Why should we wish to conceal the fact that we have suffered, that we suffer, that we are likely to suffer to the end?  There are abundance of people in like case; the very confession of the fact may help others to endure, because one of the darkest miseries of suffering is the horrible sense of isolation that it brings.  And if this book casts the least ray upon the sad problem—­a ray of the light that I have learned to recognise is truly there—­I shall be more than content.  There is no morbidity in suffering, or in confessing that one suffers.  Morbidity only begins when one acquiesces in suffering as being incurable and inevitable; and the motive of this book is to show that it is at once curative and curable, a very tender part of a wholly loving and Fatherly design.

A. C. B.

Magdalene College, Cambridge,

July 14, 1907.

INTRODUCTION

I had intended to allow the records that follow—­the records of a pilgrimage sorely beset and hampered by sorrow and distress—­to speak for themselves.  Let me only say that one who makes public a record so intimate and outspoken incurs, as a rule, a certain responsibility.  He has to consider in the first place, or at least he cannot help instinctively considering, what the wishes of the writer would have been on the subject.  I do not mean that one who has to decide such a point is bound to be entirely guided by that.  He must weigh the possible value of the record to other spirits against what he thinks that the writer himself would have personally desired.  A far more important consideration is what living people who play a part in such records feel about their publication.  But I cannot help thinking that our whole standard in such matters is a very false and conventional one.  Supposing, for instance, that a very sacred and intimate record, say, two hundred years old, were to be found among some family papers, it is inconceivable that any one would object to its publication on the ground that the writer of it, or the people mentioned in it, would not have wished it to see the light.  We show how weak our faith really is in the continuance of personal identity after death, by allowing the lapse of time to affect the question at all; just as we should consider it a horrible profanation to exhume and exhibit the body of a man who had been buried a few years ago, while we approve of the action of archaeologists who explore Egyptian sepulchres, subscribe to their operations, and should consider a man a mere sentimentalist who suggested that the mummies exhibited in museums ought to be sent back for interment in their original tombs.  We think vaguely that a man who died a few years ago would in some way be outraged if his body were to be publicly displayed, while we do not for an instant regard the possible feelings of delicate and highly-born Egyptian ladies, on whose seemly sepulture such anxious and tender care was expended so many centuries ago.