put into shape, intermixed with extracts from letters to friends and the contents of a rough diary — all strung together on a rather slender narrative thread.
I do not mind confessing, reader, that this is a poor sort of programme. But it is, perhaps, as well it is so. I may also prepare you for a little exaggerated expression, wherever the writer is "intense." But you will not find cause to question my bona fides — in spite of occasional levity, degenerating at times almost into what may appear to be flippancy. I do assure you that no writer meant to be more serious. If you follow my sketchings in the spirit and the letter, if you read between the lines, you will not find them all mere caricatures.