LETTER XI.
WILLIAM to his MOTHER.
We have been very happy at Lord L——’s; I wish you had seen how well my friend Charles behaves himself in company. Not like young Dulis, I assure you. He has so much affectation and formality: he does nothing but bow, and make compliments, with a half-ashamed face, as if he had done wrong, and was afraid to look the person he spoke to in the face. Charles, on the contrary, is polite with a noble freedom; he walks with ease and grace; he listens with attention, and speaks little; but when the discourse is directed to him, he returns a modest answer.
I will give you an instance of his attention. We were in the garden with the whole party: one of the young ladies had left her hat in the house and complained of the heat of the sun; Charles heard her, and ran immediately for it. Then, with his usual mirth, he asked permission to put it on the lady’s head.
Oh, could I be like him how happy I should be! I will try to be as attentive and complaisant. Most people only come into company to eat and drink. I know, for you have told me, that children should not converse much; but they must not appear tired and stupidly dumb. Is it not true, dear mother?
Lady L—— has two daughters, they are both very pleasing; the eldest, Charlotte, sings admirably: Emilia is very fond of her, and they have promised to write to each other.
—But I must not forget to tell you what happened to us in our way home. Sir Charles and Lady Grandison, Emilia and another Lady rode in one carriage on before; we were with Dr. Bartlett in the chaise. We had not travelled above three miles, when we saw a poor blind old man sitting very sorrowful under a tree. Charles stopped the carriage. Pray, dear sir, said he, look at that man, he appears blind and wretched; he has nobody with him, pray let me speak to him. He quickly received permission, and jumped out of the carriage. Who are you, my honest friend? said he; who has left you alone in such a solitary place? Alas! answered the blind man, I am very poor, I came out this morning to beg in the neighbouring village, and my leader, a cruel boy, has left me to myself, because I had not collected enough to pay him as usual. Ah! replied Charles, the sun is already set, it will soon be dark; and what will you then do? I must perish, if God, who is my only refuge, does not send some one to help me. No, answered Charles, you shall not perish; God has sent me to help you.—Dear Dr. Bartlett, let me be so happy as to save an unfortunate blind man left alone, and who might have been lost, if we had not met with him! The night comes on apace, where would this distressed fellow-creature go without a guide? We cannot be far from his house, do take him into the chaise, I will ride behind, that you may not be incommoded. Dr. Bartlett would not allow him to do so, but made room for the poor man. Any other but Charles would, probably, instead of offering to ride behind, have been ashamed of being seen with a man in such ragged clothes; but he, on the contrary, seemed to find pleasure in his company. In short, we only went a mile out of our way; and when we left him at his cottage door, I saw Charles slip some money into his hand, while he modestly received the old man’s blessing.
Dr. Bartlett highly commended this act of humanity when we reached home. But, said Emilia, the man in rags must have appeared an odd figure in such a fine carriage. I never thought of that, sister, answered Charles, I was so glad to seize an opportunity of doing good—and felt myself so warmly interested about the old man’s preservation. Nobly done, my son, said Sir Charles. Observe, Emilia, your brother has made a triumphal car of his carriage, which, has done him more honour than those the victorious Romans, whose history you are all reading, made for their heroes; he has saved the life of his brother—a poor wanderer in the dark; yet, forlorn as he appeared, that God who allows us to enjoy the cheerful light of day, cares for him, and Jesus Christ would have felt compassion for him; in his eyes the good only were great. Come to my arms, my son, you rejoice your father’s heart. We were all silent for a few moments, and tears stood in our eyes—and I prayed that I might glad my mother’s heart. Farewel, my dearest mother, love your
WILLIAM.