All the Days of My Life: An Autobiography
The Red Leaves of a Human Heart
By Amelia E. Barr
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
MCMXIII
Copyright, 1913, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
TO MY FRIENDS
DR. CARLOS H. STONE
AND
MRS. STONE
I INSCRIBE
WITH AFFECTIONATE ESTEEM
THIS STORY OF MY LIFE
Cherry Croft
A.D. 1913
This is to be a book about myself but, even before I beginit, I am painfully aware of the egotistical atmospherewhich the unavoidable use of the personal pronouns creates.I have hitherto declared that I would not write an autobiography,but a consideration of circumstances convinces methat an autobiography is the only form any personal relationcan now take. For the press has so widely and so frequentlyexploited certain events of my life—impossible to omit—that disguiseis far out of the question. Fiction could not hide me, noran assumed name, nor even no name at all.
Why, then, write the book? First, because serious errorshave constantly been published, and these I wish to correct;second, there has been a long-continued request for it, and third,there are business considerations not to be neglected. Yet none,nor all of these three reasons, would have been sufficient to induceme to truck my most sacred memories through the market-placefor a little money, had I not been conscious of a motivethat would amply justify the book. The book itself must revealthat reason, or it will never be known. I am sure, however, thatmany will find it out, and to these souls I shall speak, and theywill keep my memory green, and listen to my words of strengthand comfort long after the woman called Amelia HuddlestonBarr has disappeared forever.
Again, if I am to write of things so close and intimate as myfeelings and experiences, I must claim a large liberty. Manytopics usually dilated on, I shall pass by silently, or with slightnotice; and, if I write fully and truly, as I intend to do, I mustviiishow many changes of opinion on a variety of subjects. This isonly the natural growth of the mental and spiritual faculties.For the woman within, if she be of noble strain, is never contentwith what she has attained; she unceasingly presses forward, inlively hope of some better way, or some more tangible truth. Ifany woman at eighty years of age was the same woman, spirituallyand mentally, she was at twenty, or even fifty, she would be littleworthy of our respect.
Also, there are supreme tragedies and calamities in my