If The Generous Ideas Of

This Paper Will Serve Instead Of A Confidential Friend Into Whose Ear I Might Pour Forth The Overflowings Of My Heart. It Will Not Sympathize With My Distresses, But Then, It Will Not Laugh At Them, And, If I Keep It Close, It Cannot Tell Again; So It Is, Perhaps, The Best Friend I Could Have For The Purpose.

To Represent A Bad Thing In Its Least Offensive Light Is, Doubtless, The Most Agreeable Course For A Writer Of Fiction To Pursue; But Is It The Most Honest, Or The Safest? Is It Better To Reveal The Snares And Pitfalls Of Like To The Young And Thoughtless Traveller, Or To Cover Them With Branches And Flowers? Oh, Reader! If There Were Less Of This Delicate Concealment Of Facts--this Whispering "peace, Peace," When There Is No Peace, There Would Be Less Of Sin And Misery To The Young Of Both Sexes Who Are Left To Wring Their Bitter Knowledge From Experience.

How Odd It Is That We So Often Weep For Each Other's Distresses, When We Shed Not A Tear For Our Own!

There Is Perfect Love In Heaven!

Preserve Me From Such Cordiality! It Is Like Handling Briar-roses And May-blossoms - Bright Enough To The Eye, And Outwardly Soft To The Touch, But You Know There Are Thorns Beneath, And Every Now And Then You Feel Them Too; And Perhaps Resent The Injury By Crushing Them In Till You Have Destroyed Their Power, Though Somewhat To The Detriment Of Your Own Fingers.