A book about what?
Well, that must be as God wills.

But listen! As I lay in bed this morning between sleeping and waking, an idea came riding on a sunbeam into my room,--a mad, whimsical idea, but one that suits my mood; and put briefly, it is this: how is it that I, a not unpresentable young man, a man not without accomplishments or experience, should have gone all these years without finding that "Not impossible she Who shall command my heart and me,"-- without meeting at some turning of the way the mystical Golden Girl,--without, in short, finding a wife?
"Then," suggested the idea, with a blush for its own absurdity, "why not go on pilgrimage and seek her?
I don't believe you'll find her.
She isn't usually found after thirty.

But you'll no doubt have good fun by the way, and fall in with many pleasant adventures." "A brave idea, indeed!" I cried.

"By Heaven, I will take stick and knapsack and walk right away from my own front door, right away where the road leads, and see what happens." And now, if the reader please, we will make a start..