LETTER XXXV.
WILLIAM to his MOTHER.
We rode out yesterday, and had not the pleasure we expected. When we left home the weather was fine; but the sky soon began to lower, and the rain fell in large drops; we were obliged to gallop to a little farm-house, and wait there till the storm was over. Edward was grumbling all the way, and Emilia was low-spirited, and I own I was disappointed; Charles looked so for a moment, but soon recollected himself.
EDWARD.
This is dreadful.—What a pity it is—the rain will prevent our enjoying any pleasure.
CHARLES.
No; we can drink tea here, and return home when it clears up.
That is not so pleasant. I wish it was fair now—I want to have a ride.
CHARLES.
You wish it was dry weather to pursue your ride to please yourself: and our neighbour, the farmer, wished this morning for rain, because the plants and grass are almost withered by the drought. Whose wish is most rational?
WILLIAM.
The farmer’s, I think.
CHARLES.
Every day there are some parties of pleasure, and could the selfish wish for fair weather prevail, our fields would soon lose their verdure, and the corn cease to swell, till it becomes a laughing image of plenty. The fruits would drop dry on the ground, and the flowers no longer perfume the air. You will see how green every thing will look, and how sweet they will smell as we return home.
EMILIA.
I will never impatiently complain of the rain again.
EDWARD.
And I still continue to wish it had not rained till night.
CHARLES.
They who have to travel to-night, would wish to put it off till to-morrow. Whose wish is to be gratified?
EMILIA.
Charles is right. We are in God’s sight, no more than other men.
WILLIAM.
It is impossible to know what to wish for at all times.
CHARLES.
Believe me, Dr. Bartlett has convinced me, we should be miserable, if God always gave us what we desire. And, dear sister, is our pleasure for a day to be compared with the good that so many will experience from the rain?
EMILIA.
But the poor birds, I pity them.
CHARLES.
They will take shelter if it is troublesome to them. Besides, their feathers have a kind of oil in them, which hinders them from being wet.
As it did not seem likely to clear up, we seized the first moment, between the showers, and hastened home. Charles gave his sister his canary-bird, and she went to provide a cage for it. We diverted ourselves; but Edward was out of humour; complained of the weather, and tormented his poor dog.
WILLIAM.