There is but one Homer, there is but one Shakespeare,
there is but one McClintock—and his immortal
book is before you. Homer could not have written
this book, Shakespeare could not have written it,
I could not have done it myself. There is nothing
just like it in the literature of any country or of
any epoch. It stands alone; it is monumental.
It adds G. Ragsdale McClintock’s to the sum
of the republic’s imperishable names.
1. The name here given is a substitute for the
one actually attached to the pamphlet.
2. Further on it will be seen that he is a country
expert on the fiddle, and has a three-township fame.
3. It is a crowbar.
Complete
[The foregoing review of the great work of G. Ragsdale
McClintock is liberally illuminated with sample extracts,
but these cannot appease the appetite. Only
the complete book, unabridged, can do that. Therefore
it is here printed.—M.T.]
Sweet girl, thy smiles are full of charms,
Thy voice is sweeter still,
It fills the breast with fond alarms,
Echoed by every rill.
I begin this little work with an eulogy upon woman,
who has ever been distinguished for her perseverance,
her constancy, and her devoted attention to those
upon whom she has been pleased to place her affections.
Many have been the themes upon which writers and
public speakers have dwelt with intense and increasing
interest. Among these delightful themes stands
that of woman, the balm to all our sighs and disappointments,
and the most pre-eminent of all other topics.
Here the poet and orator have stood and gazed with
wonder and with admiration; they have dwelt upon her
innocence, the ornament of all her virtues.
First viewing her external charms, such as set forth
in her form and benevolent countenance, and then passing
to the deep hidden springs of loveliness and disinterested
devotion. In every clime, and in every age, she
has been the pride of her nation. Her watchfulness
is untiring; she who guarded the sepulcher was the
first to approach it, and the last to depart from its
awful yet sublime scene. Even here, in this
highly favored land, we look to her for the security
of our institutions, and for our future greatness
as a nation. But, strange as it may appear,
woman’s charms and virtues are but slightly appreciated
by thousands. Those who should raise the standard
of female worth, and paint her value with her virtues,
in living colors, upon the banners that are fanned
by the zephyrs of heaven, and hand them down to posterity
as emblematical of a rich inheritance, do not properly
estimate them.
