And having read them and discovered first, that it was the custom of my contemporaries to belaud
themselves in this prolegomenaical ritual (some saying in a few words that they supplied a want, others boasting in a hundred that they were too grand to do any such thing, but most of them baritoning their apologies and chanting their excuses till one knew that their pride was toppling over)--since, I say, it seemed a necessity to extol one's work, I wrote simply on the lintel of my diary, Praise of this Book, so as to end the matter at a blow.
O blatant Magazines, regard me rather-Since I blush to belaud
myself a moment-As some rare little rose, a piece of inmost Horticultural art, or half-coquette-like Maiden, not to be greeted unbenignly.
O blatant Magazines, regard me rather-- Since I blush to belaud
myself a moment-- As some rare little rose, a piece of inmost Horticultural art, or half coquette-like Maiden, not to be greeted unbenignly.