LETTER XVI.CharlestoWilliam.
My mother is out of danger; my sister’s letter made me very apprehensive; the tenderness of her nature makes her tremble at the least indisposition that attacks her parents, and she exaggerates the danger, till she is unable to see things as they really are. But why do I blame her? What have I not suffered myself through anxiety, in my way hither? I sometimes feared my mother was already dead, and we appeared to ride too fast forward: I was afraid to approach the hall one minute, and the next was in a violent perspiration through my eagerness to reach it. In short, William, I had a continual palpitation at my heart, and now find myself by no meanswell. But I shall not complain; in the morning probably I shall be better.
The time draws near, the time I so eagerly look for, when I was to have visited Holland: all my hopes seem like a dream, and it appears to me wrong even to think of it. I will go and take a little walk in the garden, it may, perhaps, refresh me.
I do not seem much the better for my walk, but I am glad I went, and I will tell you why. As I was going down the lane by the side of the garden, which you know leads to the high road, such a weariness came over me I was obliged to sit down. After resting some moments I rose up, and without considering where I was going, turned down the public road. May we not suppose, William, that heaven directs our steps to be serviceable to our fellow-creatures? for I saw, as I advanced, not far from me, a little child about three years old; itseemed tired, and stood still when it perceived me. At first I supposed some person was near; but not seeing any one, I began to be uneasy, and when it turned from me offered it some flowers which I had gathered in my way; this I did with a smiling aspect, and enquired what was its name, and where it lived? It could only lisp out a few words, such as that its name was Jemmy, and that it lived yonder, pointing with its hand, I could not tell where, for you know there is no house near; I could only make out that it had been a long time seeking its mammy.
The evening was growing dusky, and still no person appeared; I quickly imagined the poor mother’s feelings when she missed her child, and would have given any thing to have been able to have restored him to her; but as that was impossible, I was determined to take him with me, and leave him at ourgardener’s house, till he should find out to whom he belonged. I was obliged to carry him, for he began to cry, when he saw we turned out of the high road, and I found it rather troublesome on account of my weakness, but my resolution gave me strength, and I gave it in charge to the gardener’s wife, who promised to take care of it. In the morning a servant is to go to the neighbouring villages to enquire about the mother. Farewell.
CHARLES.
CHARLES.
CHARLES.
CHARLES.