PREFACE TO 1850 EDITION

I do not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this Book,

in the first sensations of having finished it, to refer to it with

the composure which this formal heading would seem to require. My

interest in it, is so recent and strong; and my mind is so divided

between pleasure and regret - pleasure in the achievement of a long

design, regret in the separation from many companions - that I am

in danger of wearying the reader whom I love, with personal

confidences, and private emotions.

Besides which, all that I could say of the Story, to any purpose,

I have endeavoured to say in it.

It would concern the reader little, perhaps, to know, how

sorrowfully the pen is laid down at the close of a two-years'

imaginative task; or how an Author feels as if he were dismissing

some portion of himself into the shadowy world, when a crowd of the

creatures of his brain are going from him for ever. Yet, I have

nothing else to tell; unless, indeed, I were to confess (which

might be of less moment still) that no one can ever believe this

Narrative, in the reading, more than I have believed it in the

writing.

Instead of looking back, therefore, I will look forward. I cannot

close this Volume more agreeably to myself, than with a hopeful

glance towards the time when I shall again put forth my two green

leaves once a month, and with a faithful remembrance of the genial

sun and showers that have fallen on these leaves of David

Copperfield, and made me happy.

London, October, 1850.

Read next: PREFACE TO THE CHARLES DICKENS EDITION


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