There were amongst the passengers a respectable looking old man. I could not take my eyes off him. He had the appearance of a gentleman, but his clothes were thread-bare; and I found by his conversation that he was a Dutchman. He had laid up for himself but a slender stock of provision: my heart suggested that he must have been unfortunate; and I perceived him several times lost in thought. I endeavoured, without intruding on his sorrows, to engage him in conversation, as he spoke English very well for a foreigner. What he said was so sensible and interesting, that he prejudiced me in favour of the people I was going to visit; in short, none of the passengers pleased me so well as he did; perhaps, because I thought him unhappy; I could think of no one else. I at last drew him into conversation: we talked together during the storm; and I offered some of my provisions to the other passengers, that I might, without seeming to have observed his scanty stock, press him to partake of mine. He then enquired if my parents were living, and, wiping a tear from his eye, he softly said, Happy are they to have such a son! I read the thoughts of his heart, Emilia; I guessed the source of his uneasiness. And you, Sir, replied I, perhaps you have children? Alas! answered he, yes, I have children—I have a son, but he has not a heart like yours; I left him in London: heaven bless him! may he never feel the pangs he has made me endure. I wished to have said something more, but I was afraid he might think my curiosity impertinent, as I was so young; yet I sincerely felt for him. This circumstance threw a damp over my spirits—I cannot bear the idea of those children who are ungrateful to good parents, whom, next to God, they ought to honour. I desired Robert to enquire who he was, but the captain knew nothing more, than that he was an inhabitant of Amsterdam, and in distress, for he had not money sufficient to pay his passage, and offered to leave his small bundle of linen on board, as a security for the payment, while he went on shore to borrow it. No, thought I, that must not be; but how shall I manage the matter? I was in a dreadful dilemma—it would have been almost an affront, if I had offered to make a person of his appearance a present. I went down into the cabin without having taken any resolution. At last I determined, and folded ten guineas in a piece of paper, sealed it, and wrote his name on it, which I had heard accidentally. I then spoke to the captain, who appeared to be a humane man, and requested him to deliver that paper to the gentleman after I had gone on shore, but not to say who gave it to him. The captain seemed pleased, and added, that he carried him over to England some time ago, when he was in a better plight, but that he feared his wild son had distressed him in more ways than one.