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The End of the World. Eggleston, Edward, 1837–1902 
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THE BACKWOODS PHILOSOPHER.
(Frontispiece. See page 40.)

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The End of the World.A LOVE STORY.

BY

EDWARD EGGLESTON

,
AUTHOR OF "THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-MASTER," ETC.WITH THIRTY-TWO ILLUSTRATIONS.

NEW YORK: ORANGE JUDD AND COMPANY,
245 BROADWAY.

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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
ORANGE JUDD & CO.,

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

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PREFACE.

[IN THE POTENTIAL MOOD.]

IT is the pretty unanimous conclusion of book-writers that body reads them. And it is the pretty unanimous practice of book-writers to continue to write them with such pains and elaborateness as would indicate a belief that the success a graceful preface. My principal embarrassment is that it is then shall I choose between the half-dozen letters of introduction I might give my story, each better and worse on inclined to adopt the following, which might for some reasons be styled the.

PREFACE SENTIMENTAL.

Perhaps no writer not infatuated with conceit, can send out a book full of thought and feeling which, whatever they may be of his offspring. And there are few prefaces which do not in some way betray this nervousness. I confess to a respect for even the prefatory doggerel of good Tinker Bunyana respect for his paternal tenderness toward his book, not at all for his villainous rhyming. When I saw, the other day, the white handkerchiefs of my children mud-clerk on the Iatan, and the shaggy lord of Shady-Hollow Castle, and the rest, that have watched with me of nights and crossed the page: 6[View Page 6] ferry with me twice a day for half a yeareven now, as I see them waving me adieu with their red silk and "yaller" cotton "hand-kerchers," I know how many rocks of misunderstanding and criticism and how many shoals of damning faint praise are before them, and my heart is full of misgiving.

But it will never do to have misgivings in a preface. How often have publishers told me this! Ah! if I could write with half the heart and hope my publishers evince in their advertisements, where they talk about "front rank" and "great American story" and all that, it would doubtless be better for the book, provided anybody would read the preface or believe it when they had read it. But at any rate let us not have a preface in the minor key.

A philosophical friend of mine, who is addicted to Carlyle, has recommended that I try the following, which he calls

THE HIGH PHILOSOPHICAL PREFACE.

Why should I try to forestall the Verdict? Is it not foreordained in the very nature of a Book and the Constitution of the Reader that a certain very Definite Number of Headers will misunderstand and dislike a given Book? And that another very Definite Number will understand it and dislike it none the less? And that still a third class, also definitely fixed in the Eternal Nature of Things, will misunderstand and like it, and, what is more, like it only because of their misunderstanding? And in relation to a true Book, there can not fail to be an Elect Few who understand adminingy and understandingly admire. Why, then, make bows, write prefaces, attempt to prejudice the Case? Can I change the Reader? Will I change the Book? No? Then away with Preface! The destiny of the Book is fixed. I can not foretell it, for I am no prophet. But let us not hope to change the Fates by our prefatory bowing and scraping.

I was forced to confess to my friend who was so kind as to offer to lend me this preface, that there was much truth in it and that truth is nowhere more rare than in prefaces, but it was not possible to adopt it, for two reasons: one, that page: 7[View Page 7] my proof-reader can not abide so many capitals, maintaining that they disfigure the page, and what is a preface of the high philosophical sort worth without a profusion of capitals? Even Carlyle's columns would lose their greatest ornament if their capitals were gone. The second reason for declining to use this preface was that my publishers are not philosophers and would never be content with an "Elect Few," and for my own part the pecuniary interest I have in the copyright renders it quite desirable that as many as possible should be elected to like it, or at least to buy it.

After all it seems a pity that I can not bring myself to use a straightforward

APOLOGETIC AND EXPLANATORY PREFACE.

In view of the favor bestowed upon the author's previous story, both by the Public who Criticise and the Public who Buy, it seems a little laid in the valley of the Ohio. But the picture of Western country life in "The Hoosier School-Master" would not have been complete And indeed there is no provincial life richer in material if only one knew how to get at it.

Nothing is more reverent than a wholesome hatred of hypocrisy. If any man think I have offended against his religion, I must believe that his religion is not what it should be. If anybody shall imagine that this is a work of religious controversy leveled are, unfortunately, pretty widely distributed. However, if

And so on.

But why multiply examples of the half-dozen or more that I might, could, would, or should have written? Since everybody is agreed that nobody reads a preface, I have concluded to let the book go without any.

BROOKLYN, September, 1872.

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"And as he [Wordsworth] mingled freely with all kinds of men, he found a pith of sense and a solidity of judgment here and there among the unlearned which he had failed to find in the most lettered; from obscure men he heard high truths. . . . . And love, true love and pure, he found was no flower reared only in what was called refined society, and requiring leisure and polished manners for its growth. . . . . He believed that in country people, what is permanent in human nature, the essential feelings and passions of mankind, exist in greater simplicity and strength,"

--PRINCIPAL SHAIRP.

A DEDICATION.

IT would hardly be In character for me to dedicate thia book in good, stiff, old-fashioned tomb-stone style, but I could not have put in the background of scenery without being reminded of the two boys, inseparable as the Siamese twine, who gathered mussel-shells in the river marge, played hide-and-seek in the hollow sycamores, and led a happy life in the shadow of just such hills as those among which the events of this story took place. And all the more man who has relieved me of many burdens while I wrote this story, do I feel impelled to dedicate it to GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON, a manly man and a brotherly brother.

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CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

BY FRANK BEARD.

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