It is here that I purposed to end my book.My first idea was to begin it with the account of Stricklands last years in Tahiti and with his horrible death,and then to go back and relate what I knew of his beginnings.This I meant to do,not from wilfulness,but because I wished to leave Strickland setting out with I know not what fancies in his lonely soul for the unknown islands which fired his imagination.I liked the picture of him,starting at the age of fortyseven,when most men have already settled comfortably in a groove,for a new world.I saw him,the sea grey under the mistral and foamflecked,watching the vanishing coast of France,which he was destined never to see again;and I thought there was something gallant in his bearing and dauntless in his soul.I wished so to end on a note of hope.It seemed to emphasize the unconquerable spirit of man.But I could not manage it.Somehow I could not get into my story,and after trying once or twice I had to give it up;I started from the beginning in the usual way,and made up my mind I could only tell what I knew of Stricklands ......