he author's name never
would be guessed at, or the work heard of beyond a very limited sphere.
_'Ce n'est que le premier pas qu'il coute'_ in novel-writing, as in
carrying one's head in their hand; _The Inheritance_ and _Destiny
_followed as matters of course. It has been so often and confidently
asserted that almost all the characters are individual portraits, that
the author has little hope of being believed when she asserts the
contrary. That some of them were sketched from life is not denied; but
the circumstances in which they are placed, their birth, habits,
language, and a thousand minute particulars, differ so widely from the
originals as ought to refute the charge of personality. With regard to
the introduction of religious sentiment into works of fiction, there
exists a difference of opinion, which, in the absence of any
authoritative command, leaves each free to act according to their own
feelings and opinions. Viewing this life merely as the prelude to
another state of existence, it does seem strange that the future should
ever be_ wholly_ excluded from any representation of it, even in its
motley occurrences, scarcely less motley, perhaps, than the human mind
itself. The author can only wish it had been her province to have raised
plants of nobler growth in the wide field of Christian literature; but
as such has not been her high calling, she hopes her 'small herbs of
grace' may, without offence, be allowed to put forth their blossoms
amongst the briars, weeds, and wild flowers of life's common path.

[1] It underwent several changes before its final publication in 1818.

"Edinburgh,
_April_ 1840."

The friend on whose assistance she relied was Miss Clavering, daughter
of Lady Augusta Clavering, and niece of the late Duke of Argyll. Between
this lady and our author an early friendship existed, which was severed
only by death. It commenced in 1797, when Miss Ferrier lost her mother,
[1] and when she went with her father to Inveraray Castle she was then
fifteen, and her friend only eight. Miss Clavering became the wife of Mr.
Miles Fletcher, advocate, but was better known in later years as Mrs.
Christison. She inherited all the natural elegance and beauty of face
and form for which her mother, and aunt Lady Charlotte Campbell, were so
distinguished, and died at Edinburgh, 1869, at an advanced age. While
concocting the story of her first novel, Miss Ferrier writes to her
friend in a lively and sprightly