2 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



existence to himself; in the pre-Boswellian epoch, when 

 the germ of the photographer lay concealed in the womb 

 of the distant future, and the interviewer who pervades 

 our age was an unforeseen, indeed unimaginable, birth 

 of time. 



At present, the most convinced believer in the 

 aphorism "Bene qui latuit, bene vixit," 3 is not always 

 able to act up to it. An importunate person informs 

 him that his portrait is about to be published and will 

 be accompanied by a biography which the importunate 

 person proposes to write. The sufferer knows what that 

 means; either he undertakes to revise the "biography" 

 or he does not. In the former case, he makes himself 

 responsible; in the latter, he allows the publication of 

 a mass of more or less fulsome inaccuracies for which 

 he will be held responsible by those who are familiar 

 with the prevalent art of self-advertisement. On the 

 whole, it may be better to get over the "burlesque of 

 being employed in this manner" and do the thing him- 

 self. 



It was by reflections of this kind that, some years 

 ago, I was led to write and permit the publication of 

 the subjoined sketch. 



I was born about eight o'clock in the morning on the 

 4th of May, 1825, at Baling, which was, at that time, 

 as quiet a little country village as could be found within 

 half-a-dozen miles of Hyde Park Corner. Now it is a 

 suburb of London with, I believe, 30,000 inhabitants. 

 My father was one of the masters in a large semi-public 

 school which at one time had a high reputation. I am 

 not aware that any portents preceded my arrival in this 

 world, but, in my childhood, I remember hearing a 



3 "He who has lived a quiet life has lived well." -Ovid: 

 Tristia, 3, 4, 25. 



