Following upon the chartist scare, and Louis Napoleon's jack-in-the-box-like elevation to power, came the news of the gold discovery in California. It chanced that I had recently been reading Colonel Fremont's narrative of his expedition across the hitherto unexplored far western continent, and the idea occurred to me of writing a fictitious narrative, giving the experiences of a party of immigrants to the new Tom Tiddler's ground, prefaced by a pretended circumstantial account of the first discovery of the precious metal. I broached the matter to Mr. David Bogue, who at once offered to publish the book on the usual half-profit terms, and it was settled that the greatest secrecy was to be observed in regard to the deception about to be practised on a confiding public.

I engaged to have the manuscript complete in a fortnight's time, and determined that it should take the form of a diary, penned by a young M.D., calling himself J. Tyrwhitt Brooks, which I thought looked quite the kind of name likely to disarm suspicion. As I was fully occupied with my regular duties during the daytime, I had to write the work after my arrival home in the evening, and remember that I found the task a much tougher one than I had anticipated.