The physician came in with Dr. Bartlett, he found his patient much better, and gave us some hopes; the good Doctor took Charles by the hand, and advised him to take some rest, for he had not been in bed these three nights: but Charles begged to be excused; I cannot sleep, Sir, said he, while my father suffers so much. No, I slumber by his bed when he rests, that is sufficient. Indeed, who can so well take care of a father as his own son? Who can love him as well as I do? My eye must see if he lies down soft and easy, I must cover him, I must warm his dear hands in mine when I find them cold.—I must do more—I must receive his last breath.—He could not go on, and when they still continued to press him, he said, he esteemed too much the few precious hours he could now spend with his father to lose one, while there was a shadow of danger. What a son, dear mother! but even the recital has affected me so much, I can only assure you that I am your dutiful son, WILLIAM. LETTER LVI. _Mrs._ D—— _to_ WILLIAM. I was very much concerned when I heard of your benefactor’s alarming illness; but I would fain hope, with you, my dear William, that heaven will restore so good a man, whose example the world has so much need of. Yet, my son, what an opportunity presents itself for you to view death without terror. You see with what peace and tranquility a Christian can wait for his dying hour; one who has observed the duties of christianity, and not assumed the mere name. You behold the good Sir Charles resigned to the will of heaven, calmly waiting for his dissolution; yes, every one who has lived well, may be termed the friend of God, and secure of his protection at the last trying hour, may view it without dismay. He knows, that released from all the cares and sufferings of this life, he is going to enjoy the presence and favour of the supreme fountain of good, whose favorite he is, because he has endeavoured to copy the perfections, as far as he could discover them, of that Being he adored. Death has nothing terrible in it for him; no, death, at that moment, appears his best friend, as it conducts him to an eternity of happiness, which, even in this world, he has had a foretaste of; and besides, what delight may not a further improvement in knowledge afford to one who has already advanced a few steps in the attainment of it. Life is like a dream, which quickly passes away, and virtue only forces it to leave lasting traces behind. Let us, my son, endeavour to be good, and then we may all expect to meet where our great improvement in virtue may ensure our happiness. Neglect not to inform me, by the first packet, of the present state of health of our much-esteemed friend. D. LETTER LVII. WILLIAM _to his_ MOTHER.