er and knight
and angel are not a higher and a better, yes, and a truer you, than the
world's trader and lawyer; still your love-letters will probably do
better in the bosom of the love-lettered than on a bookseller's shelves.
Besides these advantages, there is another in prae-humous publication. If
you wait for your biography till you are dead, it is extremely probable
you will lose it altogether. The world has so much to see to ahead that
it can hardly spare a glance over its shoulder to take note of what is
behind. Take the note yourself and make sure of it You will then know
where you are, and be master of the situation.

I purpose, therefore, to write the history of my life, from my entrance
upon it down to a period which is within the memory of men still living.
In so doing, I shall not be careful to trace out that common ground
which may be supposed to underlie all lives, but only indicate those
features which serve to distinguish one from another. Everybody is
christened, cuts his teeth, and eats bread and molasses. Silently will
we, therefore, infer the bread and molasses, and swiftly stride in
seven-league boots from mountain-peak to mountain-peak.

I was born of parents who, though not poor, were respectable, and I had
also the additional distinction of being a precocious child. I differed
from most precocious children, however, in not dying young, and that
opportunity, once let slip, is now forever gone. I believe the
precocious children who do not die young develop into idiots. My family
have never been without well-grounded fears in that line.

Nothing of any importance happened to me after I was born till I grew up
and wrote a book. Indeed, I believe I may say even that never happened,
for I did not write a book. Rather a book came to pass,--somewhat like
the goldsmithery of Aaron, who threw the ear-rings into the fire, and
"there came out this calf"! I went out one day alone, as was my wont, in
an open boat, and drifted beyond sight of land. I had heard that
shipwrecked mariners sometimes throw out a bottle of papers to give
posterity a clue to their fate. I threw out a bottle of papers, less out
of regard to posterity than to myself. They floated into a
printing-press, stiffened themselves, and came forth a book, whereon I
sailed safely ashore, grateful. Alas, in another confusion will there be
another resource?

It is this book which is to form the first, and quite possibly the last
chapter of my l