LETTER XIX.EmiliatoCharlotte.

I have another proof to give you of Charles’s good disposition, but first let me tell you he is much better. After I had finished my letter to you yesterday evening, I went into Charles’s room again, and found him and Edward looking over some drawings; amongst them was the mount of a fan, which Charles had finished with more than usual care, intending to surprise our dear parent with it. Though he is very modest when speaking of his own performances, yet he spoke of this with some degree of satisfaction, and mentioned the length of time he had been about it. He desired me to cover it with silver paper, adding, that he would rather lose all the rest of his drawings than this.

We were now called down to supper; about half an hour after we were seated at table it began to rain very fast, and Charles recollecting that he had left one of the windows of his room open, was going himself to shut it, but my mother called him back, not thinking it safe that he should expose himself to the night air, and desired one of the servants to go.

Well, we went to bed at our usual hour, but I had scarcely reached my room before I heard Edward cry out, What do I see! I ran to him, and judge of my vexation, when I saw the fan mount in his hand almost entirely consumed: Charles at that moment entered the chamber; he said nothing, but looked a little angry, supposing we had played him a trick. What think you, said Edward? the careless boy that did this deserves to be turned out of doors. No, said Charles, I was afraid you haddone it to teaze me; if it was only an accident, though it is vexatious, I will endeavour to remedy it by doing another much better: however, let us enquire about it. They did so, and the servant who had shut the window, owned that he had put a candle on the table which was loose in the socket, and that it fell out, and set fire to the paper, and almost burnt the whole mount, before he could put it out. The boy seemed very sorry, and begged Charles not to tell his father, lest he should be turned away for his carelessness, for he had often been desired never to put a candle on a table covered with papers. Edward would not listen to him, and said it was all a lie; but Charles said it was not impossible, and that he would not mention it to his father or mother, as he should be sorry to have a servant turned away who appeared to be sorry for what he haddone, only desired him never to touch any papers again in his room.

EDWARD.

Well, you are very good-natured, Charles; if this had happened to me, I should never have forgiven him.

CHARLES.

That would not have restored my drawing.

EDWARD.

No, but the careless fellow would have been punished; and that would have been some comfort: such a loss would vex my very heart.

EMILIA.

It is, indeed, very unfortunate.

CHARLES.

No, I do not call it a misfortune, sister.

EMILIA.

How, do not you think that a misfortune?

CHARLES.

You make me smile—I shall soon forget my drawing, it was only a trial of temper; my mother’s sickness was a misfortune, indeed, and the poor woman who had lost her child had reason to weep; but what admits of a remedy, should not be called a misfortune, it is only a momentary vexation. And after all, I was the person to blame, it was I who was careless; if I had locked up my drawing, or shut the window myself, this accident would not have happened.

EMILIA.

But, Charles, will you begin another?

CHARLES.

Yes, certainly, and perhaps it may be much better, for another design has just entered my head.

He then wished me a good night, and I must do the same.

I am glad I did not entirely fill up my paper, and yet I shall not say much, I am so dull. Edward has just left us to join his regiment. My tears fall while I write. I do not like these separations; I wish those whom I love were always to remain with me!

Charles has just mentioned to my father, a circumstance that he appeared to be much ashamed of. I have not time to write the particulars; I can only now tell you, that he read a part of one of Dr. Bartlett’s letters, without his leave; he saw the Doctor in great distress, and was so anxious to know what occasioned it, that he acted contrary tohis own notions of honour. This letter contained an account of some misfortunes that had befallen the Doctor’s family, which he, from a motive of delicacy, concealed from my father, thinking he had already done too much for them.

My father went instantly to his friend, with whom he had a long conversation, and after he returned to his study, he sent for Charles, and mildly addressed him.

SIR CHARLES.

I have at last prevailed on my friend to state the whole affair to me, and it will soon be settled to his satisfaction. And now let me caution you, my son, never to let even your affection induce you to pry into the secrets of others: a good end does not justify the improper means employed to reach it. Honour is a sacred thing, and no motive should influence us to trifle with fixed principles-ourviews are bounded, and we ought to adhere to strict rules, not knowing how to modify them. Your youthful warmth now pleads in your favour; I am acquainted with the goodness of your heart; but goodness should ever be restrained by duty, or it will not uniformly actuate our conduct.

My father then smiled on Charles, adding, this is a caution, and not a reproof.

I have almost written another letter. Believe me ever your’s.

EMILIA.

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