I have been much gratified by a letter from the mother of my friend,[14] promising that the epitaph I sent should be placed on his tomb, and professing to have derived much comfort from my sympathy, and from the affectionate tribute paid to her son’s memory. It has in a manner set my heart at rest on this melancholy subject, for there is a great mental satisfaction, if no solid sense, in the consideration that I have performed the last sad duty to his ashes, by establishing a little register of his virtues and our friendship, which otherwise would have sunk with me and those who loved him into oblivion, the idea of which is horrible.
5th December.—The mail closes to-morrow and I have no time to alter or peruse anything—so take it as it is—it’s just a talk.—Yours,
Charles.
* * * * *
Isle of Wight,
St. Helens, December 29, 1807.
Ever dearest Father—If you have not been prepared for it, my arrival in England will be to you an agreeable surprise, as in fact it is almost to me.
We had a favourable passage of thirteen days, and came to anchor last night. When I have seen Sir John Moore in Portsmouth and General Morse in London, I shall be better able to fix my movements; at present my thoughts are to stay here two or three days, then to London, and so meet you at Sudbury before the 9th.
Hereafter I shall probably wish to adhere to General Moore, who has intimated a disposition entirely friendly to me. But I cannot help hoping to spend the greater part of the winter with you—a hope, however, too flattering to be implicitly trusted. I heard, by means of Colonel Campbell, the valuable intelligence that you were all well on the 12th November. As I trust we shall meet very soon I need not lengthen this letter, farther than to say how much I am, my dearest Dad, your ever most affectionate
Charles.
P.S.—There is not such an air of happiness in this letter as my situation may be supposed to inspire. The fact is, I fear giving myself too much up to certainty which may possibly forerun disappointment.—Adieu.