It may be well that I should put a short preface to
this book. In the summer of 1878 my father told
me that he had written a memoir of his own life.
He did not speak about it at length, but said that
he had written me a letter, not to be opened until
after his death, containing instructions for publication.
This letter was dated 30th April, 1876. I will
give here as much of it as concerns the public:
“I wish you to accept as a gift from me, given
you now, the accompanying pages which contain a memoir
of my life. My intention is that they shall be
published after my death, and be edited by you.
But I leave it altogether to your discretion whether
to publish or to suppress the work;—and
also to your discretion whether any part or what part
shall be omitted. But I would not wish that anything
should be added to the memoir. If you wish to
say any word as from yourself, let it be done in the
shape of a preface or introductory chapter.”
At the end there is a postscript: “The
publication, if made at all, should be effected as
soon as possible after my death.” My father
died on the 6th of December, 1882.
It will be seen, therefore, that my duty has been
merely to pass the book through the press conformably
to the above instructions. I have placed headings
to the right-hand pages throughout the book, and I
do not conceive that I was precluded from so doing.
Additions of any other sort there have been none;
the few footnotes are my father’s own additions
or corrections. And I have made no alterations.
I have suppressed some few passages, but not more than
would amount to two printed pages has been omitted.
My father has not given any of his own letters, nor
was it his wish that any should be published.
So much I would say by way of preface. And I
think I may also give in a few words the main incidents
in my father’s life after he completed his autobiography.
He has said that he had given up hunting; but he still
kept two horses for such riding as may be had in or
about the immediate neighborhood of London. He
continued to ride to the end of his life: he
liked the exercise, and I think it would have distressed
him not to have had a horse in his stable. But
he never spoke willingly on hunting matters.
He had at last resolved to give up his favourite amusement,
and that as far as he was concerned there should be
an end of it. In the spring of 1877 he went to
South Africa, and returned early in the following
year with a book on the colony already written.
In the summer of 1878, he was one of a party of ladies
and gentlemen who made an expedition to Iceland in
the “Mastiff,” one of Mr. John Burns’
steam-ships. The journey lasted altogether sixteen
days, and during that time Mr. and Mrs. Burns were
the hospitable entertainers. When my father returned,
he wrote a short account of How the “Mastiffs”
went to Iceland. The book was printed, but was
intended only for private circulation.
