tion. Silver ore cannot have the pure metal extracted from it by one furnace blast; it needs successive refinements.
The story is told of one of our recently created knights, that on returning home he said to his wife: "Now, my dear, at last you have become a lady."
"And not even the King's sword could convert you into a gentleman," was her quick reply.
The nouveaux riches who are buying up all our old English mansions, may be, nay, assuredly are, well-intentioned, and desirous to do what is right in the parishes they have invaded, but, they do not know how to do it; they have not been born to occupy the position they have assumed, and the people know it.
A Pomeranian baron told me that his lands had bred many hares. In an evil hour he introduced rabbits. Before many years had elapsed the rabbits had driven all the hares away, and had proved four times as destructive.
Rabbits are good eating; but they are not so good as hare.
Life is made up of three epochs—the formative, up to thirty years; the consolidative, that of settlement on the foundations; and the last thirty, the term of which not many of us reach, which is the period of dilapidation. I have given here only the first epoch. The second is written, but will probably not be published, if it ever is, till after my death. As to the third, I have not refrained from describing that—recording the process of decay, that may never appear.
I will draw towards the conclusion of this introduction with the words of Tristram Shandy to the readers of his Life and Opinions.
"You must have a little patience. I have undertaken, you see, to write not only my life, but my opinions also; hoping and expecting that your knowledge of my character, and of what kind of an animal I am, by the one, would give you a better relish for the other. As you proceed further with me, the slight acquaintance which is now beginning betwixt us will grow into familiarity; and that, unless one of us is in fault, will terminate in friendship. Then, nothing which has touched me will be thought trifling in its nature, or tedious in its telling. Therefore, my dear friend and companion, if you should think me somewhat sparing of my narrative on my first setting out—bear with me—and let me go
