But If The Young Are Never Tired

To Whom, Then, Must I Dedicate My Wonderful, Surprising And Interesting Adventures? To Whom Dare I Reveal My Private Opinion Of My Nearest Relations? The Secret Thoughts Of My Dearest Friends? My Own Hopes, Fears, Reflections And Dislikes? Nobody!

Look At Your [english] Ladies Of Quality Are They Not Forever Parting With Their Husbands - Forfeiting Their Reputations - And Is Their Life Aught But Dissipation? In Common Genteel Life, Indeed, You May Now And Then Meet With Very Fine Girls - Who Have Politeness, Sense And Conversation - But These Are Few - And Then Look At Your Trademen's Daughters - What Are They? Poor Creatures Indeed! All Pertness, Imitation And Folly.

I Love And Honour [paulus Aemilius, In Plutarch's Lives], For His Fondness For His Children, Which Instead Of Blushing At, He Avows And Glories In: And That At An Age, When Almost All The Heros And Great Men Thought That To Make Their Children And Family A Secondary Concern, Was The First Proof Of Their Superiority And Greatness Of Soul.

I Have This Very Moment Finished Reading A Novel Called The Vicar Of Wakefield [by Oliver Goldsmith].... It Appears To Me, To Be Impossible Any Person Could Read This Book Through With A Dry Eye And Yet, I Don't Much Like It.... There Is But Very Little Story, The Plot Is Thin, The Incidents Very Rare, The Sentiments Uncommon, The Vicar Is Contented, Humble, Pious, Virtuous--but Upon The Whole The Book Has Not At All Satisfied My Expectations.

Unused To The Situations In Which I Find Myself, And Embarassed By The Slightest Difficulties, I Seldom Discover, Till Too Late, How I Ought To Act.