LETTER XXXVI.
William to young Mr. Van Landbergen.
I promised to inform you of our safe arrival; well, here we are in London, happy as our hearts could wish. We were received in the most cordial manner by all this dear worthy family, and Sir Charles and Lady Grandison embraced their son with fresh warmth, when they saw the little cur we brought with us: and he seemed delighted with this fresh testimony of their affection.
Our passage was very pleasant, and I cannot forbear communicating to you an instance of Charles’s considerate benevolence. It is the business of a generous soul to find every where opportunities of doing good. Perhaps, yes, it appears very probable, that the Supreme Being makes choice of those who endeavour to please him, to distribute his blessings through their hands. On the contrary, in what a fearful state are those who, by their vices, are separated from God. I was struck with a remark which Dr. Bartlett once made in my presence, “Woe to those who by their evil deeds, and the misery they bring on others, seem to be His instruments of punishment—how are they separated from God and happiness!”
When we went on board the packet Charles particularly observed a man who was obliged to be lifted on board, sickness had so wasted his strength. The poor man was very much emaciated, and had a violent cough, which seemed to shake his whole frame; yet he had scarcely sufficient covering to shield him from the cold, though it was piercing weather, and his weak lungs evidently could ill bear to be so roughly assaulted.
Charles did not delay a moment to enquire who he was and what ailed him. He found that the poor man came to Holland about business, and had been detained by a fever much longer than he expected; but that being a little better, and finding himself just able to travel, he was hastening back to his wife and children.
Charles soon contrived to get into conversation with him, and observed that he must suffer very severely from the cold, for the poor wretch was afraid to go down into the cabin, his breath was so very short. I do suffer, replied the invalid, but heaven will strengthen me; I have already, during the course of my life, been enabled to bear more than I imagined I could ever have endured.—Charles interrupted him, and pulling off his great coat, said, see now what heaven sends you. I am young and in good health, and can bear cold much better than you. The sick man viewed him with astonishment. Edward, who was at a little distance, ran up and whispered Charles, what are you going to fight? Yes, answered Charles, a little disconcerted, I am going to fight against the cold, to preserve this poor man from it, who might, perhaps, catch his death. He then helped him to put it on, and hastily left him, not only to avoid his thanks, but to prevent any one else from observing what he termed a common act of humanity. Edward still went on, extolling his benevolence; he stopped him, saying—What have I done? Is it such a great act of benevolence for one who is in good health and strong, to give his great coat to a poor sick man benumbed with cold? One of the emperors of China, when in the field of battle, gave his own fur cloak to one of his officers, saying, when his nobles seemed to wonder at it, that he wished he was able to give a cloak to every one of his soldiers. Should I, then, regard myself more than a monarch who looks upon himself as the ruler of the whole earth, said he, laughing; and then began to talk about something else.
Charles and Edward are gone out a riding, and I staid at home to write to you.
They are come home, I hear Charles singing as he walks along the passage—he has charming spirits.
Charles entered my room;—You are writing to Mr. Landbergen, I suppose, said he, will you give me leave to add a few words; but fold up your letter, for I do not want to see what you have written; letters are sacred even as our thoughts, and a friend should not take advantage of the confidence reposed in him. Dr. Bartlett has often cautioned me always to keep up a little ceremony with a friend, and repeated the old proverb, that too much familiarity breeds contempt. I have scarcely left him room to write a line. Adieu,
P. S. I have only just room to tell you that we are all well and happy. I will soon write you a long letter, in the mean time present my respects to your father, and believe me to be your affectionate friend