TO THE READER.
Stories told in general society, may fairly be considered as public property; or rather, as wefts and strays, which any one may appropriate, keep unaltered, mar, or mend, without dread of prosecution.
Three of the following tales are of this description. The first and second story were related to the writer, by a lady of high rank, distinguished for many accomplishments.—The incidents of the first, this lady warranted as facts known to one of her own family. The absurd, yet somewhat affecting imagination of the second, she spoke of as a tradition still religiously believed in Ireland. It is given here with much apprehension, yet, in the hope that it may not be without interest for persons fond of speculating upon national character.
The principal events of the third tale, were suggested by an anecdote in one of Bell’s Weekly Messengers of last year, and there stated to have recently occurred in Scotland. For the phraseology of this little tale, the writer has to beg public indulgence, since it was difficult to give local effect to a history of obscure Scottish life, without attempting to make its humble personages speak the ordinary language of their country; and to do this, the writer knows herself imperfectly qualified, by having only the acquaintance of earliest childhood with that fondly remembered, and most expressive dialect.
With regard to the two remaining narratives; that of the House of Huntercombe, is a little memorial of real incidents which occurred to the narrator there; and, even in the midst of a dear domestic circle, such as described. The incidents are simple; what may befal country visitants every day, in our beautiful English scenery, yet preserving the relics of an interesting past. But the regularity of forth-coming fact, stopped at the closet door; and there, where disappointment met the explorer, imagination has supplied the “what might have been” in the lost record of Burnham Abbey. The story goes far into ages back. Hence, the actions, and converse of the personages, can only have reference to the limited circle of objects in those times of mingled piety, superstition, heroism, and barbarity. Extremes were then great. The moral chaos of paganism was just broken up; light, divided from darkness; Christianity, in the form of the Archangel Michael, it might be said, was their chaining the dragon. Therefore, of woman’s heart, pure, from being kept unspotted from the world; of man’s spirit, ennobled, because to serve and protect were the proofs of a gentleman; such are the exemplars of those days, and here the sketch is attempted, in the Record of Berenice.
Perhaps, the writer could not take a more opportune moment to express her admiration of a recent guide into similar noble paths, better adapted to the usages of our modern times; and which invaluable little work, is called “The Broadstone of Honour, addressed to the Gentlemen of England.” No gentleman of England, or any other country, can read that book without feeling in his breast
“An echo to the seat, where Honour’s throned!”
Esher, Surry, Feb. 1826.