WILLIAM. LETTER XLVI. WILLIAM _to his_ MOTHER. We had yesterday a whole day of pleasure, gathering the winter fruits. The gardener and his son climbed into the high trees, and plucked the apples and pears from the heavy laden branches; and we held the baskets to save them from being bruised, for those that fall to the ground will not keep. Some country girls had been observing our employment; and one of them spoke to Harry, eagerly looking at the apples. CHARLES. What does that girl want? HARRY. She desires me to ask you for some apples for a sick mother; and I know the poor woman has been a long time ill. CHARLES. For a sick mother?—she is a good child, go give her as many as she can carry; let her have some for herself as well as her mother. HARRY. Shall I give her some of these small ones, which are not of a very good kind? CHARLES. How—would you give the sick what is not good? No, she shall have some of them I gathered just now; they grew on my own tree, and the branches were bent down with the weight of the fruit. My tree never bore so much before; let me give part of my abundance to those who have none. EDWARD. I do not blame you, Charles; but those common people are always asking for something. CHARLES. If they did not ask they would seldom get any thing. Dear Edward, we ask daily of God; permit then at least that those industrious people ask of us, who are made of the same materials, and in whose veins the same blood flows. It is as much our duty to spare part of our superfluities to relieve their accidental distress; as it is theirs to work to supply their daily wants. EMILIA. And we should not, in any degree, merit the abundance we enjoy, if we refused to give a part of it to the poor. I will tell my mother, and I am sure she will send more than a basket of apples to the sick woman, and the good daughter who takes care of her.