. Its several pages
speak of many a walk, many a drive, and many a conversation, when I was not
alone; and my companion was one who, in this world, I shall never see more. But
this is for myself; my readers have nothing to do with these associations.
    I will add but one word as to the alterations I have made. They are
principally those of style. I have changed no portion of the story, nor
introduced any new ideas or circumstances. I have mended the language where it
was so bald as to interfere with the interest of the narrative; and these
changes occur almost exclusively in the beginning of the first volume.
Throughout they are entirely confined to such parts as are mere adjuncts to the
story, leaving the core and substance of it untouched.
    
                                                                        M. W. S.
London, October 15, 1831
 

                                    Preface

The event on which this fiction is founded, has been supposed, by Dr. Darwin,
and some of the physiological writers of Germany, as not of impossible
occurrence. I shall not be supposed as according the remotest degree of serious
faith to such an imagination; yet, in assuming it as the basis of a work of
fancy. I have not considered myself as merely weaving a series of supernatural
terrors. The event on which the interest of the story depends is exempt from the
disadvantages of a mere tale of spectres or enchantment. It was recommended by
the novelty of the situations which it developes; and, however impossible as a
physical fact, affords a point of view to the imagination for the delineating of
human passions more comprehensive and commanding than any which the ordinary
relations of existing events can yield.
    I have thus endeavoured to preserve the truth of the elementary principles
of human nature, while I have not scrupled to innovate upon their combinations.
The Iliad, the tragic poetry of Greece, - Shakespeare, in the Tempest and
Midsummer Night's Dream, - and most especially Milton, in Paradise Lost, conform
to this rule; and the most humble novelist, who seeks to confer or receive
amusement from his labours, may, without presumption, apply to prose fiction a
licence, or rather a rule, from the adoption of which so many exquisite
combinations of human feeling have resulted in the highest specimens of poetry.
    The circumstance on which my story rests was suggested in casual
conversation. It was commenced partly as a source of amusement, and partly as an
expedient for exercising any untried resources of mind. Other motives were
mingled with these, as the work proceeded. I am by no means indifferent to the
manner in
