LETTER III.
William to his Mother.
A thousand thanks do I wish to send you, my dear mother, for your letter; I feel myself of some consequence now you correspond with me. Was I wrong, when I was proud of your praises? I wished Lady Grandison to know that I had been an obedient son, and I gave her your letter to read. What an excellent mother you have, William, said she! you must obey all her commands, and console her by acquiring virtue. You must try to amuse her by communicating your sentiments; and do not forget to tell her of all your amusements, your business, and even the conversations which you listen to in this family: and this attention will in some degree make her happy. But, Madam, said I, my mother has often forbid me to mention any conversations I heard, when I went with her to pay a visit. William, she replied, you must learn to make distinctions; conversations are not to be repeated; but you may confide every observation you make in the bosom of a friend, except indeed the secrets you have promised to keep, they are sacred. A young person ought never to promise to keep any secrets from an indulgent parent, till their reason enables them to govern themselves, and they are no longer children.
Oh! how glad I was, for you know, dear mother, that I am now fond of writing. How much I shall have to tell you of young Charles; yes, it is of him, that I mean to speak the most. You cannot think how much sense he has, and how good he is; indeed I do love him. We are almost always together, for his cousin Edward, though he is two years older, has not half his sense and goodness. But Lady Grandison told me yesterday, his education had been neglected, so I pity him; yet cannot love him as I love Charles and Emilia.