Zoe; Or, Some Day: A Novel

Just a few words to my readers, with regard to the book before them. The story of a girl's ambition; a novel certainly, but containing many incidents that have lately happened. It is most certainly very difficult to attempt to please every one, when there are so many different tastes to please. The many readers of my first novel, Trixie's Inheritance; or, Which shall Win? were kind enough to remember that the story had not come from the pen of a woman who had lived to realize the many changes that happen during years of personal experience, but that it had all been composed and written by a girl sixteen years old. They pardoned, overlooked the many flaws and mistakes, and remembered that we are not to be condemned for our first efforts. It was a very pleasant remembrance for me of my first book, that Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, on receipt of a copy, sent me the following recognition for my letter and book:
General Sir Henry T. Ponsonby is commanded by the Queen to thank Miss May Leonard for her letter of the 20th March, and for the book she sends. Buckingham Palace. 18th May, 1887.
A copy was sent to Lord Lansdowne, Governor General of Canada, who also sent a pleasant note of thanks.
In conclusion, I wish to thank the many ladies and gentlemen who so heartily, willingly and kindly have assisted me in making this, my second book, so successful.
MAY LEONARD.
Dark is her hair, her hand is white, Her voice is exquisitely tender; Her eyes are full of a liquid light, I never saw a waist so slender.
—Praed.
Dolores, will he ever come?
The hammock, slung between the two sturdy old apple trees, swings gently to and fro, the scorching rays of an August sun beat fiercely down, the bees hum lazily in the dense heat, the flowers droop their pretty heads, as if inviting a refreshing shower to brighten their fainting spirits.
Dolores, I believe you are asleep. Do you think he will soon be here?
Who? comes the lazy enquiry from the young lady of the hammock.