May I ask your patience while I introduce myself--the writer of the following chapters? I am sitting before the looking-glass at the end of my room as I write, I not from any vanity, you will readily perceive that as you read on--but so that I may try and reflect with my ink the picture that I wish to present to you of a rather sad--I only say _rather_, for, upon the whole, I am very cheerful,--thin, pale, careworn-looking woman, with hair that has long been scant and grey-- whiter, perhaps, than that of many people at eight-and-forty. Eight-and-forty! What a great age that seems to the young; and yet how few the years, save in one period of my life, have appeared to me! At times I can hard…
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