Lost Sir Massingberd: A Romance of Real Life. v. 1/2

  Produced by Andrea Ball, Christine Bell & marc D'Hoogheat https://www.freeliterature.org (From images generouslymade available by the Internet Archive.)

  LOST SIR MASSINGBERD.

  A Romance of Real Life.

  IN TWO VOLUMES.

  VOL. I.

  LONDON:

  SAMPSON LOW, SON, AND MARSTON,

  14, LUDGATE HILL.

  1864.

  The uncommon favour with which the story of "LOST SIR MASSINGBERD" has been received while appearing in the columns of a popular periodical, has induced its author to solicit the suffrages of that more critical Public who "hate to read novels bit by bit."

  CONTENTS.

  PREFATORY

  CHAPTER I. GIANT DESPAIR CHAPTER II. MY FIRST INTERVIEW CHAPTER III. THE DREAM BY THE BROOK CHAPTER IV. THE DUMB WITNESS CHAPTER V. THE STATE BEDROOM CHAPTER VI. HEAD OVER HEELS CHAPTER VII. AT THE DOVECOT CHAPTER VIII. MEETING HIS MATCH CHAPTER IX. MR. HARVEY GERARD CHAPTER X. LOVE THE LIFEGIVER CHAPTER XI. WOOING BY PROXY CHAPTER XII. THE COUNCIL OF WAR CHAPTER XIII. THE GIPSY CAMP CHAPTER XIV. WHY SIR MASSINGBERD DID NOT MARRY CHAPTER XV. THE REASON CONTINUED CHAPTER XVI. I DO SIR MASSINGBERD A LITTLE FAVOUR

  LOST SIR MASSINGBERD.

  PREFATORY.

  In these days, when every man and woman becomes an author upon the leastprovocation, it is not necessary to make an apology for appearing inprint. Perhaps there was always something affected in those prefatorialjustifications; although they did disclaim any literary merit, it isprobable that the writers would have been indignant enough had thecritics taken them at their word; and perhaps the publication was notentirely owing to "the warmly-expressed wishes of numerous friends."But, at all events, we have done with all such excuses now. Not to havewritten anything for the press, is no small claim to being an Original.Neither sex nor age seems to exempt from the universal passion ofauthorship. My niece, Jessie (aetat. sixteen), writes heart-rendingnarratives for the "Liliputian Magazine;" her brother, whom I havealways looked upon as a violent, healthy hobbledehoy whose highestvirtue was Endurance, and whose darkest experience was Skittles,produces the most thrilling romances for the "Home Companion." Even myhousekeeper makes no secret of forwarding her most admired recipes tothe "Family Intelligencer;" while my stable-boy, it is well known, is aprominent poetical contributor to the "Turf Times," having also the giftof prophecy with reference to the winner of all the racing events of anyimportance. And yet, I believe, my household is not more addicted topublication than those of my neighbours.

  What becomes of authors by profession in such a state of things literaryas this, I shudder to think; I feel it almost a sin to add one more tothe long list of competitors with whom they have to struggle; but still,if I do not now set down the story which I have in my mind, I am certainthat, sooner or later, my nephew will do so for me, and very likelyspoil it in the telling. He writes in a snappy, jerky, pyrotechnic way,which they tell me is now popular, but which is not suited to myold-fashioned taste; and although he dare not make, at present, what hecalls "copy" of the stories with which I am perhaps too much accustomedto regale his ears, he keeps a note-book, and a new terror is added toDeath from that circumstance. When I am gone, he will publish my bestthings, under some such title as "After-dinner Tales," I feel certain;and they will appear at the railway book-stalls in a yellow coverbordered with red, or with even a frontispiece displaying a counterfeitand libellous presentment of his departed relative in the very act ofnarration. The gem of that collection would undoubtedly be the storywhich I am now about to anticipate the young gentleman by relatingmyself. If I am somewhat old-world in my style, perhaps it may beforgiven me, in consideration of the reality of the circumstancesnarrated, and the very strong interest which I do not doubt they willarouse.

  It is not necessary to state the exact locality where they occurred, northe number of years which have elapsed since their occurrence; it isenough to premise that what I tell is true, and that some of theprincipal personages in the--well, the melodrama, if you will--are yetalive, and will peruse these words before they meet the public eye. Ifnothing therein offends them, therefore, it need not, upon the scoreof indiscreet revelation at least, offend my readers.