sentiments will be endorsed by hundreds upon whose opinion he sets great value; thirdly—he relieves his mind of a burden that has oppressed it for many years; and fourthly—as is evident upon the face of these pages—he is no professed litterateur, who can be starved by adverse criticism. Nevertheless he would be apostate to his self-appointed mission if he invited censure by unseemly defiance of those who must read and pass judgment upon his work. While, therefore, he does not desire to invoke the leniency of the professional critic or the casual reader, he does desire to justify the position he has taken as far as may be consistent with good taste.

It will doubtless be asserted by many: That the writer is a "bigoted parson," whose puritanical and illiberal ideas concerning matters of which he has no personal experience belong to an age that is happily passed. On the contrary, he is a man of the world, who has mixed much in society both in the old world and the new, and who knows whereof he affirms.

That he is, for some reason, unable to partake of the amusement he condemns, and is therefore jealous of those more fortunate than himself. Wrong again. He has drunk deeply of the cup he warns others to avoid; and has better opportunities than the generality of men to continue the draught if he found it to his taste.

That he publishes from motives of private malice. Private malice—no. Malice of a certain kind, yes. Malice against those who should know better than to abuse the rights of hospitality by making a bawdy-house of their host's dwelling.

But the principal objection will doubtless refer to the plain language used.