The duty which now devolves upon me of delivering to you a Presidential Address for the second time is a pleasant one but, at the same time, embarrassing?pleasant, because it is an honour, as appreciated as it is undeserved, to preside over you on the year which marks the coming of age of our Society; embarrassing, because it finds me no longer prepared to keep myself?and you?away from the dry-as-dust consideration of books, and, worse still, Hebrew books. You will all compare me to the amiable, though somewhat weak-minded, Mr. Dick, who never could keep out King Charles’s head from his conversation for any length of time. For this I crave your pardon, and venture to plead in aid as my excuse the Times leader writer of Thursday, who pleads for the middle aged man who finds his enthusiasm grow with his experience.

Perhaps, after all, you may discover that

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