through the press, this supervision on the part of the Editor has been very slight. The Editor has great confidence in the principles, taste, and intelligence of the real author of "Elinor Wyllys." She has seen much of that portion of the world with which a lady becomes acquainted, and has seen that much under the most favourable circumstances. As usually happens in such cases, her book will be found free from exaggerations of every sort; and will be more likely to be well received by persons of her own class, than by those who are less familiar with its advantages. Imagination, feeling, sound principles, and good taste, are all to be found in this book, though in what degree, the public will necessarily decide for itself. J. FENIMORE COOPER. Philadelphia, October 8, 1845. PREFACE. Ir will be well, perhaps, that the reader bear in mind, while running over the following pages, that many passing observations, many trifles, which naturally find their way into any sketch of social life, refer chiefly to things and notions in favour some ten years since; a period which is certainly not beyond the memory of man, but very possibly beyond the clear recollection of some young lady reader, just within her teens. New opinions, new ideas, new fashions have appeared among us since then, and made their way perceptibly. Twenty years' possession constitute a legal title, if we may believe the lawyers; but a single season is often sufficient for a new fancyfancies of a serious nature, too, sometimes-to take full possession of the public mind, and assume arbitrary control of the premises for the time being, at least. It will be more honest to confess at once, before the reader undertakes the first chapter, that the tale now before him is a first appearance in print-a first appearance, too, of one who, even now that the formidable step is taken, feels little disposed to envy the honours of authorship. Writing may be a very pleasant pastime; but printing seems to have many disagreeable consequences attending every stage of the process; and yet, after all, reading is often the most irksome task of the three. In this last case, however, the remedy is generally easy; one may throw aside the volume, and abuse the author. If there are books which must be read, stupid or not, owing to the claim of some great name on the binding, the present story is not one of the number; and, perhaps, the perfect liberty enjoyed by the reader under such circumstances -to like or dislike independent of critics, to cut every leaf, or skip a dozen chapters at a time without fear of reproach-will incline him to an amiable mood. It is to be hoped so; it will be unfortunate if, among many agreeable summer excursions, both on terra-firma and in the regions of fancy, the hour passed at Longbridge should |