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It reminds me of the journal I opened with the New Year, once, when I was
a boy and a confiding and a willing prey to those impossible schemes of
reform which well-meaning old maids and grandmothers set for the feet of
unwary youths at that season of the year--setting oversized tasks for
them, which, necessarily failing, as infallibly weaken the boy's strength
of will, diminish his confidence in himself and injure his chances of
success in life. Please accept of an extract:
"
"
"
"
"
"
"
"
Monday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
Tuesday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
Wednesday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
Thursday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
Friday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
Next Friday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
Friday fortnight--Got up, washed, went to bed.
Following month--Got up, washed, went to bed."
I stopped, then, discouraged. Startling events appeared to be too rare,
in my career, to render a diary necessary. I still reflect with pride,
however, that even at that early age I washed when I got up. That
journal finished me. I never have had the nerve to keep one since. My
loss of confidence in myself in that line was permanent.
The ship had to stay a week or more at Gibraltar to take in coal for the
home voyage.
727
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