Chapter 1

Preface to the New Edition

This book originally owed its existence to an accident, and it was printed
under circumstances that prevented the usual supervision of the press by
the author. The consequences were many defects in plot, style, and
arrangement, that were entirely owing to precipitation and inexperience;
and quite as many faults, of another nature, that are to be traced solely
to a bad manuscript and worse proof reading. Perhaps no novel of our times
was worst printed than the first edition of this work. More than a hundred
periods were placed in the middle of sentences, and perhaps five times
that number were omitted in places where they ought to have been
inserted. It is scarcely necessary to add, that passages were rendered
obscure, and that entire paragraphs were unintelligible.

Most of the faults just mentioned have now been corrected, though it would
require more labor than would produce an entirely new work, to repair all
the inherent defects that are attributable to haste, and to the
awkwardness of a novice in the art of composing. In this respect, the work
and its blemishes are probably inseparable. Still, the reader will now be
better rewarded for his time, and, on the whole; the book is much more
worthy of his attention.

It has been said that Precaution owes its existence to fortuitous
circumstances. The same causes induced its English plot, and, in a
measure, the medley of characters that no doubt will appear a mistake in
the conception. It can scarcely be said that the work was commenced with
any view to publication; and when it was finally put into a publisher's
hands, with "all its imperfections on its head," the last thought of the
writer was any expectation that it would be followed by a series of
similar tales from the same pen.

More than this the public will feel no interest in knowing, and less than
this the author could not consent to say on presenting to the world a
reprint of a book with so few claims to notice.

PRECAUTION.

Chapter I.

"I wonder if we are to have a neighbor in the Deanery soon," inquired
Clara Moseley, addressing herself to a small party assembled in her
father's drawing-room, while standing at a window which commanded a
distant view of the house in question.

"Oh yes," replied her brother, "the agent has let it to a Mr. Jarvis for a
couple of years, and he is to take possession this week."

"And who is the Mr. Jarvis that is about to become so near a neighbor?"
asked Sir Edward Moseley.

"Why, sir, I learn he has been a capital merchant; that he has retired
from business with a large fortune; that he has, like yourself, sir, an
only hope for his