LETTER XXX.
WILLIAM to his MOTHER.
Sir Charles and Lady Grandison are expected this afternoon. We are all glad, the servants join in the general joy. Is it not a good sign, when the servants are attached to their masters? I will endeavour to be good and humane, when I am a man, it is so delightful to be loved.
But I must again speak of my friend Charles. Dr. Bartlett asked us after breakfast if we would take a short walk. Charles, who is much better, desired to be excused going with us. My leg, said he, is not quite well; if I walk much on it, my father and mother would perceive it, and I do not wish to give them a moment’s uneasiness, I would rather lose the pleasure of the walk. He then remained in his chamber, and Emilia, Edward, and I, accompanied Dr. Bartlett, and we had the following conversation.
EMILIA.
Why is it not always summer, Sir? The summer is far more delightful than the winter.
DR. BARTLETT.
If it was always summer, we should not enjoy as much pleasure as we do at present. The succession of the seasons rouses our attention, and gives variety to the year; you would be tired of the most beautiful prospect, if it never varied. You have experienced this very often, I believe. Some months ago, I gave you an optic glass, and you were so pleased with it that you would leave off eating to amuse yourself with the wonders it discovered: now your curiosity sleeps, it is thrown aside; some months hence it may come in play again. So it is with the trees and flowers; the change of summer and winter is adapted to our nature, while the earth is allowed a resting time; during which it gathers fresh strength to bud forth in the beautiful livery of spring.
EMILIA.
I never viewed it in this light. Oh! there is a great frog.
DR. BARTLETT.
Why are you frightened, they will do you no harm.
EDWARD.
No, they do no harm.
EMILIA.
Dare you then touch one, Edward?
EDWARD.
Yes. Look at me, I will touch one.
We may without danger touch a frog, if we only know how to distinguish it from a toad.—But it is most prudent not to play with any animal you are not acquainted with.
EMILIA.
Then it is right to be afraid of all sorts of creatures?
DR. BARTLETT.
By no means. You know, for example, that it gives you pain when you take hold of a nettle: have you then reason to cry out when you see a nettle? Those little creatures, even though provided with a weapon to defend themselves, or revenge an injury, will not seek you: they are more afraid of you than you of them.
See, the frog jumps away when we come near it.
EMILIA.
But what say you of rats and mice?
EDWARD.
They fear us yet more. You have often seen how they run away, if they hear the least noise. I for my part am more afraid of fleas and gnats than of rats and mice. What do all these creatures in the world? They are of no use.
DR. BARTLETT.
How do you know that they are not serviceable? I think, nay, I am sure they are. All that we discover the cause of in God’s works, is good: and our ignorance ought not to make us doubt of his goodness. A spider, for instance, you would say, is a disagreeable useless insect.
I am afraid of a spider, Sir.
DR. BARTLETT.
That is a weakness, my dear William, which you must try to conquer; you shall draw some spiders for me. Now a spider, that insect so odious in your eyes, is of great service to us by his diligence. At the time that the grapes and other fruits begin to ripen, he spins a curious web to cover them from the flies and other insects, without doing the fruit any injury. And from this slight circumstance we may conclude with reason, that most things in the earth are serviceable, though we know not their particular use.
EMILIA.
Look, William, what a fine house, I wish I lived in such a noble one.
And why, Emilia; think you that that house, because it appears so stately, is more convenient than the one you inhabit?
EMILIA.
It is much larger, Sir.
DR. BARTLETT.
The family may be in proportion to its size, if not, great part of it is useless, you have in your’s, all that you ought to desire.
EMILIA.
It looks well, I think, to live in such a fine house.
DR. BARTLETT.
My dear Emilia, that shewy appearance is chiefly for those that pass by, as you do now; there are possibly more wants in that house than in your’s. Let us always try to be satisfied with what we have, for otherwise, if you had that house you would not be content, you would still see a better; and so you would never have done wishing.
We were silent a few moments, when Dr. Bartlett called hastily to Emilia, and desired her to cast her eyes on a decayed cottage, near the road side.
EMILIA.
That looks miserable; there is but a small window in it: those who live in it can have very little light.
DR. BARTLETT.
But, miserable as it appears, your fellow-creatures live in it.
EMILIA.
They have reason to complain.
DR. BARTLETT.
Think you so? No. They are happy to have such an house. How many are there who have scarcely a covering to sleep under; and who, when it begins to be dark, benumbed with rain and cold, know not where to sleep.
EMILIA.
I am distressed. Ah, if all men were as well provided for as I am, that would quench the thirst of wishing.—But I see a poor boy, perhaps he is looking for a shelter.
DR. BARTLETT.
Very possibly.
He shall sleep this night under a roof, said Emilia, as she ran to give the boy something. I really pitied him, and gave him a trifle. The poor fellow looked pleased. How happy are the rich that they can give to the poor!
WILLIAM.