Lorna Doone. R. D. Blackmore
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PREFACE
This work is called a “romance,” because the incidents, characters, time, and scenery, are alike romantic. And in shaping this old tale, the Writer neither dares, nor desires, to claim for it the dignity or cumber it with the difficulty of an historic novel.
And yet he thinks that the outlines are filled in more carefully, and the situations (however simple) more warmly coloured and quickened, than a reader would expect to find in what is called a “legend.”
And he knows that any son of Exmoor, chancing on this volume, cannot fail to bring to mind the nurse-tales of his childhood—the savage deeds of the outlaw Doones in the depth of Bagworthy Forest, the beauty of the hapless maid brought up in the midst of them, the plain John Ridd's Herculean power, and (memory's too congenial food) the exploits of Tom Faggus.
March, 1869.
PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION
Few things have surprised me more, and nothing has more pleased me, than the great success of this simple tale.
For truly it is a grand success to win the attention and kind regard, not of the general public only, but also of those who are at home with the scenery, people, life, and language, wherein a native cannot always satisfy the natives.
Therefore any son of Devon may imagine, and will not grudge, the Writer's delight at hearing from a recent visitor to the west that '“Lorna Doone,' to a Devonshire man, is as good as clotted cream, almost!”
Although not half so good as that, it has entered many a tranquil, happy, pure, and hospitable home, and the author, while deeply grateful for this genial reception, ascribes it partly to the fact that his story contains no word or thought disloyal to its birthright in the fairest county of England.
January, 1873.
PUBLISHERS' PREFACE
In putting this new and somewhat elaborate edition of “Lorna Doone” upon a market already supplied with various others, some of them excellent in quality, we ask the literary men and women of the country to give us their kind support for the reasons set forth herewith.
In the first place, it seems to us that of the countless thousands of books that have been written in all the various languages, and during the many ages since first man took to scribbling, no one has ever yet appeared which is the equal of this in its delicate and beautiful touches of both nature and human nature. We have had, in various ways, abundant proof that our feeling in this respect is not individual to ourselves, and we desire to thank heartily the many friends who have sent us their words and letters of encouragement, sympathy, and interest during the past year as they have by chance become aware of our plans.
While there were creditable editions already published, the fact that none existed just such as we ourselves wished for our own library was our primary incentive in undertaking this task. The labor upon which we entered was in short, one of love, and great as has been the expenditure of time, trouble, and money in the preparation of this book, we have faith to believe that there are a sufficient number of lovers of the peerless maiden, Lorna, to greet her appearance in this new dress with an enthusiasm that will in time repay us.
We earnestly hope that our judgment in the selection of artists, means, and materials has been, in the main, at least, wise, and that such, will be the verdict of book-lovers. Also, we hope that our lack of experience as publishers will disarm the critic, and that he will examine the book regarding only the excellences which he may find, and passing over its defects.
One special feature we wish particularly to call to the attention of all, and that is the beautiful map of the country we have introduced. This may be regarded by some as an innovation in a romance, but we hope that it will be found such a manifest convenience as to be its own sufficient excuse.
In this place it seems to be a duty, also, to call attention to the sympathizing and intelligent interest that has been so freely shown by the noble band of workers, artists, printers, engravers, etc., who have assisted us upon this work. To Mr. Henry Sandham, Mr. George Wharton Edwards, Mr. Harry Fenn, Mr. William Hamilton Gibson, Mr. W. H. Drake, Mr. Irving R. Wiles, Mr. George E. Graves, Mr. Charles Copeland, Mr. Harper Pennington, Mrs. Margaret MacDonald Pullman, Miss Harriet Thayer Durgin, Mr. A. V. S. Anthony, Mr. George T. Andrew, Goupil & Co. of Paris, Mr. Kurtz, The Wright Gravure Co., Mr. Fillebrown, Mr. William J. Dana, and our very able printers, Messrs. Fleming, Brewster & Alley-to them all we therefore extend our cordial acknowledgment of our indebtedness for their services. The fine map is the work of Messrs. Matthews, Northrup & Co.
Very respectfully,
The Burrows Brothers Co.
PREFACE BY MISS KATHARINE HILLARD
Author Of “The Doones Of Exmoor,” In “Harper's Magazine,” Vol. LXV. Page 835.
A novel that has stood the test of time so well as Mr. Blackmore's charming story of “Lorna Doone” scarcely needs a preface. Certainly no word of introduction is necessary to testify to its exquisite humor, its dramatic force, its under-current of poetic feeling, its fine touches of landscape-painting, and the novelty and interest of its subject. Since it first appeared in 1869 all these have become as household words, only, perhaps, all the admirers of “Lorna Doone” have not had the good fortune to wander through the romantic and picturesque region where the scene of the story is laid. To travel in North Devon, and over its border into Somerset (“the Summerland,” as the old Northmen call it), is to be confronted with the scenes of the novel at every turn; for Mr. Blackmore has so successfully woven the legends of the whole countryside into his story that one grows to believe it a veritable history, and is as disappointed to find traces of the romancer's own hand here and there as to find the hills and valleys laid bare of the forests which adorned them in the time of the Doones.
It is a singular country, this Devonshire coast, made up as it is of a series of rocky headlands jutting far out into the sea, and holding between their stretching arms deep fertile wooded valleys called combes (pronounced coomes), watered by trout and salmon streams, and filled with an Italian profusion of vegetation, myrtles and fuchsias, growing in the open air, and the walls hidden with a luxuriant tapestry of ferns and ivies and blossoming vines. Even the roofs are covered with flowers; every cranny