July 17, 2025 • 18 mins
Delve into the captivating life and mind of Anthony Trollope, an iconic figure in literature, through his own words. His autobiography is a rollercoaster of emotions, from side-splitting humor to poignant honesty. Discover the fascinating insights he provides on his unique approach to writing, viewing it more as a labor than a form of art. Trollopes die-hard fans will be thrilled by his candid evaluation of his own work and his recognition of his novels flaws and accomplishments. This autobiography extends beyond just his literary life, providing an intimate look at his years juggling his passion for writing with a full-time job at the post office.
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Chapter nineteen of the Autobiography of Anthony Trollop. This libribox
recording is in the public domain. Autobiography of Anthony Trollop,
Ralph the Heir the Eustace Diamonds Lady Anna, Australia. In
the spring of eighteen seventy one, we I and my
(00:22):
wife had decided that we would go to Australia to
visit our shepherd son. Of course, before doing so, I
made a contract with a publisher for a book about
the colonies. For such a work as this, I had
always been aware that I could not fairly demand more
than half the price that would be given for the
same amount of fiction. And as such, books have an
(00:43):
indomitable tendency to stretch themselves so that more is given
than what is sold. And as the cost of traveling
is heavy, the writing of them is not renunerative. This
tendency to stretch comes not, I think generally, from the
ambition of the writer, but from his inner ability to
comprise the different parts in their allotted spaces. If you
(01:04):
have to deal with a country, a colony, a city,
a trade, or a political opinion, it is so much
easier to deal with it. In twenty than in twelve pages.
I also made an engagement with the editor of a
London daily paper to supply him with a series of articles,
which were duly written, duly published, and duly paid for.
But with all this, traveling with the object of writing
(01:26):
is not a good trade. If the traveling author can
pay his bills, he must be a good manager on
the road. Before starting, there came upon us the terrible
necessity of coming to some resolution about our house at Waltham.
It had been first hired and then bought, primarily because
it suited my post office avocations. To this reason had
(01:47):
been added other attractions in the shape of hunting, gardening,
and suburban hospitalities. Altogether, the house had been a success
and the scene of much happiness. But there arose questions
as to expense. Would not a house in London be cheaper?
There could be no doubt that my income would decrease,
(02:07):
and was decreasing. I had thrown the post office as
it were away, and the writing of novels could not
go on forever. Some of my friends told me already
that at fifty five I ought to give up the
fabrication of love stories. The hunting, I thought must go
soon and I would not therefore allow that to keep
me in the country, And then why should I live
(02:30):
at Waltham Cross. Now, seeing that I had fixed on
that place in reference to the post office, it was
therefore determined that we would flit, And as we were
to be away for eighteen months, we determined also to
sell our furniture. So there was a packing up, with
many tears and consultations as to what should be saved
out of the things we loved, as must take place
(02:54):
on such an occasion, there was some heartfelt grief, but
the thing was done and orders were given for the
letting or sale of the house. I may as well
say here that it never was let and that it
remained unoccupied for two years before it was sold. I
lost by the transaction about eight hundred As I continually
hear that other men make money by buying and selling houses,
(03:17):
I presume I am not well adapted for transactions of
that sort. I have never made money by selling anything
except a manuscript. In matters of horseflesh, I am so
inefficient that I have generally given away horses that I
have not wanted. When we started from Liverpool in May
eighteen seventy one, Ralph the Heir was running through the
(03:38):
Saint Paul's. This was the novel of which Charles read afterwards,
took the plot and made on it a play. I
have always thought it to be one of the worst
novels I have written, and almost to have justified that
dictum that a novelist after fifty should not write love stories.
It was, in part a political novel, and that part
which appertains to politics, which recounts the electioneering expenses of
(04:02):
the candidates at Percy Cross, is well enough. Percy Cross
and Beverly were, of course one in the same place, nifit.
The breeches maker and his daughter are also good in
their way, and Mogg's the daughter's lover, who was not
only lover but also one of the candidates at Percy
Cross as well. But the main thread of the story,
that which tells of the doings of the young gentlemen
(04:24):
and young ladies, the heroes and the heroines, is not good.
Ralph the Heir has not much life about him, while Ralph,
who is not the heir but is intended to be
the real hero, has none. The same may be said
of the young ladies, of whom one she who was
meant to be. The Chief has passed utterly out of
my mind, without leaving a trace of remembrance behind. I
(04:47):
also left in the hands of the editor of The Fortnightly,
ready for production on the first of July, following a
story called The Eustace Diamonds. In that I think that
my friend's dictum was disproved. There is not much love
in it, but what there is is good. The character
of Lucy Morris is pretty, and her love is as
genuine and as well told as that of Lucy Robarts
(05:09):
or Lily Dale. But The Eustace Diamonds achieved the success
which it certainly did attain, not as a love story,
but as a record of a cunning little woman of
pseudo fashion, to whom in her cunning there came a
series of adventures, unpleasant enough in themselves, but pleasant to
the reader. As I wrote the book, the idea constantly
presented itself to me that Lizzie Eustace was but a
(05:31):
second Becky Sharp, but implanning the character. I had not
thought of this, and I believe that Lizzie would have
been just as she is, though Becky Sharp had never
been described. The plot of The Diamond necklace is I
think well arranged, though it produced itself without any forethought.
I had no idea of setting thieves after the babble
till I had got my heroine to bed in the
(05:52):
inn at Carlisle, nor of the disappointment of the thieves,
till Lizzie had been wakened in the morning with the
news that her door had been broken open. All these
things and many more Wilkie Collins would have arranged before,
with infinite labor, preparing things present so that they should
fit in with things to come. I have gone on
the very much easier plan of making everything as it comes,
(06:15):
fit in with what has gone before. At any rate,
the book was a success, and did much to repair
the injury which I felt had come to my reputation
in the novel market by the works of the last
few years. I doubt whether I had written anything so
successful as the Eustace Diamonds since the Small House at Allington.
I had written what was much better, as, for instance,
(06:37):
Phineas Finn and Nina Balatka. But that is by no
means the same thing. I also left behind in a
strong box the manuscript of Phineas Redux, a novel of
which I have already spoken, in which I subsequently sold
to the proprietors of the Graphic newspaper. The editor of
that paper greatly disliked the title, assuring me that the
(06:57):
public would take reducks for the gentlemen's, and was dissatisfied
with me when I replied that I had no objection
to them doing so. The introduction of a Latin word,
or of a word from any other language, into the
title of an English novel is undoubtedly in bad taste,
but after turning the matter much over in my own mind,
I could find no other suitable name. I also left
(07:21):
behind me in the same strong box another novel called
an Eye for an Eye, which then had been some
time written, and of which, as it has not even
yet been published, I will not further speak. It will
probably be published some day, though looking forward I can
see no room for it at any rate for the
next two years. If therefore the Great Britain in which
(07:43):
we sailed for Melbourne had gone to the bottom, I
had so provided that there would be new novels ready
to come out under my name for some years to come.
This consideration, however, did not keep me idle well. I
was at sea. When making long journeys, I have always
succeeded in getting a desk put up in my cabin,
and this was done ready for me in the Great Britain,
(08:04):
so that I could go to work the day after
we left Liverpool. This I did, and before I reached Melbourne,
I had finished a story called Lady Anna. Every word
of this was written at sea during the two months
required for our voyage, and was done day by day,
with the intermission of one day's illness, for eight weeks,
at the rate of sixty six pages of manuscript. In
(08:26):
each week, each page of manuscript containing two hundred fifty words.
Every word was counted. I have seen work come back
to an author from the press with terrible deficiencies as
to the amount supplied. Thirty two pages have perhaps been
wanted for a number, and the printers, with all their art,
could not stretch the matter to more than twenty eight
(08:46):
or nine. The work of filling up must be very dreadful.
I have sometimes been ridiculed for the methodical details of
my business, But by these contrivances I have been preserved
from many troubles, and I have saved others with whom
I have worked editors, publishers, and printers from much trouble. Also,
(09:07):
a month or two after my return home, Lady Anna
appeared in the Fortnightly, following the Eustace Diamonds. In it,
a young girl who is really a lady of high
rank and great wealth, though in her youth she enjoyed
none of the privileges of wealth or rank, marries a
tailor who had been good to her and whom she
had loved when she was poor and neglected. A fine, young,
(09:28):
noble lover is provided for her, and all the charms
of sweet living with nice people are thrown in her
way in order that she may be made to give
up the tailor. And the charms are very powerful with her,
But the feeling that she is bound by her troth
to the man who had always been true to her
overcomes everything, and she marries the tailor. It was my wish,
(09:49):
of course, to justify her in doing so, and to
carry my readers along with me in my sympathy with her.
But everybody found fault with me for marrying her to
the tailor. What would they have said if I had
allow her to jolt the tailor and marry the good
looking young lord how much louder then would have been
this censure. The book was read, and I was satisfied.
(10:11):
If I had not told my story, well, there would
have been no feeling in favor of the young lord.
The horror which was expressed to me at the evil
thing I had done in giving the girl to the
tailor was the strongest testimony I could receive of the
merits of the story. I went to Australia chiefly in
order that I might see my son among his sheep.
(10:31):
I did see him among his sheep, and remained with
him for four or five very happy weeks. He was
not making money, nor has he made money since. I
grieved to say that several thousands of pounds, which I
had squeezed out of the pockets of perhaps two liberal publishers,
had been lost on the venture. But I rejoice to
say that this has been in no way due to
(10:52):
any fault of his. I never knew a man work
with more persistent honesty at his trade than he has done.
I had, however, the further intentions of writing a book
about the entire group of Australasian colonies, and in order
that I might be enabled to do that with sufficient information.
I visited them all, making my headquarters at Melbourne. I
(11:13):
went to Queensland, New South Wales, Tasmania, and then to
the very little known territory of Western Australia, and then
last of all to New Zealand. I was absent in
all eighteen months, and think that I did succeed in
learning much of the political, social and material condition of
these countries. I wrote my book as I was traveling,
(11:35):
and brought it back with me to England, all but
completed in December eighteen seventy two. It was a better
book than that which I had written eleven years before
on the American States, but not so good as that
on the West Indies in eighteen fifty nine. As regards
the information given, there was much more to be said
about Australia than the West Indies. Very much more is said,
(11:58):
and very much more may be learned from the latter
than from the former book. I am sure that anyone
who will take the trouble to read the book on
Australia will learn much from it. But the West Indian
volume was readable. I'm not sure that either of the
other works are in the proper sense of that word.
When I go back to them. I find that the
pages drag with me, And if so with me, how
(12:19):
must it be with others who have none of that
love which a father feels even for his ill favored offspring.
Of all the needs a book has, the chief need
is that it be readable. Feeling that these volumes on
Australia were dull and long, I was surprised to find
that they had an extensive sale. There were I think
two thousand copies circulated of the first expensive edition, and
(12:43):
then the book was divided into four little volumes, which
were published separately, and which again had a considerable circulation.
That some facts were stated inaccurately, I do not doubt
that many opinions were crude. I am quite sure that
I had failed to understand much which I attempted to
explain as possible. But with all these faults, the book
(13:03):
was a thoroughly honest book, and was the result of
unflagging labor for a period of fifteen months. I spared
myself no trouble in inquiry, no trouble in seeing, and
no trouble in listening. I thoroughly imbued my mind with
the subject, and wrote with the simple intention of giving
trustworthy information on the state of the colonies. Though there
(13:23):
be inaccuracies, those inaccuracies to which work quickly done must
always be subject. I think I did give much valuable information.
I came home across America from San Francisco to New York,
visiting Utah and Brigham Young. On the way. I did
not achieve great intimacy with the great polygamist of the
(13:45):
Salt Lake City. I called upon him, sending to him
my card, apologizing for doing so without an introduction, and
excusing myself by saying that I did not like to
pass through the territory without seeing a man of whom
I had heard so much. He received me in his doorway,
not asking me to enter, and inquired whether I were
not a miner. When I told him that I was
(14:07):
not a miner, he asked me whether I earned my bread.
I told him I did. I guess you're a miner,
said he. I again assured him that I was not.
Then how do you earn your bread? I told him
I did so by writing books. I'm sure you're a miner,
said he. Then he turned upon his heel, went back
(14:28):
into the house and closed the door. I was properly punished,
as I was vain enough to conceive that he would
have heard my name. I got home in December eighteen
seventy two, and in spite of any resolution made to
the contrary, my mind was full of hunting. As I
came back. No real resolutions had in truth been made.
(14:49):
For Out of a stud of four horses, I kept three,
two of which were absolutely idle through the two summers
and winter of my absence. Immediately on my arrival, I
bought another and settled myself down to hunting from London
three days a week. At first I went back to Essex,
my old country, but finding that to be inconvenient, I
(15:09):
took my horses to Leyton Buzzard and became one of
that numerous herd of sportsmen who rode with the Baron
and mister Selby lounds. In those days. Baron Meyer was
alive and the riding with his hounds was very good.
I did not care so much for mister Loundes during
the winters of eighteen seventy three eighteen seventy four. In
(15:30):
eighteen seventy five I had my horses back in Essex
and went on with my hunting, always trying to resolve
that I would give it up. But still I bought
fresh horses, and as I did not give it up,
I hunted more than ever. Three times a week. The
cab has been at my door in London, very punctually,
and not unfrequently before seven in the morning. In order
(15:52):
to secure this attendance, the man has always been invited
to have his breakfast in the hall. I have gone
to the Great Eastern Railway, so often with the fear
that frost would make all my exertions useless, and so
often too with that result, and then, from one station
or another station, have traveled on wheels at least a
(16:12):
dozen miles. After the day's sport, the same toil has
been necessary to bring me home to dinner at eight.
This has been work for a young man and a
rich man, but I have done it as an old
man and a comparatively poor man. Now, at last, in
April eighteen seventy six, I do think that my resolution
has been taken. I am giving away my old horses,
(16:35):
and anybody is welcome to my saddles and horse furniture.
Singula de nobisani predantur intes eripure jocos venerum conviva laerum
tendunt extorquere poemitta. Our years keep taking toll as they
(16:55):
move on my feasts. My frolics are already gone, and
now it seems my verses must go too. This is
Connington's translation, But it seems to me to be a
little flat years as they roll cut all our pleasure, short,
our pleasant mirth, our loves, our wine, our sport, and
(17:17):
then they stretch their power and crush at last even
the power of singing the past. I think that I
may say with truth that I rode hard to my end.
VIXI pueilis nuper idoneus and militavi non sine gloria, nunc
a ma defunte munque bello barbitone hik paries habebit. I've
(17:44):
lived about the covert side, I've written straight and ridden fast.
Now breeches, boots and scarlet pride are but mementos of
the past. End of Chapter nineteen. Recording by Jessica Luise
Saint pal Minnesota,
Chapter nineteen of the Autobiography of Anthony Trollop. This libribox
recording is in the public domain. Autobiography of Anthony Trollop,
Ralph the Heir the Eustace Diamonds Lady Anna, Australia. In
the spring of eighteen seventy one, we I and my
(00:22):
wife had decided that we would go to Australia to
visit our shepherd son. Of course, before doing so, I
made a contract with a publisher for a book about
the colonies. For such a work as this, I had
always been aware that I could not fairly demand more
than half the price that would be given for the
same amount of fiction. And as such, books have an
(00:43):
indomitable tendency to stretch themselves so that more is given
than what is sold. And as the cost of traveling
is heavy, the writing of them is not renunerative. This
tendency to stretch comes not, I think generally, from the
ambition of the writer, but from his inner ability to
comprise the different parts in their allotted spaces. If you
(01:04):
have to deal with a country, a colony, a city,
a trade, or a political opinion, it is so much
easier to deal with it. In twenty than in twelve pages.
I also made an engagement with the editor of a
London daily paper to supply him with a series of articles,
which were duly written, duly published, and duly paid for.
But with all this, traveling with the object of writing
(01:26):
is not a good trade. If the traveling author can
pay his bills, he must be a good manager on
the road. Before starting, there came upon us the terrible
necessity of coming to some resolution about our house at Waltham.
It had been first hired and then bought, primarily because
it suited my post office avocations. To this reason had
(01:47):
been added other attractions in the shape of hunting, gardening,
and suburban hospitalities. Altogether, the house had been a success
and the scene of much happiness. But there arose questions
as to expense. Would not a house in London be cheaper?
There could be no doubt that my income would decrease,
(02:07):
and was decreasing. I had thrown the post office as
it were away, and the writing of novels could not
go on forever. Some of my friends told me already
that at fifty five I ought to give up the
fabrication of love stories. The hunting, I thought must go
soon and I would not therefore allow that to keep
me in the country, And then why should I live
(02:30):
at Waltham Cross. Now, seeing that I had fixed on
that place in reference to the post office, it was
therefore determined that we would flit, And as we were
to be away for eighteen months, we determined also to
sell our furniture. So there was a packing up, with
many tears and consultations as to what should be saved
out of the things we loved, as must take place
(02:54):
on such an occasion, there was some heartfelt grief, but
the thing was done and orders were given for the
letting or sale of the house. I may as well
say here that it never was let and that it
remained unoccupied for two years before it was sold. I
lost by the transaction about eight hundred As I continually
hear that other men make money by buying and selling houses,
(03:17):
I presume I am not well adapted for transactions of
that sort. I have never made money by selling anything
except a manuscript. In matters of horseflesh, I am so
inefficient that I have generally given away horses that I
have not wanted. When we started from Liverpool in May
eighteen seventy one, Ralph the Heir was running through the
(03:38):
Saint Paul's. This was the novel of which Charles read afterwards,
took the plot and made on it a play. I
have always thought it to be one of the worst
novels I have written, and almost to have justified that
dictum that a novelist after fifty should not write love stories.
It was, in part a political novel, and that part
which appertains to politics, which recounts the electioneering expenses of
(04:02):
the candidates at Percy Cross, is well enough. Percy Cross
and Beverly were, of course one in the same place, nifit.
The breeches maker and his daughter are also good in
their way, and Mogg's the daughter's lover, who was not
only lover but also one of the candidates at Percy
Cross as well. But the main thread of the story,
that which tells of the doings of the young gentlemen
(04:24):
and young ladies, the heroes and the heroines, is not good.
Ralph the Heir has not much life about him, while Ralph,
who is not the heir but is intended to be
the real hero, has none. The same may be said
of the young ladies, of whom one she who was
meant to be. The Chief has passed utterly out of
my mind, without leaving a trace of remembrance behind. I
(04:47):
also left in the hands of the editor of The Fortnightly,
ready for production on the first of July, following a
story called The Eustace Diamonds. In that I think that
my friend's dictum was disproved. There is not much love
in it, but what there is is good. The character
of Lucy Morris is pretty, and her love is as
genuine and as well told as that of Lucy Robarts
(05:09):
or Lily Dale. But The Eustace Diamonds achieved the success
which it certainly did attain, not as a love story,
but as a record of a cunning little woman of
pseudo fashion, to whom in her cunning there came a
series of adventures, unpleasant enough in themselves, but pleasant to
the reader. As I wrote the book, the idea constantly
presented itself to me that Lizzie Eustace was but a
(05:31):
second Becky Sharp, but implanning the character. I had not
thought of this, and I believe that Lizzie would have
been just as she is, though Becky Sharp had never
been described. The plot of The Diamond necklace is I
think well arranged, though it produced itself without any forethought.
I had no idea of setting thieves after the babble
till I had got my heroine to bed in the
(05:52):
inn at Carlisle, nor of the disappointment of the thieves,
till Lizzie had been wakened in the morning with the
news that her door had been broken open. All these
things and many more Wilkie Collins would have arranged before,
with infinite labor, preparing things present so that they should
fit in with things to come. I have gone on
the very much easier plan of making everything as it comes,
(06:15):
fit in with what has gone before. At any rate,
the book was a success, and did much to repair
the injury which I felt had come to my reputation
in the novel market by the works of the last
few years. I doubt whether I had written anything so
successful as the Eustace Diamonds since the Small House at Allington.
I had written what was much better, as, for instance,
(06:37):
Phineas Finn and Nina Balatka. But that is by no
means the same thing. I also left behind in a
strong box the manuscript of Phineas Redux, a novel of
which I have already spoken, in which I subsequently sold
to the proprietors of the Graphic newspaper. The editor of
that paper greatly disliked the title, assuring me that the
(06:57):
public would take reducks for the gentlemen's, and was dissatisfied
with me when I replied that I had no objection
to them doing so. The introduction of a Latin word,
or of a word from any other language, into the
title of an English novel is undoubtedly in bad taste,
but after turning the matter much over in my own mind,
I could find no other suitable name. I also left
(07:21):
behind me in the same strong box another novel called
an Eye for an Eye, which then had been some
time written, and of which, as it has not even
yet been published, I will not further speak. It will
probably be published some day, though looking forward I can
see no room for it at any rate for the
next two years. If therefore the Great Britain in which
(07:43):
we sailed for Melbourne had gone to the bottom, I
had so provided that there would be new novels ready
to come out under my name for some years to come.
This consideration, however, did not keep me idle well. I
was at sea. When making long journeys, I have always
succeeded in getting a desk put up in my cabin,
and this was done ready for me in the Great Britain,
(08:04):
so that I could go to work the day after
we left Liverpool. This I did, and before I reached Melbourne,
I had finished a story called Lady Anna. Every word
of this was written at sea during the two months
required for our voyage, and was done day by day,
with the intermission of one day's illness, for eight weeks,
at the rate of sixty six pages of manuscript. In
(08:26):
each week, each page of manuscript containing two hundred fifty words.
Every word was counted. I have seen work come back
to an author from the press with terrible deficiencies as
to the amount supplied. Thirty two pages have perhaps been
wanted for a number, and the printers, with all their art,
could not stretch the matter to more than twenty eight
(08:46):
or nine. The work of filling up must be very dreadful.
I have sometimes been ridiculed for the methodical details of
my business, But by these contrivances I have been preserved
from many troubles, and I have saved others with whom
I have worked editors, publishers, and printers from much trouble. Also,
(09:07):
a month or two after my return home, Lady Anna
appeared in the Fortnightly, following the Eustace Diamonds. In it,
a young girl who is really a lady of high
rank and great wealth, though in her youth she enjoyed
none of the privileges of wealth or rank, marries a
tailor who had been good to her and whom she
had loved when she was poor and neglected. A fine, young,
(09:28):
noble lover is provided for her, and all the charms
of sweet living with nice people are thrown in her
way in order that she may be made to give
up the tailor. And the charms are very powerful with her,
But the feeling that she is bound by her troth
to the man who had always been true to her
overcomes everything, and she marries the tailor. It was my wish,
(09:49):
of course, to justify her in doing so, and to
carry my readers along with me in my sympathy with her.
But everybody found fault with me for marrying her to
the tailor. What would they have said if I had
allow her to jolt the tailor and marry the good
looking young lord how much louder then would have been
this censure. The book was read, and I was satisfied.
(10:11):
If I had not told my story, well, there would
have been no feeling in favor of the young lord.
The horror which was expressed to me at the evil
thing I had done in giving the girl to the
tailor was the strongest testimony I could receive of the
merits of the story. I went to Australia chiefly in
order that I might see my son among his sheep.
(10:31):
I did see him among his sheep, and remained with
him for four or five very happy weeks. He was
not making money, nor has he made money since. I
grieved to say that several thousands of pounds, which I
had squeezed out of the pockets of perhaps two liberal publishers,
had been lost on the venture. But I rejoice to
say that this has been in no way due to
(10:52):
any fault of his. I never knew a man work
with more persistent honesty at his trade than he has done.
I had, however, the further intentions of writing a book
about the entire group of Australasian colonies, and in order
that I might be enabled to do that with sufficient information.
I visited them all, making my headquarters at Melbourne. I
(11:13):
went to Queensland, New South Wales, Tasmania, and then to
the very little known territory of Western Australia, and then
last of all to New Zealand. I was absent in
all eighteen months, and think that I did succeed in
learning much of the political, social and material condition of
these countries. I wrote my book as I was traveling,
(11:35):
and brought it back with me to England, all but
completed in December eighteen seventy two. It was a better
book than that which I had written eleven years before
on the American States, but not so good as that
on the West Indies in eighteen fifty nine. As regards
the information given, there was much more to be said
about Australia than the West Indies. Very much more is said,
(11:58):
and very much more may be learned from the latter
than from the former book. I am sure that anyone
who will take the trouble to read the book on
Australia will learn much from it. But the West Indian
volume was readable. I'm not sure that either of the
other works are in the proper sense of that word.
When I go back to them. I find that the
pages drag with me, And if so with me, how
(12:19):
must it be with others who have none of that
love which a father feels even for his ill favored offspring.
Of all the needs a book has, the chief need
is that it be readable. Feeling that these volumes on
Australia were dull and long, I was surprised to find
that they had an extensive sale. There were I think
two thousand copies circulated of the first expensive edition, and
(12:43):
then the book was divided into four little volumes, which
were published separately, and which again had a considerable circulation.
That some facts were stated inaccurately, I do not doubt
that many opinions were crude. I am quite sure that
I had failed to understand much which I attempted to
explain as possible. But with all these faults, the book
(13:03):
was a thoroughly honest book, and was the result of
unflagging labor for a period of fifteen months. I spared
myself no trouble in inquiry, no trouble in seeing, and
no trouble in listening. I thoroughly imbued my mind with
the subject, and wrote with the simple intention of giving
trustworthy information on the state of the colonies. Though there
(13:23):
be inaccuracies, those inaccuracies to which work quickly done must
always be subject. I think I did give much valuable information.
I came home across America from San Francisco to New York,
visiting Utah and Brigham Young. On the way. I did
not achieve great intimacy with the great polygamist of the
(13:45):
Salt Lake City. I called upon him, sending to him
my card, apologizing for doing so without an introduction, and
excusing myself by saying that I did not like to
pass through the territory without seeing a man of whom
I had heard so much. He received me in his doorway,
not asking me to enter, and inquired whether I were
not a miner. When I told him that I was
(14:07):
not a miner, he asked me whether I earned my bread.
I told him I did. I guess you're a miner,
said he. I again assured him that I was not.
Then how do you earn your bread? I told him
I did so by writing books. I'm sure you're a miner,
said he. Then he turned upon his heel, went back
(14:28):
into the house and closed the door. I was properly punished,
as I was vain enough to conceive that he would
have heard my name. I got home in December eighteen
seventy two, and in spite of any resolution made to
the contrary, my mind was full of hunting. As I
came back. No real resolutions had in truth been made.
(14:49):
For Out of a stud of four horses, I kept three,
two of which were absolutely idle through the two summers
and winter of my absence. Immediately on my arrival, I
bought another and settled myself down to hunting from London
three days a week. At first I went back to Essex,
my old country, but finding that to be inconvenient, I
(15:09):
took my horses to Leyton Buzzard and became one of
that numerous herd of sportsmen who rode with the Baron
and mister Selby lounds. In those days. Baron Meyer was
alive and the riding with his hounds was very good.
I did not care so much for mister Loundes during
the winters of eighteen seventy three eighteen seventy four. In
(15:30):
eighteen seventy five I had my horses back in Essex
and went on with my hunting, always trying to resolve
that I would give it up. But still I bought
fresh horses, and as I did not give it up,
I hunted more than ever. Three times a week. The
cab has been at my door in London, very punctually,
and not unfrequently before seven in the morning. In order
(15:52):
to secure this attendance, the man has always been invited
to have his breakfast in the hall. I have gone
to the Great Eastern Railway, so often with the fear
that frost would make all my exertions useless, and so
often too with that result, and then, from one station
or another station, have traveled on wheels at least a
(16:12):
dozen miles. After the day's sport, the same toil has
been necessary to bring me home to dinner at eight.
This has been work for a young man and a
rich man, but I have done it as an old
man and a comparatively poor man. Now, at last, in
April eighteen seventy six, I do think that my resolution
has been taken. I am giving away my old horses,
(16:35):
and anybody is welcome to my saddles and horse furniture.
Singula de nobisani predantur intes eripure jocos venerum conviva laerum
tendunt extorquere poemitta. Our years keep taking toll as they
(16:55):
move on my feasts. My frolics are already gone, and
now it seems my verses must go too. This is
Connington's translation, But it seems to me to be a
little flat years as they roll cut all our pleasure, short,
our pleasant mirth, our loves, our wine, our sport, and
(17:17):
then they stretch their power and crush at last even
the power of singing the past. I think that I
may say with truth that I rode hard to my end.
VIXI pueilis nuper idoneus and militavi non sine gloria, nunc
a ma defunte munque bello barbitone hik paries habebit. I've
(17:44):
lived about the covert side, I've written straight and ridden fast.
Now breeches, boots and scarlet pride are but mementos of
the past. End of Chapter nineteen. Recording by Jessica Luise
Saint pal Minnesota,
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