For the matter, then, of autobiography, I decline its higher and its
deeper aspects; as also I wish not to obtrude on the public eye mere
domesticities and privacies of life. But mainly lest others less
acquainted with the petty incidents of my career should hereafter take
up the task, I accede with all frankness and humility to what seems to
me like a present call to duty, having little time to spare at
seventy-six, so near the end of my tether,--and protesting, as I well
may, against the charge of selfish egotism in a book necessarily spotted
on every page with the insignificant letter I; and while, of course on
human-nature principles, willing enough to exhibit myself at the best,
promising also not to hide the second best, or worse than that, where I
can perceive it.

That shrewd old philosopher, Benjamin Franklin, thus excuses his own
self-imposed task of "autobiography," and I cannot do better than quote
and adopt his wise and just remarks:--

"In thus employing myself, I shall yield to the inclination so natural
to old men, of talking of themselves and their own actions, and I shall
indulge it without being tiresome to those who, from respect to my age,
might conceive themselves obliged to listen to me, since they will
always be free to read me or not. And (I may as well confess it, as the
denial would be believed by nobody) I shall, perhaps, not a little
gratify my own vanity. Indeed, I never heard or saw the introductory
words, 'Without vanity I may say,' &c., but some vain thing immediately
followed. Most people dislike vanity in others, whatever share they may
have of it themselves; but I give it fair quarter wherever I meet with
it, being persuaded that it is often productive of good to the
possessor, and to others who are within his sphere of action; and