LETTER XVIII.EmiliatoCharlotte.

You desire that I will send you as early an account as possible of Charlesâ€™s health; he is, I fear, very ill. In order to conceal it from my mother, he tried to employ himself, but in vain. I am with him every moment I can leave my mother; and this morning we had a conversation, which I will relate. He asked me to put by his drawings, and he looked so altered, that my eyes filled with tears, and I turned my head from him to conceal them; but it did not escape his observation. He caught me by the hand, and said, Why, dear Emilia, are you so sorrowful?

EMILIA.

It is nothingâ€”I shall be chearful again presently.

CHARLES.

But you are weeping, dear sister?

EMILIA.

Well, I will dry my tears, and cry no more, for I see your tears begin to start.

CHARLES.

Do not on that account restrain them, they will relieve you; but tell me what makes you so sad?

EMILIA.

Why, brother, are you not sick?

CHARLES.

This proof of your sisterly affection raises you in my esteem, but your tenderness ought not to blind your reason; I am not well, it is true, yet there is not the least appearance of danger.

EMILIA.

You are so good, God must certainly love you; why then are you afflicted?

CHARLES.

My tutor has often told me it is no sign that God does not love us, because we are in affliction. Sickness and sorrow are as necessary for us in this world as every other event; we are in the hands of a tender father, who knoweth our frame, and will not afflict us more than is necessary for our good.

EMILIA.

I hope God will forgive me, if I have spoken rashly. May you quickly be restored, for the danger I see you in is almost too much for me.

CHARLES.

You imagine, then, that I am in greater danger now than when I am in health.

EMILIA.

And so you are, I believe.

CHARLES.

No, my dear, we have no more reason to fear upon our sick bed, than when we are in lively company, taking a walk, or on the stormy sea. We are always under the protection of our Creator; he can preserve us, or call us hence whenever he thinks fit.

EMILIA.

We appear, I think, nearer death when we are sick than when we are in a good state of health.

CHARLES.

Weappear, you say, but that appearance deceives us, and we are led to think so because God commonly calls us out of the world by sickness; this seems the usual way, and we suppose that death is at a distance when we arein a confirmed state of health; yet we are, in the very midst of our pleasures, near the grave. For instance, when you are singing, or dancing, a dreadful fire may burst out, and none may have power to escape; nay, without such an unforeseen accident, a single glass of cold water, after such an amusement, has often occasioned death. Who would then presume to say, that they have many years of pleasure to come?

EMILIA.

I believe you are right.

CHARLES.

How many people recover when they have been given over by physicians, whilst those apparently in health die suddenly?

EMILIA.

You comfort me, dear brother, you set my heart at rest; and I hope you will soon get the better of this complaint.

CHARLES.

I shall be thankful to God, if he allows me to remain sometime longer with my parents and friends.

EMILIA.

It seems you are not afraid of death.

CHARLES.

I have already told you that I wish to live. Heaven grant me life, if I always have the same desire to do good; but may it be taken away from me this instant, if there is a possibility that I should ever forget my duty.

EMILIA.

O let us talk no more of death, brother!

Here I must stop, my mother has sent for me; pray for my dear Charles, and I shall love you still better.

EMILIA.

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