Not long ago a gentleman enclosed me the manuscript of his book, and asked me for a preface. I had never heard of him. He reminded me of Mark Twain in a similar case—the gentleman in a postscript asked Mr. Twain if he found fish good for the brain; he had been recommended it, he said. Twain replied, Yes! and he suggested his correspondent having whales for breakfast!
One gentleman sent me a cheque for two thousand guineas, and asked me to let him have a short article, on any subject. I returned the cheque—I had never heard of him either. I have had some most generous offers from publishers.
Sir George Reid said to me: “Never write an Autobiography. You only know one view of yourself—others see you all round.” But I don’t see any harm in such “Memories” as I now indite! In regard to Sir G. Reid’s observation, there’s one side no one else can see, and that’s “the inside!”
Nothing in this Volume in the least approaches the idea of a Biography. Facts illumined by letters, and the life divided into sections, to be filled in with the struggles of the ascent, seems the ideal sort of representation of a man’s life. A friend once wrote me the requisites of a biographer. Three qualifications were:
(a) Plenty of time for the job.
(b) A keen appreciation of the work done.
(c) A devotion to the Hero.
And, as if it didn’t so much matter, he added—the biographer should possess a high standard of literary ability.
But yet I believe that the vindication of a man’s lifework is almost an impossible task for even the most intimate of friends or the most assiduous and talented of Biographers, simply because they cannot possibly appreciate how great deeds have been belittled and ravaged by small contemporary men. These yelping curs made the most noise, as the empty barrels do! and it’s only long afterwards that the truth emerges out of the mist of obloquy and becomes history.
Remember it’s only in this century that Nelson has come into his own.
FISHER.
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