PREFACE.
Perhaps this story scarcely needs a Preface, but the
child of the writer's invention comes to possess a place in
his affections, and he is reluctant to send it forth into the
wide world, without something in the nature of a letter of
introduction, asking for it a kindly and charitable reception.
It would be unjust to apply to this volume the tests
which are brought to bear upon an elaborate romance. In
his narrative of the adventures of Verty and Redbud, the
writer has not endeavored to mount into the regions of
tragedy, or chronicle the details of bloodshed on the part
of heroes—but rather, to find in a picturesque land and
period such traits of life and manners as are calculated to
afford innocent entertainment. Written under the beautiful
autumn skies of our beloved Virginia, the author
would ask for the work only a mind in unison with the
mood of the narrative—asking the reader to laugh, if he
can, and, above all, to carry with him, if possible, the
beautiful autumn sunshine, and the glories of the mountains.
Of the fine old border town, in which many of the
scenes of the story are laid, much might be said, if it
were here necessary, that Thomas Lord Fairfax, Baron of
Cameron, and formerly half-owner of Virginia, sleeps
there—that Morgan, the Ney of the Revolution, after all
his battles, lies there, too, as though to show how nobles
and commoners, lords and frontiersmen, monarchists and
republieans, are equal in death—and that the last stones of
old Fort Loudoun, built by Lieutenant, afterwards General,
Washington, crumble into dust there, disappearing
like a thousand other memorials of that noble period, and
the giants who illustrated it:—this, and much more,
might be said of Winchester, the old heart of the border,
which felt every blow, and poured out her blood freely in
behalf of the frontier. But of the land in which this old
sentinel stands it is impossible to speak in terms of adequate
justice. No words can describe the loveliness of its
fair fields, and vainly has the present writer tried to catch
the spirit of those splendid pictures, which the valley unrolls
in autumn days. The morning splendors and magnificent
sunsets—the noble river and blue battlements,
forever escape him. It is in the midst of these scenes that
he has endeavored to place a young hunter—a child of the
woods—and to show how his wild nature was impressed
by the new life and advancing civilization around him.
The process of his mental development is the chief aim of
the book.
Of the other personages of the story it is not necessary
here to speak—they will relieve the author of that trouble;
yet he cannot refrain from asking in advance a friendly
consideration for Miss Redbud. He trusts that her simplicity
and innocence will gain for her the hearts of all
who admire those qualities; and that in consideration of
her liking for her friend Verty, that these friends of her
own will bestow a portion of their approbation upon the
young woodman: pity him when he incurs the displeasure
of Mr. Jinks: sympathise with him when he is overwhelmed
by the reproaches of Mr. Roundjacket, and rejoice
with him when, in accordance with the strictest rules of
poetic justice, he is rewarded for his kindness and honesty
by the possession of the two things which he coveted the
most in the world.
