Romance and Reality

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3706287Romance and Reality — Title Pages1831Letitia Elizabeth Landon



ROMANCE


AND


REALITY.


BY

L. E. L.


AUTHOR OF
"THE IMPROVISATRICE," "THE VENETIAN BRACELET,"
&c. &c. &c.



Thus have I begun;
And 'tis my hope to end successfully.
Shakespeare.



IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. I.




LONDON:

HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.


1831.







LONDON:

J. MOYES, CASTLE STREET, LEICESTER SQUARE.


PREFACE.


Rousseau says, nobody reads prefaces. I suspect there is more truth in the assertion than one is quite willing to admit; for a preface is a species of literary luxury, where an author, like a lover, is privileged to be egotistical; and really it is very pleasant to dwell upon our own thoughts, hopes, fears, and feelings. But all this is laying a very "flattering unction to our souls;" for who really enters into our thoughts, cares for our hopes, allows for our fears, or sympathises with our feelings? The gratitude and the modesty of an author are equally thrown away. Our readers only open our pages for amusement: if they find it, well and good—if not, our most eloquent pleading will not make them read on. The term "courteous reader" is as much a misnomer as any of the grandiloquent titles of the Great Mogul, Emperor of the World—which means a league round Delhi.

Prefaces want reform quite as much as Parliament: so I beg to retrench the gratitude, modesty, &c. usual on such occasions. Piron used to observe, that the introductory speeches made when a member was elected to the French Institute, were quite superfluous, and that the new Academician needed only to say, "Messieurs, grand merci;" while the Directeur should answer, "Il n'y a pas de quoi." I am sure that when the author begins his "grand merci" to the public, that public may very well reply, "Il n'y a pas de quoi."


NOTE.


Misfortunes will happen in the best-regulated families; and, in despite of the world of pains bestowed on the correction of the following pages, one mistake occurs, and for which I cannot have the consolation of blaming any one but myself. It would be a great comfort if I could conscientiously put it as an erratum; but it is, as the young lady once thought her lover, "mine and mine only." Lord Etheringhame is called at first Reginald, and afterwards Algernon. The truth is, I could not decide what to call him, and altered his appellation some dozen times. This mistake, however, occurs no where but in the early scenes of the first volume, and will, I trust, be pardoned. Only a modern author can know the plague of names. I have read the Peerage through twice, and actually became interested in the divisions of the House, to see if there was "a pretty name" in either majority or minority. But for the great care of "the readers" connected with the press through which these pages have passed, both heroine and hero would have undergone that peculiarly English reproach of "being called out of their name" in almost every chapter. I do not go quite so far as the lively American writer, who, in the amusing tale of the "Cacoëthes Scribendi," encourages her whole family to write, by the assurance that "the printers would find them grammar and spelling;" but I do gratefully confess my obligations have been many to mine. The long sentences made short, the obscure made plain, the favourite words that would, like "Monsieur Tonson, come again," the duplicate quotations,—for the amendment of all these, I beg to make at once my acknowledgments and my thanks.


Volumes (not listed in original)