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222
A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
3
None
of
us
can
think
of
ourselves
as
entirely
separate
beings.
Even
an
autobiographer
has
to
say
"we"
much
oftener
than
"I."
Indeed,
there
may
be
more
egotism
in
withdrawing
mysteriously
into
one's
self,
than
in
frankly
unfolding
one's
life--story,
for
better
or
worse.
There
may
be
more
vanity
in
covering,
one's
face
with
a
veil,
to
be
wondered
at
and
guessed
about,
than
in
drawing
it
aside,
and
saying
by
that
act,
"There!
you
see
that
I
am
nothing
remarkable."
However,
I
do
not
know
that
I
altogether
approve
of
autobiography
myself,
when
the
subject
is
a
person
of
so
little
importance
as
in
the
present
instance.
Still,
it
may
have
a
reason
for
being,
even
in
a
case
like
this.
Every
one
whose
name
is
before
the
public
at
all
must
be
aware
of
a
common
annoyance
in
the
frequent
requests
which
are
made
for
personal
facts,
data
for
biographical
paragraphs,
and
the
like.
To
answer
such
requests
and
furnish
the
material
asked
for,
were
it
desirable,
would
interfere
seriously
with
the
necessary
work
of
almost
any
writer.
The
first
impulse
is
to
pay
no
attention
to
them,
putting
them
aside
as
mere
signs
of
the
ill-bred,
idle
curiosity
of
the
age
we
live
in
about
people
and
their
private
affairs.
It
does
not
seem
to
be
supposed
possible
that
authors
can
have
any
natural
shrinking
from
publicity,
like
other
mortals.
But
while
one
would
not
willingly
encourage
an
intrusive
custom,
there
is
another
view
of
the
matter.
The
most
enjoyable
thing
about
writing
is
that
the
relation
between
writer
and
reader
may
be
and
often
does
become
that
of
mutual
friendship;
an
friends
naturally
like
to
know
each
other
in
a
neighborly
way.
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