shooting forward; one's groom, if there be hunting; one's publisher,
if there be a volume ready or money needed; or one's tailor
occasionally, if a coat be required, a man is able to write. But
what has a man to say to his friend,--or, for that matter, what has
a woman? A Horace Walpole may write to a Mr. Mann about all things
under the sun, London gossip or transcendental philosophy, and if
the Horace Walpole of the occasion can write well and will labour
diligently at that vocation, his letters may be worth reading by
his Mr. Mann, and by others; but, for the maintenance of love and
friendship, continued correspondence between distant friends is
naught. Distance in time and place, but especially in time, will
diminish friendship. It is a rule of nature that it should be so,
and thus the friendships which a man most fosters are those which he
can best enjoy. If your friend leave you, and seek a residence in
Patagonia, make a niche for him in your memory, and keep him there
as warm as you may. Perchance he may return from Patagonia and the
old joys may be repeated. But never think that those joys can be
maintained by the assistance of ocean postage, let it be at never
so cheap a rate. Phineas Finn had not thought this matter out very
carefully, and now, after two years of absence, he was surprised to
find that he was still had in remembrance by those who had never
troubled themselves to write to him a line during his absence.

When he went down into the drawing-room he was surprised to find
another old friend sitting there alone. "Mr. Finn," said the old
lady, "I hope I see you quite well. I am glad to meet you again. You
find my niece much changed, I dare say?"

"Not in the least, Lady Baldock," said Phineas, seizing the proffered
hand of the dowager. In that hour of conversation, which they had had