The Author Meanders Upon The Enduring Hills; And The Reader Will Lose Nothing By Not Accompanying Him. In pursuit of our opinion that the novel should hark back to its origin and be as a story that is told by mouth to group of listeners, here we momentarily break the thread. It is an occasion for advertisement. As when the personal narrator, upon resumption of his history, will at a point declare, “Now we come to the exciting part,” so now do I. Heretofore we have somewhat dragged. We have been as host and visitor at tea in the drawing-room. Guests have arrived; to you I have introduced them, and after the shortest spell they have taken their leave. My Mary and my George--favoured guests--have sat with us through our meal; but how fleeting our converse with those others--with Mr. William Wyvern, with Margaret, with Mrs. Major and with Mr. Marrapit! I grant you cause to grumble at their introduction, so purposeless has been their part. I grant you they have been as the guests at whose arrival, disturbing the intimate chatter, impatient glances are exchanged; at whose departure there is shuffle of relief. Well, I promise you we shall now link our personages and set our history bounding to its conclusion. We have collected them; now to switch on the connection and set them acting one against the other until the sparks do fly; watching those sparks shall be your entertainment. The switch which thus sets active the play of forces I shall call circumstance. If it has been long delayed, I have the precedent of all the story of human life as my excuse. For we are the children of circumstance. We move each in our little circle by a stout hedge encompassed. Circumstance suddenly will break the wall: some fellow man or woman is flung against us, and immediately the quiet ambulation of our little circle is for some conflict sharp exchanged. To-day we are at peace with the world, to-morrow warring with all mankind. I say with all mankind, because so narrow and so selfish is our outlook upon life that one single man or woman--a dullard neighbour or a silly girl--who may interfere with us, throws into turmoil our whole existence. Walls of impenetrable blackness shut out all life save only this intruder and ourself; that other person becomes our world--engaging our complete faculties. Deeper misfortune cannot be conceived. It is through allowing such occurrences to crush us that brows are wrinkled before their time; nerves broken-edged while yet they should be firmly strung; death reached ere yet the proper span of life is lived.