and whether they "do or die," the mingled suspense, pride, and anguish
suffered by their women-kind rouses the pity of the world; but most of
all, for the secret of sympathy is understanding, the pity of those
who have suffered likewise. So that such escapades as Peter's in the
story, being not very uncommon at that dark period (and having its
foundation in fact), may have touched hearts over here, which will be
unmoved on the other side of the Atlantic. I cannot tell. I have known
very few Americans, and though I have counted those few among my
friends, they have been rarely met.

My only knowledge of America has been gleaned from my observation of
these, and from reading. As it happens, the favourite books of my
childhood were, with few exceptions, American.

Partly from association and partly because I count it the most truly
delightful story of its kind that ever was written, "Little Women" has
always retained its early place in my affections. "Meg," "Jo," "Beth,"
and "Amy" are my oldest and dearest friends; and when I think of them,
it is hard to believe that America could be a land of strangers to me
after all. I confess to a weakness for the "Wide, Wide World" and a
secret passion for "Queechy." I loved "Mr. Rutherford's Children," and
was always interested to hear "What Katy Did," Whilst the very thought
of "Melbourne House" thrills me with recollections of the joy I
experienced therein.

But this is all by the way; and for the egotism which is, I fear me,
displayed in this foreword, I can but plead, not only the difficulty
of writing a preface at all, when one has no personal inclination that
way, but the nervousness which must beset a writer who is directly