the experiences of a prisoner for blasphemy are only known to three
living Englishmen; and painful, because their unmerited sufferings
are a sad reflection on the boasted freedom of our age.

My own share in this misfortune is all I could pretend to describe
with fidelity. Without (I hope) any meretricious display of fine
writing, I have related the facts of my case, giving a precise
account of my prosecutions, and as vivid a narrative as memory
allows of my imprisonment in Holloway Gaol. I have striven throughout
to be truthful and accurate, nothing extenuating, nor setting down
aught in malice; and I have tried to hit the happy mean between
negligence and prolixity. Whether or not I have succeeded in the
second respect the reader must be the judge; and if he cannot be
so in the former respect, he will at least be able to decide whether
the writer means to be candid and bears the appearance of honesty.

One reason why I have striven to be exact is that my record may be
of service to the future historian of our time. It is always rash
to appeal to the future, as a posturing English novelist did in one
of his Prefaces; and it is well to remember the witticism of Voltaire,
who, on hearing an ambitious poeticule read his Ode to Posterity,
doubted whether it would reach its address. But it is the facts,
and not my personality, that are important in this case. My trial
will be a conspicuous event in the history of the struggle for religious
freedom, and in consequence of Lord Coleridge's and Sir James Stephen's
utterances, it may be of considerable moment in the history of the
Criminal Law. It is more than possible that I shall be the last
prisoner for blasphemy in England. That alone is a circumstance
of distinction, which gives my story a special character, quite
apart from my individuality. As a muddle-headed acquaintance said,