Random Shots From a Rifleman by J. Kincaid
When I sent my volume of "Adventures in the Rifle Brigade" into the world, some one of its many kind and indulgent critics was imprudent enough to say that "it had one fault, the rarest fault in books—it was too short;" and while I have therefore endeavoured to acquit myself of such an unlooked-for charge by sending this additional one, I need only observe that if it also fails to satisfy, they may have "yet another."
Like its predecessor, this volume is drawn solely from memory, and of course open to error; but of this my readers may feel assured, that it is free from romance; for even in the few soldiers' yarns which I have thought fit to introduce, the leading features are facts.
Lastly, in making my second editorial bow to the public, let me assure them that it is with no greater literary pretensions. I sent forth my first volume contrary to my own judgement; but rough and unpolished as it was, it pleased a numerous class of readers, and I therefore trust to be forgiven for marching past again to the same tune, in the hope that my reviewing generals may make the same favourable report of me in their orderly books.
Every book has a beginning, and the beginning of every book is the undoubted spot on which the historian is bound to parade his hero. The novelist may therefore continue to envelope his man in a fog as long as he likes, but for myself I shall at once unfold to the world that I am my own hero; and though that same world hold my countrymen to be rich in wants, with the article of modesty among them, yet do I hope to maintain2 the character I have assumed, with as much propriety as can reasonably be expected of one labouring under such a national infirmity, for
"I am a native of that land, which
Some poets' lips and painters' hands"
When I sent my volume of "Adventures in the Rifle Brigade" into the world, some one of its many kind and indulgent critics was imprudent enough to say that "it had one fault, the rarest fault in books—it was too short;" and while I have therefore endeavoured to acquit myself of such an unlooked-for charge by sending this additional one, I need only observe that if it also fails to satisfy, they may have "yet another."
Like its predecessor, this volume is drawn solely from memory, and of course open to error; but of this my readers may feel assured, that it is free from romance; for even in the few soldiers' yarns which I have thought fit to introduce, the leading features are facts.
Lastly, in making my second editorial bow to the public, let me assure them that it is with no greater literary pretensions. I sent forth my first volume contrary to my own judgement; but rough and unpolished as it was, it pleased a numerous class of readers, and I therefore trust to be forgiven for marching past again to the same tune, in the hope that my reviewing generals may make the same favourable report of me in their orderly books.
Every book has a beginning, and the beginning of every book is the undoubted spot on which the historian is bound to parade his hero. The novelist may therefore continue to envelope his man in a fog as long as he likes, but for myself I shall at once unfold to the world that I am my own hero; and though that same world hold my countrymen to be rich in wants, with the article of modesty among them, yet do I hope to maintain2 the character I have assumed, with as much propriety as can reasonably be expected of one labouring under such a national infirmity, for
"I am a native of that land, which
Some poets' lips and painters' hands"
