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MARY STUKELEY. I am a poor nameless egotist, who have no vanities to consult by these confessions. I know not whether I shall be laughed at, or heard seriously. Such as they are, I commend them to the reader's attention; if he finds his own case any way touched, I have told him what I am come to: let him stop in time.


My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,

My feast of joy is but a dish of pain;
1 My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
.6*** And all my goods is but vain hope of gain: 1

The day is fled—and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live and now my life is done!



AM no fatalist; but if ever individual was subject to the influence of a prevailing destiny-a destiny which has blighted his hopes, and run counter to all the views and prospects of his life, and changed completely his situation, habits, feelings, and almost transformed him into a different being-I am that one.


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