come to the historical value of the diary, we confess
to a growing suspicion of it. It is such a deadly
weapon when it comes to light after the passage of
years. It has an authority which the spoken words
of its keeper never had. It is ’ex parte’,
and it cannot be cross-examined. The supposition
is that being contemporaneous with the events spoken
of, it must be true, and that it is an honest record.
Now, as a matter of fact, we doubt if people are any
more honest as to themselves or others in a diary than
out of it; and rumors, reported facts, and impressions
set down daily in the heat and haste of the prejudicial
hour are about as likely to be wrong as right.
Two diaries of the same events rarely agree. And
in turning over an old diary we never know what to
allow for the personal equation. The diary is
greatly relied on by the writers of history, but it
is doubtful if there is any such liar in the world,
even when the keeper of it is honest. It is certain
to be partisan, and more liable to be misinformed than
a newspaper, which exercises some care in view of
immediate publicity. The writer happens to know
of two diaries which record, on the testimony of eye-witnesses,
the circumstances of the last hours of Garfield, and
they differ utterly in essential particulars.
One of these may turn up fifty years from now, and
be accepted as true. An infinite amount of gossip
goes into diaries about men and women that would not
stand the test of a moment’s contemporary publication.
But by-and-by it may all be used to smirch or brighten
unjustly some one’s character. Suppose a
man in the Army of the Potomac had recorded daily
all his opinions of men and events. Reading it
over now, with more light and a juster knowledge of
character and of measures, is it not probable that
he would find it a tissue of misconceptions?
Few things are actually what they seem today; they
are colored both by misapprehensions and by moods.
If a man writes a letter or makes report of an occurrence
for immediate publication, subject to universal criticism,
there is some restraint on him. In his private
letter, or diary especially, he is apt to set down
what comes into his head at the moment, often without
much effort at verification.
We have been led to this disquisition into the fundamental
nature of this private record by the question put
to us, whether it is a good plan for a woman to keep
a diary. Speaking generally, the diary has become
a sort of fetich, the authority of which ought to
be overthrown. It is fearful to think how our
characters are probably being lied away by innumerable
pen scratches in secret repositories, which may some
day come to light as unimpeachable witnesses.
The reader knows that he is not the sort of man which
the diarist jotted him down to be in a single interview.
The diary may be a good thing for self-education,
if the keeper could insure its destruction. The
mental habit of diarizing may have some value, even
when it sets undue importance upon trifles. We