You ask what I mean？ You love stories， and will excuse my telling one of myself.
When I was a child of seven years old， my friends， on a holiday， filled my pocket with coppers. I went directly to a shop where they sold toys for children； and being charmed with the sound of a whistle， that I met by the way in the hands of another boy， I voluntarily offered and gave all my money for one. I then came home， and went whistling all over the house， much pleased with my whistle， but disturbing all the family. My brothers， and sisters， and cousins， understanding the bargain I had made， told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth； put me in mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of the money； and laughed at me so much for my folly， that I cried with vexation； and the reflections gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave me pleasure.