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Excerpt from The Autobiography of Theobald Wolfe Tone, 1763-1798, Vol. 1
These Memoirs were never destined for the Pub lic; they were written for one or two friends, now no more, and for his family, of which my mother and myself are the sole survivors. His pen, which always ¿owed with light and easy grace, was, of course, allowed to run in these careless memoran dums with the utmost effusion and abandon of soul; they exhibit his passing feelings on every occasion, and are sometimes as severe on the failings and weaknesses of his own party, and of those to whom he was most warmly and sincerely attached, (and for whom he sacrificed the brilliant prospects of his youth, and, at length, his life,) as on their adversa ries. Of course, while the interests in which he was engaged were yet alive, numbers, and some of them unsuspected at the time, might have been dange rously compromised, or seriously hurt, by this pub lication. In his latter days, when he antimpated, with the deepest despondency, the probable failure of his hopes, he used sometimes to exclaim, Thank God! No man has ever been compromised by me.'
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