 | Out of his head |  |
NOTE.
The manuscript which comprises this volume was found
among the papers of the late Paul Lynde, and placed in
my hands, by the publishers, for revision.
It is usual to accompany a posthumous work with
some account of its author: in the present instance, the
friends of the writer object to this, and I am permitted
only to say that Mr. Lynde, — personally a stranger to
me, — was the victim of an hereditary peculiarity, which
increasing with his years, at length forced him to retreat
from the world, to one of those beneficent asylums established
for such unfortunates. There he wrote, dreamed,
and indulged in his vagaries to the end.
An old and strange affection of his house.
Himself, too, had wierd seizures, heaven knows what,
On a sudden, in the midst of men and day,
And while he walked and talked as heretofor
He seemed to move among a world of ghosts
And feel himself the shadow of a dream.”
Of this Romance, produced under such unusual circumstances,
it is not my province to speak. The reader
himself will see, beneath the sombre surface of the writer's
words, the particular humor of the man.
| Out of his head | |