AN
HISTORY
OF
BIRMINGHAM.
A South View of BIRMINGHAM from the Summer House, Cheapside,Bordsley.
THE SECOND EDITION,
WITH CONSIDERABLE ADDITIONS.
By W. HUTTON.
PREFACE.
A preface rather induces a man to speak of himself, which isdeemed the worst subject upon which he can speak. In historywe become acquainted with things, but in a preface with the author;and, for a man to treat of himself, may be the mostdifficult talk of the two: for in history, facts areproduced ready to the hand of the historian, which give birth tothought, and it is easy to cloath that thought in words. But in apreface, an author is obliged to forge from the brain, where he issometimes known to forge without fire. In one, he only reduces asubstance into form; but in the other, he must create thatsubstance.
As I am not an author by profession, it is no wonder if I amunacquainted with the modes of authorship; but I apprehend, theusual method of conducting the pen, is to polish up a foundingtitle-page, dignified with scraps of Latin, and then, to hammer upa work to fit it, as nearly as genius, or want of genius, willallow.
We next turn over a new leaf, and open upon a pompousdedication, which answers many laudable purposes: if a coat ofarms, correctly engraven, should step first into view, we considerit a singular advantage gained over a reader, like the first blowin a combat. The dedication itself becomes a pair of stilts, whichadvance an author something higher.
As a horse-shoe, nailed upon the threshold of a cottage,prevents the influence of the witch; so a first-rate name, at thehead of a dedication, is a total bar against the critic; but thisgreat name, like a great officer, sometimes unfortunately stands atthe head of wretched troops.
When an author is too heavy to swim of himself, it servesas a pair of bladders, to prevent his sinking.
It is farther productive of a solid advantage, that of apresent from the patron, more valuable than that from thebookseller, which prevents his sinking under the pressure offamine.
But, being wholly unknown to the great names of literaryconsequence, I shall not attempt a dedication, therefore must losethe benefit of the stilt, the bladder, and the horse-shoe.
Were I to enter upon a dedication, I should certainly addressmyself, "To the Inhabitants of Birmingham." For to them Inot only owe much, but all; and I think, among that congregatedmass, there is not one person to whom I wish ill. I have thepleasure of calling many of those inhabitants Friends, andsome of them share my warm affections equally with myself.Birmingham, like a compassionate nurse, not only draws our persons,but our esteem, from the place of our nativity, and fixes it uponherself: I might add, I was hungry, and she fed me;thirsty, and she gave me drink; a stranger, and she tookme in. I approached her with reluctance, because I did not knowher; I shall leave her with reluctance, because I do.
Whether it is perfectly confident in an author, to solicit theindulgence of the public, though it may stand first in his wishes,admits a doubt; for, if his productions will not bear the light, itmay be said, why does he publish? but, if