LETTER LVII.
WILLIAM to his MOTHER.
Rejoice with us, my dear mother, Sir Charles is now entirely out of danger; I omitted writing for some days, that I might be quite certain that our hopes were well-founded. Our mourning is now turned into joy: I think we were never so happy before. But what should I have done had he died? the time of my departure for Holland approaches, how could I have left my friend in the midst of his grief? It is in the hour of sorrow that we most need a friend, and I think I love him better than ever, since I saw him so unhappy;—but it is all over now, and I shall return with satisfaction to my dear mother and sister. How quickly has this year flown away; and Dr. Bartlett has frequently told me, that few complain of the irksomeness of time, who are properly employed. Certainly none are more to be pitied than those who are habitually idle; how far otherwise is it with those happy families where useful employments, and innocent amusements, fill the whole day. I have learned of Charles to divide my hours well, and I shall do so, with your permission, when I return home. I shall not then, I hope, be any more dull, as I used formerly to be, when we were without company; nor shall I wish continually for the company of young Du Lis, because he was always merry. I will read to you, when we are alone; and improve myself in drawing, and in the many other things I have been taught since I came to England, that my friend Charles may not blush for me, when we meet again. I shall never forget what I heard Sir Charles say a few days ago to Edward; you wish much for company, dear Edward, said he, but, believe me, it is wishing for slavery. He who is always running into company, cannot bear himself in solitude; constant company leads to habitual idleness. Society is agreeable; but it must be relieved by retired hours to remain long so. And it is very improper, for young people especially, every day to think of visiting; the days of youth are invaluable, it is the seedtime of life, and a harvest cannot be expected when it has been neglected. You ought then to suppress that desire of continual dissipation, which insensibly draws off the attention from more rational pursuits, and even prevents young people from obtaining a respectable situation in the society they frequent. If you would learn to be qualified for general conversation, learn to think when you read, and through the assistance of rational books, many hours of retirement may pass pleasantly away, without your wishing for the noise of society—Books are never failing friends.
I am, dear mother,
WILLIAM.