A Novel by
MARY BRUNTON
His warfare is within.—There unfatigued His fervent spirit labours.—There he fights, And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, And never-withering wreaths, compared with which The laurels that a Caesar reaps are weeds Cowper |
TO
MISS JOANNA BAILLIE
Madam,
You would smile to hear the insect of a day pay the tribute of itspraise to the lasting oak which aided its first feeble soaring—Smilethen;—for a person whom nature, fortune, and inclination, alike,have marked for obscurity, one whose very name may never reachyour ear, offers this tribute of respect to the author of Plays on thePassions.
The pleasure of expressing heart-felt admiration is not, however,my only motive for inscribing this tale to you. Unknown to the worldboth as an individual and as an author, I own myself desirous ofgiving a pledge of spotless intention in my work, by adorning it withthe name of one whose writings force every unvitiated heart to glowwith a warmer love of virtue. On one solitary point I claim equalitywith you:—In purity of intention I yield not even to Joanna Baillie.
May I venture to avow another feeling which has prompted thisintrusion? What point so small that vanity cannot build on it a resting-place!Will you believe that this trifle claims affinity with the Plays onthe Passions?—Your portraitures of the progress and of theconsequences of passion,—portraitures whose exquisite truth givesthem the force of living examples,—are powerful warnings to watchthe first risings of the insidious rebel. No guard but one is equal tothe task. The regulation of the passions is the province, it is thetriumph of Religion. In the character of Laura Montreville thereligious principle is exhibited as rejecting the bribes of ambition;bestowing fortitude in want and sorrow; as restraining just displeasure;overcoming constitutional timidity; conquering misplacedaffection; and triumphing over the fear of death and of disgrace.
This little tale was begun at first merely for my own amusement. Itis published that I may reconcile my conscience to the time which ithas employed, by making it in some degree useful. Let not the termso implied provoke a smile! If my book is read, its uses to the authorare obvious. Nor is a work of fiction necessarily unprofitable to thereaders. When the vitiated appetite refuses its proper food, thealternative may be administered in a sweetmeat. It may be imprudentto confess the presence of the medicine, lest the sickly palate, thuswarned, turn from it in loathing. But I rely in this instance on theworld of the philosopher, who avers that 'young ladies never readprefaces'; and I am not without hope, that with you, and with all whoform exceptions to this rule, the avowal of a useful purpose may be aninducement to tolerate what otherwise might be thought unworthy ofregard.
Perhaps in an age whose lax morality, declining the glorious toils ofvirtue, is poorly 'content to dwell in decencies for ever', emulationmay be repressed by the eminence which the character of Lauraclaims over the ordinary standard