Here I had better set out some of my shortcomings, which in their sum have made a failure of me.  Yes, a failure in the highest sense, though I trust what Stevenson calls “a faithful failure.”  These have their root in fastidiousness and that lack of perseverance, which really means a lack of faith, again using the word in its higher and wider sense.  For if one had real faith one would always persevere, knowing that in every work undertaken with high aim, there is an element of nobility, however humble and unrecognised that work may seem to be.  God after all is the God of Work, it is written large upon the face of the Universe.  I will not expand upon the thought; it would lead me too far afield, but those who have understanding will know what I mean.

As regards what I interpret as fastidiousness, this is not very easy to express.  Perhaps a definition will help.  I am like a man with an over-developed sense of smell, who when walking through a foreign city, however clean and well kept, can always catch the evil savours that are inseparable from such cities.  More, his keen perception of them interferes with all other perceptions and spoils his walks.  The result is that in after years, whenever he thinks of that beautiful city, he remembers, not its historic buildings or its wide boulevards, or whatever it has to boast, but rather its ancient, fish-like smell.  At least he remembers that first owing to this defect in his temperament.

So it is with everything.  A lovely woman is spoiled for such a one because she eats too much or has too high a voice; he does not care for his shooting because the scenery is flat, or for his fishing because the gnats bite as well as the trout.  In short he is out of tune with the world as it is.  Moreover, this is a quality which, where it exists, cannot be overcome; it affects day-labourers as well as gentlemen at large.  It is bred in the bone.

Probably the second failure-breeding fault, lack of perseverance, has its roots in the first, at any rate in my case.  At least on leaving college with some reputation, I was called to the Bar where, owing to certain solicitor and other connections, I had a good opening.  Also, owing to the excellence of my memory and powers of work, I began very well, making money even during my first year.  Then, as it happened, a certain case came my way and, my leader falling ill suddenly after it was opened, was left in my hands.  The man whose cause I was pleading was, I think, one of the biggest scoundrels it is possible to conceive.  It was a will case and if he won, the effect would be to beggar two most estimable middle-aged women who were justly entitled to the property, to which end personally I am convinced he had committed forgery; the perjury that accompanied it I do not even mention.