Waverley | Page 3

associations, will, he thinks,
add something to the spirit of the dialogue, narrative, or description.
These consist in occasional pruning where the language is redundant,
compression where the style is loose, infusion of vigour where it is
languid, the exchange of less forcible for more appropriate
epithets--slight alterations in short, like the last touches of an artist,
which contribute to heighten and finish the picture, though an
inexperienced eye can hardly detect in what they consist.
The General Preface to the new Edition, and the Introductory Notices
to each separate work, will contain an account of such circumstances

attending the first publication of the Novels and Tales as may appear
interesting in themselves, or proper to be communicated to the public.
The Author also proposes to publish, on this occasion, the various
legends, family traditions, or obscure historical facts which have
formed the ground-work of these Novels, and to give some account of
the places where the scenes are laid, when these are altogether, or in
part, real; as well as a statement of particular incidents founded on fact;
together with a more copious Glossary, and Notes explanatory of the
ancient customs and popular superstitions referred to in the Romances.
Upon the whole, it is hoped that the Waverley Novels, in their new
dress, will not be found to have lost any part of their attractions in
consequence of receiving illustrations by the Author, and undergoing
his careful revision.
ABBOTSFORD, January, 1829.

GENERAL PREFACE TO THE WAVERLEY NOVELS
And must I ravel out My weaved-up follies? Richard II, Act IV.
Having undertaken to give an Introductory Account of the
compositions which are here offered to the public, with Notes and
Illustrations, the Author, under whose name they are now for the first
time collected, feels that he has the delicate task of speaking more of
himself and his personal concerns than may perhaps be either graceful
or prudent. In this particular he runs the risk of presenting himself to
the public in the relation that the dumb wife in the jest-book held to her
husband, when, having spent half of his fortune to obtain the cure of
her imperfection, he was willing to have bestowed the other half to
restore her to her former condition. But this is a risk inseparable from
the task which the Author has undertaken, and he can only promise to
be as little of an egotist as the situation will permit. It is perhaps an
indifferent sign of a disposition to keep his word, that, having
introduced himself in the third person singular, he proceeds in the
second paragraph to make use of the first. But it appears to him that the

seeming modesty connected with the former mode of writing is
overbalanced by the inconvenience of stiffness and affectation which
attends it during a narrative of some length, and which may be
observed less or more in every work in which the third person is used,
from the Commentaries of Caesar to the Autobiography of Alexander
the Corrector.
I must refer to a very early period of my life, were I to point out my
first achievements as a tale-teller; but I believe some of my old
schoolfellows can still bear witness that I had a distinguished character
for that talent, at a time when the applause of my companions was my
recompense for the disgraces and punishments which the future
romance-writer incurred for being idle himself, and keeping others idle,
during hours that should have been employed on our tasks. The chief
enjoyment of my holidays was to escape with a chosen friend, who had
the same taste with myself, and alternately to recite to each other such
wild adventures as we were able to devise. We told, each in turn,
interminable tales of knight-errantry and battles and enchantments,
which were continued from one day to another as opportunity offered,
without our ever thinking of bringing them to a conclusion. As we
observed a strict secrecy on the subject of this intercourse, it acquired
all the character of a concealed pleasure, and we used to select for the
scenes of our indulgence long walks through the solitary and romantic
environs of Arthur's Seat, Salisbury Crags, Braid Hills, and similar
places in the vicinity of Edinburgh; and the recollection of those
holidays still forms an oasis in the pilgrimage which I have to look
back upon. I have only to add, that my friend still lives, a prosperous
gentleman, but too much occupied with graver business to thank me for
indicating him more plainly as a confidant of my childish mystery.
When boyhood advancing into youth required more serious studies and
graver cares, a long illness threw me back on the kingdom of fiction, as
if it were by a species of fatality. My indisposition