The novel which follows is upon a plan different from any other that the author has ever written, although it is perhaps the most legitimate¹ which relates to this kind of light literature.

It is intended, in a word — celebrare domestica facta — to give an imitation of the shifting manners of our own time, and paint scenes, the originals of which are daily passing round us, so that a minute’s observation may compare the copies with the originals. It must be confessed that this style of composition was adopted by the author rather from the tempting² circumstance of its offering some novelty in his compositions, and avoiding worn-out characters and positions, than from the hope of rivalling the many formidable competitors who have already won deserved honours in this department. The ladies, in particular, gifted by nature with keen powers of observation and light satire³, have been so distinguished⁴ by these works of talent, that, reckoning from the authoress of Evelina to her of Marriage, a catalogue might be made, including the brilliant and talented names of Edgeworth, Austin, Charlotte Smith, and others, whose success seems to have appropriated this province of the novel as exclusively their own. It was therefore with a sense of temerity⁵ that the author intruded⁶ upon a species of composition which had been of late practised with such distinguished success. This consciousness was lost, however, under the necessity of seeking for novelty, without which, it was much to be apprehended⁷, such repeated incursions on his part would nauseate⁸ the long indulgent public at the last.

The scene chosen for the author’s little drama of modern life was a mineral spring, such as are to be found in both divisions of Britain, and which are supplied with the usual materials for

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