He once told a visitor some tales of his experiences with the great human tragedy--told them as if they belonged to the great human comedy, for his humor was irrepressible. But the visitor did not laugh; he went away a sadder and a wiser man. Possibly he thought the doctor hardened; but I shall never forget the expression of Trudeau’s face when I asked him directly if he had not become so accustomed to tragedy that it no longer touched his emotions. The smile left his face; his eyes looked out and beyond with a suddenly moist softness, and he said slowly, “Pity, as an emotion, passes. Pity, as a motive, remains.” Stephen Chalmers. By kind permission of _The Atlantic Monthly_. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY OF BIOGRAPHICAL NARRATIVE The editors have found these additional selections very useful in teaching biographical narrative: Barrie, James. _Margaret Ogilvy._ Charles Scribner’s Sons. Bradford, Gamaliel. _Portraits of Women_, particularly _Lady Mary Wortley Montagu_ and _Mrs. Pepys_. Houghton, Mifflin Company. Eliot, Charles W. _John Gilley, Maine Farmer and Fisherman._ Houghton Mifflin Company. Morley, Christopher. _Silas Orrin Howes_ in _Pipefuls_. Doubleday, Page & Company. Strachey, Lytton. _Mr. Creevey_ in _Books and Characters_, and _Florence Nightingale in Eminent Victorians_. Harcourt, Brace and Company. CHAPTER VIII _Reminiscent Narrative_ Reminiscent narrative is the grown-up prototype of the nursery favorite, “A story about the time when you were about my size.” Many people have found pleasure in writing their reminiscences, and have discovered that it is much pleasanter to write about the past than about the present, for it is often easier to discern and to tell the truth about events which no longer vitally concern us, than about those which still move our emotions deeply. We are able to write about our “dead selves” with a certain measure of affectionate or at least sympathetic detachment. Mistakes and achievements now long past may be recorded without smacking either of a Uriah Heep ’umbleness or of an uncomfortably priggish smugness. This detached tone runs through much reminiscent writing, and may become explicit in such a passage as Miss Portor’s, “I love the Raphael baby, and I am proud ever to have been so proud ... but before the other one that is me ... I bow my head on my hands.”