( s ) 



CHAPTER II. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



[My father's autobiographical recollections, given in the present 

 chapter, wore written for his children, — and written without any thought 

 that they would ever bo published. To many this may seem an 

 impossibility ; but those who knew my father will understand how it was 

 not only possible, but natural. The autobiography bears the heading, 

 Recollections of the Development of my Mind and Character, and ends with 

 the following note: — "Aug. 3, 1876. This sketch of my life was begun 

 about May 28th at Hopedene,* and since then I have written for nearly 

 an hour on most afternoons." It will easily be understood that, in a 

 narrative of a personal and intimate kind written for his wife and 

 children, passages should occur which must here be omitted; and I have 

 not thought it necessary to indicate where such omissions are made. It 

 has been found necessary to make a few corrections of obvious verbal 

 slips, but the number of such alterations has been kept down to the 

 minimum. — F. D.] 



A German Editor having written to me for an account of the 

 development of my mind and character with some sketch of 

 my autobiography, I have thought that the attempt would 

 amuse me, and might possibly interest my children or their 

 children. I know that it would have interested me greatly to 

 have read even so short and dull a sketch of the mind of my 

 grandfather, written by himself, and what he thought and did, 

 and how he worked. I have attempted to write the following 

 account of myself, as if I were a dead man in another world 

 looking back at my own life. Nor have I found this difficult, 

 for life is nearly over with me. I have taken no pains about 

 my style of writing. 



I was born at Shrewsbury on February 12th, 1809, and my 

 earliest recollection goes back only to when I was a few months 

 over four years old, when we went to near Abergele for sea- 

 bathing, and I recollect some events and places there with some 

 little distinctness. 



My mother died in July 1817, when I was a little over eight 

 years old, and it is odd that I can remember hardly anything 

 about her except her deathbed, her black velvet gown, and her 



• The late Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood's house in Surrey. 



