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Hard Cash By: Charles Reade (1814-1884) |
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Hard Cash by Charles Reade
PREFACE "HARD CASH," like "The Cloister and the Hearth," is a matter of fact
Romance that is, a fiction built on truths; and these truths have been
gathered by long, severe, systematic labour, from a multitude of volumes,
pamphlets, journals, reports, blue books, manuscript narratives, letters,
and living people, whom I have sought out, examined, and cross examined,
to get at the truth on each main topic I have striven to handle.
The madhouse scenes have been picked out by certain disinterested
gentlemen, who keep private asylums, and periodicals to puff them; and
have been met with bold denials of public facts, and with timid
personalities, and a little easy cant about Sensation Novelists; but in
reality those passages have been written on the same system as the
nautical, legal, and other scenes: the best evidence has been ransacked;
and a large portion of this evidence I shall be happy to show at my house
to any brother writer who is disinterested, and really cares enough for
truth and humanity to walk or ride a mile in pursuit of them. CHARLES READE. 6 BOLTON ROW, MAYFAIR,
December 5, 1868.
This slang term is not quite accurate as applied to me. Without
sensation there can be no interest: but my plan is to mix a little
character and a little philosophy with the sensational element. HARD CASH PROLOGUE IN a snowy villa, with a sloping lawn, just outside the great commercial
seaport, Barkington, there lived a few years ago a happy family. A lady,
middle aged, but still charming; two young friends of hers; and a
periodical visitor. The lady was Mrs. Dodd; her occasional visitor was her husband; her
friends were her son Edward, aged twenty, and her daughter Julia,
nineteen, the fruit of a misalliance. Mrs. Dodd was originally Miss Fountain, a young lady well born, high
bred, and a denizen of the fashionable world. Under a strange concurrence
of circumstances she coolly married the captain of an East Indiaman. The
deed done, and with her eyes open, for she was not, to say, in love with
him, she took a judicious line and kept it: no hankering after Mayfair,
no talking about "Lord this" and "Lady that," to commercial gentlewomen;
no amphibiousness. She accepted her place in society, reserving the right
to embellish it with the graces she had gathered in a higher sphere. In
her home, and in her person, she was little less elegant than a countess;
yet nothing more than a merchant captain's wife; and she reared that
commander's children in a suburban villa, with the manners which adorn a
palace. When they happen to be there. She had a bugbear; Slang. Could not
endure the smart technicalities current; their multitude did not
overpower her distaste; she called them "jargon" "slang" was too coarse
a word for her to apply to slang: she excluded many a good "racy idiom"
along with the real offenders; and monosyllables in general ran some risk
of' having to show their passports. If this was pedantry, it went no
further; she was open, free, and youthful with her young pupils; and had
the art to put herself on their level: often, when they were quite young,
she would feign infantine ignorance, in order to hunt trite truth in
couples with them, and detect, by joint experiment, that rainbows cannot,
or else will not, be walked into, nor Jack o' lantern be gathered like a
cowslip; and that, dissect we the vocal dog whose hair is so like a
lamb's never so skilfully, no fragment of palpable bark, no sediment of
tangible squeak, remains inside him to bless the inquisitive little
operator, &c., &c. When they advanced from these elementary branches to
Languages, History, Tapestry, and "What Not," she managed still to keep
by their side learning with them, not just hearing them lessons down from
the top of a high tower of maternity... Continue reading book >>
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