Hunt, Henry, 1773-1835; Social reformers -- Great Britain -- Biography
About the middle of the day, he desired to be alone with me; and taking my
hand, with a benignant smile, he said, in a weak but tender tone, "my
dearest son, your father's time for quitting this mortal life is arrived.
I find that the hand of death is upon me." After a pause of half a minute,
to recover from the exertion, he continued, "you will soon lose your best
and truest friend. I would not wish to make you a misanthropist; I would
not, because it is unnatural at your age, have you suspect all mankind;
but of this you may rest assured, that there are few, very few in the
world, who will not flatter you if they can get any thing by it. There are
none who will tell you of your faults with the candid kindness of a
friend; some, indeed, may taunt you with them, in order to irritate and
provoke you; but, before another sun rises, you will have lost the only
one who must be naturally anxious to advise and admonish you with a pure
and disinterested friendship. Young and sanguine as you are, you will be
thrown upon the wide world, to think and act for yourself; but your
prospects are bright, your father has done his best for you, and in his
last moments he will pray for your success and happiness in life. My only
sorrow is at leaving your little unfortunate brothers. You must be a
father to them, and I have left them an ample fortune, to repay you well
for any trouble you may have with them. I know you will be a kind brother
to them, and I hope, in return, that they will be grateful to you. I have
little dread on your account, for though you are young, yet God and your
father have done their duty towards you so bountifully, that there is
every prospect of your doing well in the world. I only wish I could have
lived to have seen you well out of the yeomanry cavalry! Recollect my last
words--you will always find 'honesty the best policy;' therefore always
'do unto others as you would that they should do unto you,' and take care
so to live that, when death calls, you may be prepared to follow him, as I
now am, in humble but confiding hope, and without repining."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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