ter. tion? Such as it is, though I do not reckon it among the best novels I have written, it contains, perhaps some of the best passages, and some of the best conceptions of characThe three characters indeed, with which I am least dissatisfied of all my feeble hand has portrayed, are, William Brandon, (in Paul Clifford,) Pelham, and Algernon Mordaunt; if they are all equal in point of adherence to nature, Mordaunt is undoubtedly of a nature the least hackneyed and least low. And, farther, if I were asked which of my writings pleased me the most in its moral, served the best to inspire the younger reader with a generous emotion and a guiding principle, - was the one best calculated to fit us for the world, by raising us above its trials, — and the one by which I would most desire my own heart and my own faith to be judged, I would answer, "The Disowned." These remarks have ended in much egotism,-I confess it, But, for my own part, I think that the world likes to learn from what theories, right or wrong, an author, however obscure, has composed his works. It amuses us to trace his delusions, or to examine how he, who has been criticised by others, plays the critic on himself. If by accident he is right, we can profit by his hints, if wrong, perhaps still more by his errors ! July 20, 1835. INTRODUCTION. SCENE.-A dressing-room, splendidly furnished, -- violet col ored curtains and ottomans of the same hue. A wardrobe of buhl is on the left, the doors of which being partly open, discover a profusion of clothes, &c. Folding doors in the background. - Enter the author, obsequiously preceded by a French valet. Author. So, Bedos, it will not be very long, I hope, before your master gives me the pleasure of his company ? Bedos (in French.) —No, Monsieur,- -no, my master will be here immediately. He says you will find two very amusing books on the toilette, but that he hopes you will scarcely have time to read their title-pages before he is with you. Bedos draws an arm-chair near the table, into which the author abstractedly throws himself. [Exit Bedos. Author.-Yes! I long to vent my anger upon this coxcomb, who, with his usual dexterity, has cast all his faults, moral as well as literary, upon me! Well, my time has now arrived! I will assert my individual existence,-I will no longer walk about incorporated with a literary twin, -I will give notice of lawful separation, and be henceforth answerable for no sins but my own. — - (Clock strikes three.) -So late! I wonder he yet delays; perhaps he is nerving himself to meet the brunt of my just indignation. Humph! what books are these which my gentleman's gentleman spoke of? — (takes up two books on the toilet-table) C Essay on the Human Understanding,' very amusing indeed! What's the other, Essay on the Human Hair.' Pish!-hark,- I hear steps, - 't is he! The folding doors in the background are thrown open, and the voice of one approaching is heard. "And, Bedos, you will see that the great folio and the essence bottle are not forgotten. And be sure that the poodle's face is washed in milk of roses, - 't is shamefully freckled; and send, or rather go yourself, to the man at Astley's, to know if it could not be taught to carry a parasol? And, Bedos, order the hock to be sent to Lord Guloseton; and tell Mr. Bubbletome that he must get me the Lucian, and that copy of Ricardo, with Mr. M's manuscript notes, by nine this evening. And ask Walters what he means by burning wax candles in the stables? I will countenance no such extravagance: let him lose no time in changing them to spermaceti. And, harkye, Bedos, you begin to look fat, you rascal; beware, if you eat a grain of meat, I discharge you. A valet, sir, is an etherial being, and is only to be nourished upon chicken!" And, uttering these words enters, through the folding doors, HENRY PELHAM. Mr. Pelham. My dear friend, I am delighted to see you,pray pardon my want of punctuality! The Author (with a severe look.) — I wish, Mr. Pelham, that in your conduct there was nothing else to pardon ! - Mr. Pelham (seating himself on an ottoman.)—What, angry? is it possible?-ah, how I envy you! - You color, your eyes sparkle!-how very becoming! I wish that I could get into a passion myself now and then. It has been my curse through life to be so confoundedly good tempered!-nothing vexes me! O! your philo sophical equanimity, your sunshine of the breast,' is the most terribly dull state of mind one can imagine; besides, — a little excitement is so good for the complexion! I intend, next shooting season, when I shall have plenty of time on my hands, to take some lessons in the art of getting angry. Will you be my master, -you seem a tolerable proficient, nay, I 'm serious! Author(rebukingly.) — Mr. Pelham ! Mr. Pelham (with a soft smile.) — Well! Author. Do oblige me,-lay aside an affectation which every body says disgraces you, and endeavor to speak like a man of sense. Mr. Pelham. But, my dear sir, would not that be taking an unfair advantage of you? - However, proceed; my wishes shall yield to yours: the philosopher of Geneva said rightly, "that there is no virtue without self-sacri❞— proceed. fice: Author. I trust to your practising so sublime a morality. And now, sir, tell me how I am to be remunerated for all that you have cost me? What, sir, can repay me for the provoking and specious charges brought against me upon your account? Did I not, mark me, Mr. Pelham, did I not, when I agreed to embody your confounded adventures, say to myself, ' My hero is a terrible coxcomb, —it suits me that he should be so I have seen something of the various, grades of society; the experience has not been acquired without pain, let it not pass without profit; the scenes I have witnessed I will describe; upon the manners I have noted I will comment, but not in my own person. The peculiar turn of my individual mind would be very little calculated to execute such a task with success; and scenes on the surface of society, which could only be redeemed from insipidity by an extreme gayety, would become utterly distasteful, if tinctured in the least by a temperament to which my friends are pleased maliciously to insinuate that gayety is the last thing congenial. In the first place, therefore, my hero shall have little in common with his author; in the second, he shall be suited in outward temper to the sparkling varieties of life, though he shall have sufficient latent observation to draw from the follies which he surveys, or even shares, the uses of reflection. His very faults shall afford amusement, and under them he may, without the formality of a preceptor, inculcate instruction. Philosophy, when couched beneath the gay robes of an apparently unconverted Polemon, may find some listeners, who would turn in aversion from the austerities of a professed Xenocrates. It is true that I shall have, in the vices and virtues of this hero, no channel for an egotistical embellishment of my own, but on that point I am easily consoled. I have never wished to favor the world with my character, its eccentricities, or its secrets; nor should I ever be disposed, in the person of any hero of romance, to embody or delineate myself; yet the world cannot know this, and it has long become a popular vice in criticism, to confound and amalgamate the hero with the author. However, this confusion I will carefully avoid,- -never once from the first sentence to the last shall the author appear! Mr. Pelham, did I not adhere inflexibly to this resolution? Did I ever once intrude even in the vestibule of a preface, or the modest and obscure corner of a marginal note ?— that I might not, for an instant, be implicated in your existence, did I not absolutely forego my own? And what has been my reward,—Mr. Pelham, I ask you what? Have they not all, with one voice, critics and readers, praisers and impugners, fathered your impertinences and follies upon me? And have not I, I, |