[My father’s autobiographical recollections, given in the presentchapter, were written for his children,—and written without any thoughtthat they would ever be published. To many this may seem an impossibility; butthose who knew my father will understand how it was not only possible, butnatural. The autobiography bears the heading, ‘Recollections of theDevelopment of my Mind and Character,’ and end with the followingnote:—“Aug. 3, 1876. This sketch of my life was begun about May28th at Hopedene (Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood’s house in Surrey.), and sincethen I have written for nearly an hour on most afternoons.” It willeasily be understood that, in a narrative of a personal and intimate kindwritten for his wife and children, passages should occur which must here beomitted; and I have not thought it necessary to indicate where such omissionsare made. It has been found necessary to make a few corrections of obviousverbal slips, but the number of such alterations has been kept down to theminimum.—F.D.]
A German Editor having written to me for an account of the development of mymind and character with some sketch of my autobiography, I have thought thatthe attempt would amuse me, and might possibly interest my children or theirchildren. I know that it would have interested me greatly to have read even soshort and dull a sketch of the mind of my grandfather, written by himself, andwhat he thought and did, and how he worked. I have attempted to write thefollowing account of myself, as if I were a dead man in another world lookingback at my own life. Nor have I found this difficult, for life is nearly overwith me. I have taken no pains about my style of writing.
I was born at Shrewsbury on February 12th, 1809, and my earliest recollectiongoes back only to when I was a few months over four years old, when we went tonear Abergele for sea-bathing, and I recollect some events and places therewith some little distinctness.
My mother died in July 1817, when I was a little over eight years old, and itis odd that I can remember hardly anything about her except her death-bed, herblack velvet gown, and her curiously constructed work-table. In the spring ofthis same year I was sent to a day-school in Shrewsbury, where I stayed a year.I have been told that I was much slower in learning than my younger sisterCatherine, and I believe that I was in many ways a naughty boy.
By the time I went to this day-school (Kept by Rev. G. Case, minister of theUnitarian Chapel in the High Street. Mrs. Darwin was a Unitarian and attendedMr. Case’s chapel, and my father as a little boy went there wit