At the present hour, when fiction
takes forms so ingenious and so specious, it is perhaps
necessary to say that the following narrative, in
all its parts, and so far as the punctilious attention
of the writer has been able to keep it so, is scrupulously
true. If it were not true, in this strict sense,
to publish it would be to trifle with all those who
may be induced to read it. It is offered to them
as a document, as a record of educational and
religious conditions which, having passed away, will
never return. In this respect, as the diagnosis
of a dying Puritanism, it is hoped that the narrative
will not be altogether without significance.
It offers, too, in a subsidiary sense,
a study of the development of moral and intellectual
ideas during the progress of infancy. These have
been closely and conscientiously noted, and may have
some value in consequence of the unusual conditions
in which they were produced. The author has observed
that those who have written about the facts of their
own childhood have usually delayed to note them down
until age has dimmed their recollections. Perhaps
an even more common fault in such autobiographies
is that they are sentimental, and are falsified by
self-admiration and self-pity. The writer of these
recollections has thought that if the examination of
his earliest years was to be undertaken at all, it
should be attempted while his memory is still perfectly
vivid and while he is still unbiased by the forgetfulness
or the sensibility of advancing years.
At one point only has there been any
tampering with precise fact. It is believed that,
with the exception of the Son, there is but one person
mentioned in this book who is still alive. Nevertheless,
it has been thought well, in order to avoid any appearance
of offence, to alter the majority of the proper names
of the private persons spoken of.
It is not usual, perhaps, that the
narrative of a spiritual struggle should mingle merriment
and humour with a discussion of the most solemn subjects.
It has, however, been inevitable that they should
be so mingled in this narrative. It is true that
most funny books try to be funny throughout, while
theology is scandalized if it awakens a single smile.
But life is not constituted thus, and this book is
nothing if it is not a genuine slice of life.
There was an extraordinary mixture of comedy and tragedy
in the situation which is here described, and those
who are affected by the pathos of it will not need
to have it explained to them that the comedy was superficial
and the tragedy essential.
September 1907