CHARLES. So you do not desire to converse with men. EDWARD. Well, yes.—What then? CHARLES. Books speak; and make us wiser, while we are amused. EDWARD. I do not desire to be learned; but to be an officer. EMILIA. A fine officer, who will not know how to read or write intelligibly! EDWARD. Now, Charles, preach, as you did the other day about cards. CHARLES. I reproved your too great fondness for cards. You are angry if you lose; and those who cannot play with temper, in my opinion, ought never to play at all. It is not amiss to know how to play, because that cards are so much used in company, and it enables one to oblige those who are fond of this amusement. I do not find any pleasure in it; and I hope never, from a false pride, to be induced to play for more than I can afford to lose. EMILIA. Poor Mr. Beverley, who died last week, and left his family in great distress, my mama told me, first played to avoid being laughed at, and called a mean-spirited man. He went on from one thing to another, till he spent his whole fortune, and ruined his constitution. His wife actually took in needlework to support him during his last illness, though she had been educated to expect better things. He died in an obscure lodging, a burden to the woman he ought to have been a comfort to; and left his half-starved babes, to weep over the lifeless body of their inconsiderate parent. I wept too—when I heard of it. The conversation was interrupted, but I must tell you Emilia had tears in her eyes, when she told us about poor Mr. Beverley’s children. I remember now I used to be vexed when young Dulis laughed at me, and called me a coward, when I refused to do mischief; and mean, when I saved my money, though I intended to give it to a poor blind man; but he did not know that. I do not like to tell any one but yourself that I give most part of my allowance to the poor; it would look as if I wanted to be praised, and that the love of praise was my motive; but indeed it is not, the pleasure I feel at the moment, is a sufficient reward. Besides, I think I resemble my dear mother, and I am happy.—I am sure you will love me, if I practise virtue. WILLIAM. LETTER XX. WILLIAM _to his_ MOTHER.