I believe few can
review the days of their youth without recollecting temptations, which
shame, rather than virtue, enabled them to resist; and opinions which,
however erroneous in their principles, and dangerous in their
consequences, they have panted to advance at the hazard of contempt and
hatred, when they found themselves irresistibly depressed by a languid
anxiety, which seized them at the moment of utterance, and still
gathered strength from their endeavours to resist it.
It generally happens that assurance keeps an even pace with ability, and
the fear of miscarriage, which hinders Our first attempts, is gradually
dissipated as our skill advances towards certainty of success. That
bashfulness, therefore, which prevents disgrace, that short and
temporary shame which secures us from the danger of lasting reproach,
cannot be properly counted among our misfortunes.
Bashfulness, however it may incommode for a moment, scarcely ever
produces evils of long continuance; it may flush the cheek, flutter in
the heart, deject the eyes, and enchain the tongue, but its mischiefs
soon pass off without remembrance. It may sometimes exclude pleasure,
but seldom opens any avenue to sorrow or remorse. It is observed
somewhere that _few have repented of having forborne to speak_.
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