That Homely Proverb, Used On So Many Occasions In England, Viz.
"That What Is Bred In The Bone Will Not Go Out Of The Flesh," Was
Never More Verified Than In The Story Of My Life. Any One Would
Think That After Thirty-Five Years' Affliction, And A Variety Of
Unhappy Circumstances, Which Few Men, If Any, Ever Went Through
Before, And After Near Seven Years Of Peace And Enjoyment In The
Fulness Of All Things; Grown Old, And When, If Ever, It Might Be
Allowed Me To Have Had Experience Of Every State Of Middle Life,
And To Know Which Was Most Adapted To Make A Man Completely Happy;
I Say, After All This, Any One Would Have Thought That The Native
Propensity To Rambling Which I Gave An Account Of In My First
Setting Out In The World To Have Been So Predominant In My
Thoughts, Should Be Worn Out, And I Might, At Sixty One Years Of
Age, Have Been A Little Inclined To Stay At Home, And Have Done
Venturing Life And Fortune Any More.
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