Transcribed from 1904 Chatto & Windus edition by DavidPrice, Second proof by MargaretPrice
AN INLAND VOYAGE
BY
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
A NEWEDITION
WITH AFRONTISPIECE BY WALTER CRANE
LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS
1904
‘Thus sang they in the Englishboat.’
Marvell.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
To equip so small a book with apreface is, I am half afraid, to sin against proportion. But a preface is more than an author can resist, for it is thereward of his labours. When the foundation stone is laid,the architect appears with his plans, and struts for an hourbefore the public eye. So with the writer in his preface:he may have never a word to say, but he must show himself for amoment in the portico, hat in hand, and with an urbanedemeanour.
It is best, in such circumstances, to represent a delicateshade of manner between humility and superiority: as if the bookhad been written by some one else, and you had merely run over itand inserted what was good. But for my part I have not yetlearned the trick to that perfection; I am not yet able todissemble the warmth of my sentiments towards a reader; and if Imeet him on the threshold, it is to invite him in with countrycordiality.
To say truth, I had no sooner finished reading this littlebook in proof, than I was seized upon by a distressingapprehension. It occurred to me that I might not only bethe first to read these pages, but the last as well; that I mighthave pioneered this very smiling tract of country all in vain,and find not a soul to follow in my steps. The more Ithought, the more I disliked the notion; until the distaste grewinto a sort of panic terror, and I rushed into this Preface,which is no more than an advertisement for readers.
What am I to say for my book? Caleb and Joshua broughtback from Palestine a formidable bunch of grapes; alas! my bookproduces naught so nourishing; and for the matter of that, welive in an age when people prefer a definition to any quantity offruit.
I wonder, would a negative be found enticing? for, from thenegative point of view, I flatter myself this volume has acertain stamp. Although it runs to considerably upwards oftwo hundred pages, it contains not a single reference to theimbecility of God’s universe, nor so much as a single hintthat I could have made a better one myself.—I really do notknow where my head can have been. I seem to have forgottenall that makes it glorious to be man.—’Tis anomission that renders the book philosophically unimportant; but Iam in hopes the eccentricity may please in frivolous circles.
To the friend who accompanied me I owe many thanks already,indeed I wish I owed him nothing else; but at this moment I feeltowards hi