PREFACE TO "DISCIPLINE."

In the following pages an attempt is made to amuse; with what success, the author has no means of judging. But she has not confined her aim to the conveying of what is called innocent amusement. It may be doubted how far this term is applicable to any manner of employing time, which, without exercising the rational or moral faculties, cherishes the appetite for fiction, and the habit of reading without thought. The appetite for fiction is indeed universal, and has unfortunately been made the occasion of conveying poison of every description into the youthful mind. Why must the antidote be confined to such forms as are sure to be rejected by those who need it the most? There is high authority for using fable as the vehicle of important, even of solemn truth; and to this purpose it is here applied without hesitation. The subject was chosen chiefly on account of its connexion with that of Self-Control; the whole moral and religious discipline of life being intended to form those habits of self-command, in which Laura excelled, and in which Ellen Percy is so miserably defective. Though, in the present work, that constant attention to unity of design may be relaxed, which perhaps encumbered the former, by forcing every character to serve either as illustration or contrast, it is hoped that the main purpose is never entirely forsaken.

For an endeavour to show the necessity and the progress of religious principle, no apology seems requisite. Even admitting for a moment that this principle had no foundation in truth, still it cannot be denied, that it influences the actions and sentiments of all the best, and many of the wisest of mankind; thus affecting the opinions, at least, of the multitude also. A picture of human life, then, which excludes this great agent, is like a system of anatomy in which the heart is forgotten. The inferior parts may be described with a truth which is acknowledged by every observer; with a skill which delights while it instructs; but the description, however accurate, is incomplete. It cannot convey a full idea of man as he appears in a country where Christianity is known.

THE NOVEL NEWSPAPER.-No. 360.

Perhaps this subject, however important and useful in its own place, may be accounted too serious for a work of this kind. If it be objected, that the narrative of a change of the heart,

"From fool to wise, from earthly to divine," is too solemn for the pastime of an idle hour, the author can only answer, that she meant it for something better. But if the objection be levelled against the agent which is represented as effecting this change, she must reply, that no choice remained to her; since she is persuaded, that all the annals of mankind cannot furnish an instance of a permanent, universal, and consistent improvement in human character, effected through any other principle than that to which she has ascribed the reformation of Ellen Percy.

The author cannot help expressing a strong feeling of regret, that the close of her story may, from its subject, seem to provoke a comparison which it is most truly her interest to avoid. The ground which she has there taken is as yet so little trodden, that she cannot hope to escape reminding the reader of the more successful adventurers who have attempted it before her. Perhaps she ought rather to say the single adventurer; for the manners so admirably described in "The Cottagers of Glenburnie" are those of a district where Highland peculiarities have yielded to constant intercourse with strangers; and the intelligent "Essays on the Manners and Superstitions of the Highlanders" belong to a different class of works from the present. The author of Waverley alone has incorporated with a fictitious story the characteristic manners of the Gael. Whatever may be the faults of the following pages, the author is persuaded, that no one who peruses them will believe her to be so destitute of common understanding as to aim at competition where it were so truly absurd, or to intend imitation where imitation were so hopeless. Yet she owes it to herself to state, that the story of Discipline has been planned for years; that the whole held very nearly its present form before she knew the subject of Waverley; and that the alteration of one Christian name

I have heard it remarked, that he who writes his own history ought to possess Irish humour, Scotch prudence, and English sincerity;-the first, that his work may be read; the second, that it may be read without injury to himself; the third, that the perusal of it may be profitable to others. I might, perhaps with truth, declare, that I possess only the last of these qualifications. But, besides that my readers will probably take the liberty of estimating for themselves my merits as a narrator, I suspect that professions of humility may possibly deceive the professor himself; and that, while I am honestly confessing my disqualifications, I may be secretly indemnifying my pride, by glorying in the candour of my confession.

Any expression of self-abasement might, indeed, appear peculiarly misplaced as a preface to whole volumes of egotism; the world being generally uncharitable enough to believe, that vanity may somewhat influence him who chooses himself for his theme. Nor can I be certain that this charge is wholly inapplicable to me; since it is notorious to common observation, that, rather than forego their darling subject, the vain will expatiate even on their errors. A better motive, however, mingles with those which impel me to relate my story. It is no unworthy feeling which leads such as are indebted beyond return, to tell of the benefits they have received; or which prompts one who has escaped from imminent peril, to warn others of the dangers of their way.

It is, I believe, usual with those who undertake to be their own biographers, to begin with tracing their illustrious descent. I fear this portion of my history must be compiled from very scanty materials; for my father, the only one of the race who was ever known to me, never mentioned his family, except to preface a philippic against all dignities in church and state. Against these he objected, as fostering "that aristocratical contumely, which flesh and blood cannot endure;" a vice which I have heard him declare to be, above all others, the object of his special antipathy. For this selec

tion, which will probably obtain sympathy only from the base-born, my father was not without reason; for to the pride of birth it was doubtless owing that my grandfather, a cadet of an ancient family, was doomed to starve upón a curacy, in revenge for his contaminating the blood of the Percys by an unequal alliance; and when disappointment and privation had brought him to an early grave, it was probably the same sentiment which induced his relations to prolong his punishment in the person of his widow and infants, who, with all possible dignity and unconcern, were left to their fate. My father, therefore, began the world with very slender advantages; an accident of which he was so far from being ashamed, that he often triumphantly recorded it, ascribing his subsequent affluence to his own skill and diligence alone.

He was, as I first recollect him, a muscular dark-complexioned man, with a keen black eye, cased in an extraordinary perplexity of wrinkle, and shaded by a heavy beetling eyebrow. The peculiarity of his face was a certain arching near the corner of his upper lip, to which it was probably owing that a smile did not improve his countenance; but this was of the less consequence, as he did not often smile. He had, indeed, arrived at that age when gravity is at least excusable, although no trace of infirmity appeared in his portly figure and strong-sounding tread.

His whole appearance and demeanour were an apt contrast to those of my mother, in whose youthful form and features symmetry gained a charm from that character of fragility which presages untimely decay, and that air of melancholy which seems to welcome decline. I have her figure now before me. I recollect the tender brightness of her eyes, as laying her hand upon my head, she raised them silently to heaven. I love to remember the fine flush that was called to her cheek by the fervour of the half-uttered blessing. She was, in truth, a gentle being, and bore my wayward humour with an angel's patience. But she exercised a control too gentle over a spirit which needed to be reined by a firmer hand than hers. She shrunk from bestowing even merited reproof, and never inflicted pain without suffering much more than she caused. Yet let not these relentings of nature be called weakness or if the stern moralist refuse to spare, let it disarm his severity to learn that I was an only child.

I know not whether it was owing to the carelessness of nurses, or the depravity of waiting-maids, or whether, “ to say all, nature herself wrought in me so;" but, from the earliest period of my recollection, I furnished an instance at least, if not a proof, of the corruption of human kind; being proud, petulant, and rebellious. Some will probably think the growth of such propensities no more unaccountable than that of briars and thorns; being prepared,

from their own experience and observation, to expect that both should spring without any particular culture. But whoever is dissatisfied with this compendious deduction, may trace my faults to certain accidents in my early education. I was, of course, a person of infinite importance to my mother. While she was present, her eye followed my every motion, and watched every turn of my countenance. Anxious to anticipate every wish, and vigilant to relieve every difficulty, she never thought of allowing me to pay the natural penalties of impatience or self-indulgence. If one servant was driven away by my caprice, another attended my bidding. If my toys were demolished, new baubles were ready at my call. Even when my mother was reluctantly obliged to testify displeasure, her coldness quickly yielded to my tears; and I early discovered, that I had only to persevere in the demonstrations of obstinate sorrow, in order to obtain all the privileges of the party offended. When she was obliged to consign me to my maid, it was with earnest injunctions that I should be amused-injunctions which it every day became more difficult to fulfil. Her return was always marked by fond inquiries into my proceedings during her absence; and I must do my attendants the justice to say, that their replies were quite as favourable as truth would permit. They were too politic to hazard at once my favour and hers by being officiously censorious. On the contrary, they knew how to ingratiate themselves, by rehearsing my witticisms, with such additions and improvements as made my original property in them rather doubtful. My mother, pleased with the imposition, usually listened with delight; or, if she suspected the fraud, was too gentle to repulse it with severity, and too partial herself to blame what she ascribed to a kindred partiality. On my father's return from the counting-house, my double-rectified bon mots were commonly repeated to him, in accents low enough to draw my attention, as to somewhat not intended for my ear, yet so distinct as not to balk my curiosity. This record of my wit served a triple purpose. It confirmed my opinion of my own consequence, and of the vast importance of whatever I was pleased to say or do; it strengthened the testimony which my mother's visitors bore to my miraculous prematurity; and it established in my mind that association so favourable to feminine character, between repartee and applause!

To own the truth, my mother lay under strong temptation to report my sallies, for my father always listened to them with symptoms of pleasure. They sometimes caused his countenance to relax into a smile; and sometimes, either when they were more particularly bril liant, or his spirits in a more harmonious tone, he would say, "Come, Fauny, get me something nice for supper, and keep Ellen in good humour, and I won't go to the club to-night."

He generally, however, had reason to repent of this resolution; for though my mother performed her part to perfection, I not unfrequently experienced, in my father's presence, that restraint which has fettered elder wits, under a consciousness of being expected to entertain. Or, if my efforts were more successful, he commonly closed his declining eulogiums by saying, "It is a confounded pity she is a girl. If she had been of the right sort, she might have got into parliament, and made a figure with the best of them. But now what use is her sense of ?" "I hope it will contribute to her happiness," said my mother, sighing as if she had thought the fulfilment of her hope a little doubtful. "Poh!" quoth my father, "no fear of her happiness. Won't she have two hundred thousand pounds, and never know the trouble of earning it, nor need to do one thing from morning to night but amuse herself?" My mother made no answer. So, by this and similar conversations, a most just and desirable connexion was formed in my mind between the ideas of amusement and happiness, of labour and misery!

If to such culture as this I owed the seeds of my besetting sins, at least it must be owned that the soil was propitious, for the bitter root spread with disastrous vigour; striking so deep, that the iron grasp of adversity, the giant strength of awakened conscience, have failed to tear it wholly from the heart, though they have crushed its outward luxuriance.

Self-importance was fixed in my mind long before I could examine the grounds of this preposterous sentiment. It could not properly be said to rest on my talents, my beauty, or my prospects. Though these had each its full value in my estimation, they were but the trappings of my idol, which, like other idols, owed its dignity chiefly to the misjudging worship which I saw it receive. Children seldom reflect upon their own sentiments; and their self-conceit may, humanly speaking, be incurable, before they have an idea of its turpitude, or even of its existence. During the many years in which mine influenced every action and every thought, whilst it hourly appeared in the forms of arrogance, of self-will, impatience of reproof, love of flattery, and love of sway, I should have heard of its very existence with an incredulous smile, or with an indignation which proved its power. And when at last I learnt to bestow on one of its modifications a name which the world agrees to treat with some respect, I could own that I was even "proud of my pride;" representing every instance of a contrary propensity as the badge of a servile and grovelling disposition.

Meanwhile my encroachments upon the peace and liberty of all who approached me, were permitted for the very reason which ought to have made them be repelled-namely, that I was but a child! I was the dictatrix of my