LETTER LVI.
Mrs. D—— to William.
I was very much concerned when I heard of your benefactor’s alarming illness; but I would fain hope, with you, my dear William, that heaven will restore so good a man, whose example the world has so much need of. Yet, my son, what an opportunity presents itself for you to view death without terror. You see with what peace and tranquility a Christian can wait for his dying hour; one who has observed the duties of christianity, and not assumed the mere name. You behold the good Sir Charles resigned to the will of heaven, calmly waiting for his dissolution; yes, every one who has lived well, may be termed the friend of God, and secure of his protection at the last trying hour, may view it without dismay. He knows, that released from all the cares and sufferings of this life, he is going to enjoy the presence and favour of the supreme fountain of good, whose favorite he is, because he has endeavoured to copy the perfections, as far as he could discover them, of that Being he adored. Death has nothing terrible in it for him; no, death, at that moment, appears his best friend, as it conducts him to an eternity of happiness, which, even in this world, he has had a foretaste of; and besides, what delight may not a further improvement in knowledge afford to one who has already advanced a few steps in the attainment of it. Life is like a dream, which quickly passes away, and virtue only forces it to leave lasting traces behind. Let us, my son, endeavour to be good, and then we may all expect to meet where our great improvement in virtue may ensure our happiness. Neglect not to inform me, by the first packet, of the present state of health of our much-esteemed friend.
D.
LETTER LVII.
William to his Mother.
Rejoice with us, my dear mother, Sir Charles is now entirely out of danger; I omitted writing for some days, that I might be quite certain that our hopes were well-founded. Our mourning is now turned into joy: I think we were never so happy before. But what should I have done had he died? the time of my departure for Holland approaches, how could I have left my friend in the midst of his grief? It is in the hour of sorrow that we most need a friend, and I think I love him better than ever, since I saw him so unhappy;—but it is all over now, and I shall return with satisfaction to my dear mother and sister. How quickly has this year flown away; and Dr. Bartlett has frequently told me, that few complain of the irksomeness of time, who are properly employed. Certainly none are more to be pitied than those who are habitually idle; how far otherwise is it with those happy families where useful employments, and innocent amusements, fill the whole day. I have learned of Charles to divide my hours well, and I shall do so, with your permission, when I return home. I shall not then, I hope, be any more dull, as I used formerly to be, when we were without company; nor shall I wish continually for the company of young Du Lis, because he was always merry. I will read to you, when we are alone; and improve myself in drawing, and in the many other things I have been taught since I came to England, that my friend Charles may not blush for me, when we meet again. I shall never forget what I heard Sir Charles say a few days ago to Edward; you wish much for company, dear Edward, said he, but, believe me, it is wishing for slavery. He who is always running into company, cannot bear himself in solitude; constant company leads to habitual idleness. Society is agreeable; but it must be relieved by retired hours to remain long so. And it is very improper, for young people especially, every day to think of visiting; the days of youth are invaluable, it is the seedtime of life, and a harvest cannot be expected when it has been neglected. You ought then to suppress that desire of continual dissipation, which insensibly draws off the attention from more rational pursuits, and even prevents young people from obtaining a respectable situation in the society they frequent. If you would learn to be qualified for general conversation, learn to think when you read, and through the assistance of rational books, many hours of retirement may pass pleasantly away, without your wishing for the noise of society—Books are never failing friends.
I am, dear mother,
WILLIAM.
LETTER LVIII.
William to his Mother,
Next Thursday is fixed for my departure, so that this is my last letter. I did wish to have remained here till after Emilia’s birth-day, but one of Sir Charles’s friends intends setting off next week for Holland, and he wishes me to go with him, as another opportunity may not soon occur.
How happens it, dear mother, that I am so low-spirited when I am returning to you whom I have so continually longed to see? I love Sir Charles and his Lady, and I love my friend as myself, yet, I love you better than all the world. I know not well what I feel, I would willingly return, and still wish to remain where I am. Sir Charles has given me reason to hope that I shall see my friend in Holland much sooner than I expected, and that we shall correspond constantly during our separation; he then gave me some books and mathematical instruments. How much I shall have to read to you, and how many things to tell you, when I am once more returned home!