Dear Sir,–Though feeling some hesitation in approaching (metaphorically) the editorial sanctum, there are occasions when diffidence is out of place; and I think that you will allow that this comes under that category. But, without any further preface, I will plunge at once in medias res, and tell you my whole story from the very beginning.

The gentleman (and scholar), whom I wish to introduce to your notice, is Mr. Henry Broughton, my earliest and most attached friend. Throughout our school career–which we passed together in the classic groves and along the banks of Radley–to call us Damon and Pylades would have been to “damn with faint praise.” Together we chased the bounding ball; together we cleft the yielding wave; together we studied; together we attended Divine worship; together we should have passed the hours of the night, had not the regulations of that excellent institution confined us to our separate cubicles. Our characters were admirably fitted to supply what was wanting in the other. My mind was of the class which developes late, and which, while it gives abundant promise to the observant eye, too often fails to be appreciated by those immediately around. His reached its maturity early. I was the more thoughtful and the intellectualler of the two; he the more practical and the quick-sighteder.