Through all the father’s anxiety his master passions for books, heraldry, and gardening are discernible, as well as his pride of race. He constantly orders Windebank to send him stated books, and to keep on the look-out for new plants, or good gardeners, that may be sent to England. In September he requests that some booksellers’ catalogues may be forwarded, that he may select some books to “garnish” his library. He was anxious that his son should study the genealogy and alliances of noble French families, and prays that a herald may be engaged to instruct him. But Thomas soon relapsed, and rumour of his ill-behaviour reached Sir William, not at first from Windebank. In March 1562 an angry and indignant letter went from Cecil to his son, reproaching him for his bad conduct. There was no amendment, he said, and all who came from Paris gave him the character of “a dissolute, slothful, negligent, and careless young man,” and the letter is signed, “Your father of an unworthy son.” A week later, 2nd April, Cecil wrote a characteristic and affecting letter to Windebank, which deserves to be quoted nearly in full, for it shows us the man more clearly than reams of State papers. “Windebank,” it runs, “I am here used to pains and troubles, but none creep so near my heart as doth this of my lewd son. I am perplexed what to think. The shame that I shall receive to have so unruled a son grieveth me more than if I had lost him in honest death. Good Windebank, consult my dear friend Sir Nicholas Throgmorton, to whom I have referred the whole. I could be best content that he would commit him secretly to some sharp prison. If this shall not seem good, yet would I rather have him sent away to Strasburg if possible, or to Lorraine, for my grief will grow double to see him before some sort of amends. If none of these will serve, then bring him home and I shall receive that which it pleaseth God to lay on my shoulders; that is, in the midst of my business, for comfort a daily torment. If ye shall come home with him, to cover the shame, let it appear to be by reason of the troubles there.[162] I rather desire to have this summer spent, though it were but to be absent from my sight. I am so troubled as well, what to write I know not.”