PREFATORY.

Goethe, in “Wilhelm Meister,” struck the key-note of the universal
underlying dramatic instinct. The boy begins to play the drama of life
with his puppets, and afterward exploits the wild dreams of youth in
the company of the strolling players. We are, indeed, all actors. We
all know how early the strutting soldier-instinct crops out, and how
soon the little girl assumes the cares of the amateur nursery. “I have
learned from neighbor Nelly, What the girl’s doll-instinct means.”

We begin early to play at living, until Life becomes too strong for us,
and, seizing us in merciless and severe grip, returns our condescension
by making of us the puppets with which the passing tragedy or comedy is
presented. With this idea in mind we have begun our little book with
the play in the garret--the humblest attempt at histrionics--and so
going on, still endeavoring to help those more ambitious artists who,
in remote and secluded spots, may essay to amuse themselves and others
by attempting the _rôle_ of a Cushman, a Wallack, a Sothern, a Booth,
or a Gilbert.

Our subsequent task has been a more difficult one. To tell people how
to give all sorts of entertainments--in fact, to tell our intelligent
people how to do anything--is nearly as foolish a practice as to carry
coals to Newcastle, and implies that sort of conceit which Thackeray
so wittily suggests when, in his “Rebecca and Rowena,” he presents the
picture of a little imp painting the lily. It is hard to know where
to draw the line. It would be delightful to amuse--to help along with
the great business of making home happy--to tell a mother what to do
with her active young brood, and yet to avoid that dreadful bore of
mentioning to her something which she already knows a great deal better
than we do.

The Scylla of barrenness and the Charybdis of garrulity are before any
author who tries to speak upon a familiar theme. Let us hope that,
through the kindness of our readers, we may not have wrecked our little
bark on either.