Some might be worse,
and then I must reject them, to the injury of the
feelings of the writer, or else insert them, to make
my own darkness yet more opaque and palpable.
``Let every herring,'' says our old-fashioned proverb,
``hang by his own head.''
One person, however, I may distinguish, as she
is now no more, who, living to the utmost term of
human life, honoured me with a great share of her
friendship, as indeed we were blood-relatives in the
Scottish sense---Heaven knows how many degrees
removed---and friends in the sense of Old England.
I mean the late excellent and regretted Mrs Bethune
Baliol. But as I design this admirable picture of
the olden time for a principal character in my
work, I will only say here, that she knew and approved
of my present purpose; and though she
declined to contribute to it while she lived, from a
sense of dignified retirement, which she thought
became her age, sex, and condition in life, she left
me some materials for carrying on my proposed
work, which I coveted when I heard her detail them
in conversation, and which now, when I have their
substance in her own handwriting, I account far
more valuable than anything I have myself to offer.
Pages:
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167