What young lady, travelling for the first time on the Continent, does not write a "Diary?" No sooner have we slept on the shores of France--no sooner are we seated in the gay salon at Dessin's, than we call, like Biddy Fudge, for "French pens and French ink," and forth steps from its case the morocco-bound diary, regularly ruled and paged, with its patent Bramah lock and key, wherein we are to record and preserve all the striking, profound, and original observations--the classical reminiscences--the thread-bare raptures--the poetical effusions--in short, all the never-sufficiently-to-be-exhausted topics of sentiment and enthusiasm, which must necessarily suggest themselves while posting from Paris to Naples.
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