laimed, "I never saw myself talking before,--never saw the play of my
own features in conversation." Had the mind a glass thus to look in,
it would see things, see wonders, it knows nothing of now. It might see
worse things, it might see better things, than it expected. And yet
I have been endeavoring in these pages [121] to give some account of
myself, while, after all, I am obliged to say that it is little more
than a post mortem examination. If I had been dealing with the living
subject, I suppose I could not have dealt so freely with myself. The
last thing which I ever thought of doing is this which I have now done.
Autobiographies are often pleasant reading; but I confess that I have
always had a kind of prejudice against them. They have seemed to me to
imply something of vanity, or a want of dignified reserve. The apology
lies, perhaps, in the writer's ignorance, after all, of his own and very
self. He has only told the story of a life. He has not come much nearer
to himself than statistics come to the life of a people.

All that I know is, that I have lived a life mainly happy in its
experience, not merely according to the average, not merely as things go
in this world, but far more than that; which I should be willing to live
again for the happiness that has blessed it, yet more for the interests
which have animated it, and which has always been growing happier from
the beginning. I have lived a life mainly fortunate in its circumstances
both of early nurture and active pursuit; marred by no vice,--I do
not remember even ever to have told a lie,--stained by no dishonor;
laborious, but enjoying labor, especially in the sphere to which my life
has been devoted; suffering from no pressing want, though moderate in
means, and successful in every way, as much as I had any [122] right or
reason to expect. I have been happy (the word is weak to express it) in
my domestic relations, happy in the dearest and holiest friendships, and
happy in the respect of society. And I have had a happiness (I dread the
appearance of profession in saying it) in things divinest, in religion,
in God,-in associating with him all the beauty of nature and the
blessedness of life, beyond all other possible joy. And, therefore,
notwithstanding all that I have suffered, notwithstanding all the pain
and weariness and anxiety and sorrow that necessarily enter into life,
and the inward errings that are worse than all, I would end my record
with a de