PREFACE 



How many people, I wonder — or shall I say, how few — take the 

 trouble to read the preface of a book ? 



Personally I am one of those few, and have always studied 

 my preface ever since I was able to read any work to which the 

 author had written such introduction. 



But in my case there is a special, perhaps some would call it 

 a sentimental, reason for this practice. 



I was only two years old when my father died, my brother 

 Maunsell, the subject of the following life-story, one year older, 

 and our eldest brother four years old. We never had, therefore, 

 the benefit of his fatherly advice during our childhood, which, 

 from all accounts, and from the respected and beloved name 

 he left behind him, would undoubtedly have been to our immense 

 advantage. Our mother and grandmother, however, with whom 

 we lived, and who superintended our upbringing, had been 

 devoted to him during his lifetime, and after his untimely death 

 at thirty-eight, cherishing his memory, as they did, above all 

 things, were never tired of impressing us with any special 

 admonition in regard to our conduct or studies to which my 

 father had given expression. 



As I was a voracious reader from a very early age, any 

 literary direction from that source was regarded by me as 

 equivalent to a command from above. Thus, on being told that 

 my father never dreamt of reading a book without first studying 

 its preface, I then and there adopted this principle for my own, 



vii 



