The days have an uncanny way of racing by.

I see my little allotted span of life shrinking visibly, like the _peau de chagrin_.

I must bestir myself, or my last day will come before I have accomplished anything.
When I jotted down the above not very original memorandum I had passed a perfectly uneumoirous week among my friends and social acquaintances.
I had stood godfather to my sister Agatha's fifth child, taking upon myself obligations which I shall never be able to perform; I had dined amusingly at my sister Jane's; I had shot pheasants at Farfax Glenn's place in Hampshire; and I had paid a long-promised charming country-house visit to old Lady Blackadder.
When I came back to town, however, I consulted my calendar with some anxiety, and set out to clear my path.
I have now practically withdrawn from political life.

Letters have passed; complimentary and sympathetic gentlemen have interviewed me and tried to weaken my decision.

The great Raggles has even called, and dangled the seals of office before my eyes.