Being a Boy

The object of the papers composing the volume—though "object" is a strong word to use about their waywardness—was to recall scenes in the boy-life of New England, or the impressions that a boy had of that life. There was no attempt at the biography of any particular boy; the experiences given were common to the boyhood of the time and place. While the book, therefore, was not consciously biographical, it was of necessity written out of a personal knowledge. And I may be permitted to say that, as soon as I became conscious that I was dealing with a young life of the past, I tried to be faithful to it, strictly so, and to import into it nothing of later experience, either in feeling or performance. I invented nothing,—not an adventure, not a scene, not an emotion. I know from observation how difficult it is for an adult to write about childhood. Invention is apt to supply details that memory does not carry. The knowledge of the man insensibly inflates the boyhood limitations. The temptation is to make a psychological analysis of the boy's life and aspirations, and to interpret them according to the man's view of life. It seems comparatively easy to write stories about boys, and even biographies; but it is not easy to resist the temptation of inventing scenes to make them interesting, indulging in exaggerations both of adventure and of feeling which are not true to experience, inventing details impossible to be recalled by the best memory, and states of mind which are psychologically untrue to the boy's consciousness.

How far I succeeded in keeping the man out of the boy's life, my readers can judge better than the writer. The volume originally made no sensation—how could it, pitched in such a key?—but it has gone on peacefully, and, I am glad to acknowledge, has made many valuable friends. It started a brook, and a brook it has continued. In sending out this new edition with Mr. Clifton Johnson's pictures, lovingly taken from the real life and heart of New England, I may express the hope that the boy of the remote generation will lose no friends.

C. D. W.

Hartford, May 8, 1897.

I

BEING A BOY