LETTER XLVI.
WILLIAM to his MOTHER.
We had yesterday a whole day of pleasure, gathering the winter fruits. The gardener and his son climbed into the high trees, and plucked the apples and pears from the heavy laden branches; and we held the baskets to save them from being bruised, for those that fall to the ground will not keep. Some country girls had been observing our employment; and one of them spoke to Harry, eagerly looking at the apples.
CHARLES.
What does that girl want?
HARRY.
She desires me to ask you for some apples for a sick mother; and I know the poor woman has been a long time ill.
For a sick mother?—she is a good child, go give her as many as she can carry; let her have some for herself as well as her mother.
HARRY.
Shall I give her some of these small ones, which are not of a very good kind?
CHARLES.
How—would you give the sick what is not good? No, she shall have some of them I gathered just now; they grew on my own tree, and the branches were bent down with the weight of the fruit. My tree never bore so much before; let me give part of my abundance to those who have none.
EDWARD.
I do not blame you, Charles; but those common people are always asking for something.
If they did not ask they would seldom get any thing. Dear Edward, we ask daily of God; permit then at least that those industrious people ask of us, who are made of the same materials, and in whose veins the same blood flows. It is as much our duty to spare part of our superfluities to relieve their accidental distress; as it is theirs to work to supply their daily wants.
EMILIA.
And we should not, in any degree, merit the abundance we enjoy, if we refused to give a part of it to the poor. I will tell my mother, and I am sure she will send more than a basket of apples to the sick woman, and the good daughter who takes care of her.
When we returned, Sir Charles, after looking at the fruit, said, How wise and good is God, who thus provides for our comfort and pleasure. The fruits of the earth, which ought only to be ate in warm weather, perish as the winter comes on; but these wholesome dainties may be preserved to cheer us when the earth ceases to bring forth, and the leaves die on the boughs. How many persons are daily eating the provisions, the different seasons afford, and forget to thank the Giver, forget to imitate him, by imparting part of the blessings which are so liberally bestowed.—You read the parable of the man, who, instead of opening his heart, when his stores increased, was for pulling down his barns and building more capacious ones; but that very night his soul was required to quit the body he had pampered. He who dwelleth in heaven laugheth to scorn the designs of the proud; and frustrates the plans of the foolish man, who tries to provide for years to come, when he is not certain, that he shall many hours be permitted to breathe the breath of life. They only enjoy life, who fear not death.
Just now Sir Charles has received a letter from Lady M——, requesting him to permit Charles to visit his uncle, Lord M——, who has been some time in a declining state of health. To-morrow my friend departs with Dr. Bartlett; I shall long for his return, every place will appear so dull when he is gone; but he has promised to write to me, and I will send you his letters, and take care of them, that I may read them again when I come home—for they then will be all I shall have of Charles—I hate these partings. Farewell.
WILLIAM.