LETTER L.
WILLIAM to his MOTHER.
Last night, dear mother, we again entered this great city; I should have written as I promised, but I was too late for the post, and I have a long story to tell you.
Poor Harry broke his leg while we were on the road; a hack-horse threw him, as he was turning suddenly to open a gate. Charles ran to him, and supported him in the carriage till we arrived at a large town; soon after we reached it, Sir Charles, who was in another carriage with Lady Grandison, Emilia, and Edward, overtook us, and were instantly informed of the accident. A surgeon was immediately sent for, and the bone set; but his leg was shattered in such a dreadful manner, the surgeon apprehends he will always be a cripple. Sir Charles staid in the room while the operation was performed, to support Harry’s spirits.
I forgot to mention, that Dr. Bartlett was not with us, he did not return to Grandison-Hall with Charles, he had some business of his own to settle in town. Charles and I had a hired chaise to ourselves, and we, with Harry to attend us, always rode first to provide a good fire for Lady Grandison, who has been for some time a little indisposed.
Sir Charles never travels with much state, Harry was the only servant we had with us. On his own account he did not care, he expected to sleep in his own house that night; but he did not like to leave a faithful servant, in his present weak state, entirely to the care of strangers. I will give you his own words, for they made an impression on me.
SIR CHARLES.
Providence has placed men in different situations, to facilitate the main end of life, improvement in virtue; yet distress brings us all on a level again, we are then no longer master and servant, but men; worldly distinctions are forgot, and nature asserts her primitive equality. I would not neglect paying to the meanest of my fellow-creatures, the attention I might need from them, if I did, I should forfeit my own esteem. Was Lady Grandison well, I would stay this night to nurse Harry, and to-morrow send him one of his fellow-servants.—Charles eagerly caught his father’s hand.
CHARLES.
O, my dear father, do you go with my mother, and let me remain to represent you, let me nurse Harry. I should be happy to convince him, that I did not sit up with the old officer, because he was a gentleman, but because he was a man.
SIR CHARLES.
This offer I expected from you, my son, and do not want to be importuned to grant your request. William shall remain with you, and before to-morrow night, I will send Robert to take your place. With what delight do I perceive that your heart opens itself to those true pleasures which dignify and cultivate the mind. Your kindness to Harry will soften his bodily pain, and you will feel yourself in what exercises your chief happiness must consist.
Sir Charles soon after left us, and we went to sit in Harry’s room; as he was fallen asleep, we each took a book, we would not converse lest we should disturb him. Charles had enquired of his mother, what kind of nourishment was the most proper for the invalid, and took care to order it to be ready, that he might have some refreshment when he awoke. We had some weak wine and water, and a crust of bread; and in the night the landlord brought us some coffee.
Harry would fain have persuaded us to go to bed; but Charles resolutely refused, and it was very happy we did not, for the poor man was delirious, and tried to get out of bed. And I believe he would have torn the bandage off his leg, if Charles, who was the only person he recollected, had not entreated him to let it alone. He obeyed him—did I not say truly, it was happy we were there? I could not help observing, that while Charles was busy about him, he did not seem to be afraid of any accident which might have happened to himself. When Harry became composed, I mentioned to him the remark I had made, and owned I should have been afraid to have held Harry, when he looked so frantic. Hear his answer. When I am doing what I think right, I never feel any thing like fear—should I be killed assisting a fellow-creature, would it not be a glorious death? But I will tell you when I have felt fear. Once or twice I have been in danger in a crowd, into which I entered to procure amusement or gratify idle curiosity; then, indeed, I was afraid, and I thought, if I now lose my life, how can I answer to my Creator for risking it. This single thought deprived me of the courage you admire: nothing terrifies me, when I can pray to God, and am conscious I am obeying his holy will.
I shall not soon forget this night, dear mother; the stillness of it, and the sight of Harry, who was perhaps on his deathbed, made me think very seriously, and I could not help praying to God, to enable me so to live, that I might not fear death. I used often to wish to be rich, but in this sick chamber, these wishes appeared foolish, I only desired to be good. I felt the truth of Sir Charles’s observation, that this was the solid distinction between man and man; I wondered I had not thought so before, the virtuous only appeared great in my eyes, because they can conquer death, and do not dread the end of life. And Charles agreed with me, that those who overcome the sorest earthly evil, must certainly be the truly great. We talked of all the heroes we had read an account of in history, and observed that few died happily whose chief aim had not been to benefit mankind, rather than obtain a great name for themselves. But I should tire you if I was to relate the whole of our conversation, on subjects we seldom talked of before.
Towards morning Harry fell asleep, and woke quite sensible; I was glad of it, for it is a shocking thing to see a man deprived of reason. How dependent he is! I now recollect Dr. Bartlett’s words, That it is the right use of reason, which makes us independent of every human being.
We sat with Harry all day and endeavoured to divert him; and he was diverted. Robert came in the evening, and brought a note from Sir Charles, in which he desired us to sleep at the inn that night, and set off for London early in the morning.
Come, said Charles, the sun is not yet set, let us take a walk and look about the town, while supper is preparing. It is cold, replied I. Yes, answered Charles, but let us not mind that. There is nothing better at this season than to be accustomed to rough weather, and to harden ourselves against the winter. You will see this winter, continued he, how little I care for wind, frost, rain, or snow. I never stay in the house, I run through all weathers.
At this moment we came to a small cottage, where an old woman sat at a spinning-wheel, she seemed to be very poor. Let us go in and see her spin, said Charles; and we entered, begging the woman not to take it amiss, as we did not wish to interrupt her, but to see her spin. She began to talk to us, still turning her wheel. You are very diligent, said Charles. I must be so, replied the old woman, for it is my only support, except a trifle the gentry give me, in the winter, to buy coals, for they are very dear, and my hands are sometimes so cold, I cannot turn my wheel. Charles then asked, if her daily labour was sufficient to procure her bread. She answered yes, but it sometimes happens in the winter, when I have fewel to buy, that I have not money to purchase flax, and then I must sit in the cold idle and hungry. And is there nobody that will lend you a trifle, cried Charles, when you are in such extreme distress? Good lack, said the old woman, I dare say there are many good hearts in the world; but the rich, who are tender-hearted, sit in their warm parlours, and do not see the hardships we poor folk undergo. Charles then gave her a guinea and we hurried out of the cottage, to avoid her thanks; but her blessings followed us.
While we were at supper, he enquired of the landlord, if she was an industrious woman; he assured us she was, and patiently endured many hardships rather than become burdensome to the parish. Charles then desired him to supply her with coals the ensuing winter; let her turn her wheel glibly, and I will pay you, good Sir, when I see you in the spring.
We visited Harry, and Charles desired to be called, if he was very ill during the night. Harry looked pleased; Ah! Sir, said he, I find you care for a poor sick servant, as well as for a gentleman.
Before we went to bed we could not help talking of the old woman.
CHARLES.
How happy it is for her that she can work, and keep out of the work-house; even in her old age her industry enables her to be useful to society, and to command a little abode of her own.
WILLIAM.
Yet we slight such coarse hands; where should we get linen, if there were not industrious spinners?
CHARLES.
That we do not think of, we are apt to despise, as you observe, the useful work of such coarse hands, which we could not do without; and admire the embroidery the ladies work merely for ornament. And why? Because the soft fingers of the ladies do their work in elegant rooms, and the poor labour in huts.
WILLIAM.
And yet, according to our reasoning last night, the poor woman who works to earn her bread, or clothe her children, is a much more respectable member of society, than the lady who employs herself about work which can only procure her praise.
CHARLES.
Barren praise, my dear William, for Dr. Bartlett has said, that it is very dangerous to allow ourselves to be pleased with any commendation, which is not bestowed on our virtue. But I have seen some ladies, who neglected their children to prepare ornaments for their persons. And when they had them on they looked like dolls; I could not respect them as I respect the old woman.
WILLIAM.
I will never complain of the cold again, but rather encounter it, that I may be put in mind of the distresses the poor have to struggle with. Had you turned back when I complained, this poor old soul would have lost the comfortable fire you have procured her this winter.
We went to bed, slept soundly, and set off in good spirits, after hearing from Harry that he had passed a better night. I will now conclude this long letter; but first let me tell you, we are to visit some manufactories soon, to learn to value the labours of the poor, and the useful employments of life.
WILLIAM.