An autobiography by British American novelist and mother of six, Amelia Edith Barr, published only six years before her death. She ends the preface with: I write mainly for the kindly race of women. I am their sister, and in no way exempt from their sorrowful lot. I have drank the cup of theirlimitations to the dregs, and if my experience can help any sad or doubtful woman to outleap her own shadow, and to stand bravely out in the sunshine to meet her destiny, whatever it may be, I shall have done well; I shall not have written this book in vain. It will be its own excuse, and justify its appeal.
ad seen, but the vision is not dim, nor any part of it forgotten. It is my first recollection. Beyond--is the abyss. That it has eluded speech is no evidence of incompleteness, for God's communion with man does not require the faculties of our mortal nature. It rather dispenses with them.
When I was between three and four years old I went with my mother to visit a friend, who I think was my godmother. I have forgotten her name, but she gave me a silver cup, and my first doll--a finely gowned wax effigy--that I never cared for. I had no interest at all in dolls. I did not like them; their speechlessness irritated me, and I could not make-believe they were real babies. I have often been aware of the same perverse fretful kind of feeling at the baffling silence of infants. Why do they not talk? They have the use of their eyes and ears; they can feel and taste and touch, why can they not speak? Is there something they must not tell? Will they not learn to talk, until they have forgotten it? For I know