 | My third book |  |
PREFACE.
There is a pleasant legend which tells how the
Hindoo maidens, in whose hearts love is beginning
to dawn, go to the banks of the Ganges, and launch,
each one, her little cocoa-shell boat with its lighted
lamp. Kneeling on the river's brink, they watch till
the light dies, or the boat, with its lamp still burning,
goes out of sight, and from its fate they augur hope
or despair.
Twice before I have made my venture, as doubtfully
as they, on the tide of public opinion, and now
I have come again to the river's brink to send forth
“My Third Book.” What the future will decree for
it—genial airs, warmth, and sunlight, or adverse gales
—I know not. I can but wait.
Hitherto I have found kind friends among my readers,
and I hope the gift I bring to-day may prove a
passport to their continued regard. Some of the
tales herein embodied may be recognized by those
familiar with the magazine literature of the past four
years; but, I trust, their reappearance in a new garb
will not be unwelcome. Other portions of the contents
are entirely new; and of all, whatever their imperfections,
I can but say, as those who proffer humble
entertainment to distinguished guests,
“Still the poor mansion offers thee its best.”
| My third book | |