Ad him THE FIFTH DIALOG eliver his In the last dialogue you have dition the young gentleman fr duced to, in a letter to his s s; and, so he told the eceive him, and aman go on, and in by his father's door ; grief, even into an agony when, in that very moment, which he had related to his where he was under cure c It seems his extravagind, extremity; and havin down in the first dialogue of this a long fit of sicknesring his arm shot off, and being reabroad, and brought over, though he virtue of the cart his freedom, y gave to' the epon dream. me door, yet he would not take him in, but to a neighbour's house, &c. this revolved upon his thoughts, it immedied him, and he broke out into this expression see that nothing befals us without the determiof that sovereign Power that guides and governs world this was so long ago represented to me How exactly is every step of it come to pass ! God is just, and it is my part to submit!" "This quieted his mind for some time, and he went on to house which his father had appointed him, where he found the servant, who, as he had said, went before, who belped him out, for he was so weak he could hardly go, and, coming into a chamber provided for him, fetching a deep sigh he threw himself on the bed, without speaking a word; and in this condition he remained all that night, and part of the next day, nobody coming to him but the people of the house, who were, however, directed to attend him, and supply him with necessaries. In the evening he heard a coach stop at the door, and soon after a lady coming up stairs, who was brought up into his chamber, and whom he presently knew to be his sister. She found him very weak sitting in a chair by the THE FAMILY INSTRUCTOR. compassionate father, though he resented his deeply enough, and steady adhered iving him into his famly un viz. of withstanding heing b i at aning his head upon his hand, and his elbow on a table d by him, his eyes fixed on the ground; his counthe last degree dejected, pale, and thin; and, in • a spectre as any thing that is real flesh and supposed to be. As she came forward into ed up his eyes, and said only this word, . d have risen up, but had not strength. a to have embraced him; but when she saw was frighted and amazed, and sat down over st him at some distance, being ready to swoon away. the first she could hardly be convinced it was really her brother: and when she was satisfied of that, the very seeing him in that condition struck her with such grief, that she could not speak a word to him for a great while. Being recovered a little, my dear brother! said she, and would have gone on, but she burst out into tears. However, these transports, which the surprise of seeing him in such a condition might very well be supposed to work in so near a relation, being a little over, they began to discourse a little together; and after the usual questions concerning his health, and the proper remedies to be used to recover his strength, and the like, the following dialogue contains the substance of their discourse: Sist. Dear brother, but what makes you. so dejected? and why have you lost your courage so much at your disaster? I hope, with taking care of yourself, and proper remedies being used, you may recover. But if your spirits are sunk, you will fall under the weight of your own melancholy, and be lost without remedy. Bro. Dear sister, not all my disasters, not the loss of my arm, or the cruel operations of the surgeons; not the having wasted my estate; not my being reduced to want of bread; not all that has befallen me, or that could befal me in the world, has ever been able to sink my spirits, and cast me so low as this part of my tragedy. Sist. What part, brother? Ꮓ more affliction and reproach? The messenger told him his business was not to dispute with him, but to deliver his message; that he had no farther instructions; and, so giving the coachman directions where to go, he told the poor gentleman he would go before to receive him, and took his leave. The unhappy gentleman bid the coachman go on, and in a little time he found himself passing by his father's door; this struck him with inexpressible grief, even into an agony of shame, anger, and despair; when, in that very moment, his dream came into his mind, which he had related to his sister, and which is set down in the first dialogue of this part, viz. how that having his arm shot off, and being relieved by his father abroad, and brought over, though he came to his father's door, yet he would not take him in, but had ordered him to a neighbour's house, &c. As soon as this revolved upon his thoughts, it immediately quieted him, and he broke out into this expression"Well, I now see that nothing befals us without the determinate will of that sovereign Power that guides and governs the whole world: this was so long ago represented to me in a dream. How exactly is every step of it come to pass upon me! God is just, and it is my part to submit!" This quieted his mind for some time, and he went on to the house which his father had appointed him, where he found the servant, who, as he had said, went before, who helped him out, for he was so weak he could hardly go, and, coming into a chamber provided for him, fetching a deep sigh he threw himself on the bed, without speaking a word; and in this condition he remained all that night, and part of the next day, nobody coming to him but the people of the house, who were, however, directed to attend him, and supply him with necessaries. In the evening he heard a coach stop at the door, and soon after a lady coming up stairs, who was brought up into his chamber, and whom he presently knew to be his sister. She found him very weak sitting in a chair by the fire, leaning his head upon his hand, and his elbow on a table that stood by him, his eyes fixed on the ground; his countenance to the last degree dejected, pale, and thin; and, in short, as like a spectre as any thing that is real flesh and blood could be supposed to be. As she came forward into the room, he lifted up his eyes, and said only this word, Sister! and would have risen up, but had not strength. She designed to have embraced him; but when she saw him, she was frighted and amazed, and sat down over against him at some distance, being ready to swoon away. At the first she could hardly be convinced it was really her brother: and when she was satisfied of that, the very seeing him in that condition struck her with such grief, that she could not speak a word to him for a great while. Being recovered a little, my dear brother! said she, and would have gone on, but she burst out into tears. However, these transports, which the surprise of seeing him in such a condition might very well be supposed to work in so near a relation, being a little over, they began to discourse a little together; and after the usual questions concerning his health, and the proper remedies to be used to recover his strength, and the like, the following dialogue contains the substance of their discourse: Sist. Dear brother, but what makes you. so dejected? and why have you lost your courage so much at your disaster? I hope, with taking care of yourself, and proper remedies being used, you may recover. But if your spirits are sunk, you will fall under the weight of your own melancholy, and be lost without remedy. Bro. Dear sister, not all my disasters, not the loss of my arm, or the cruel operations of the surgeons; not the having wasted my estate; not my being reduced to want of bread; not all that has hefallen me, or that could befal me in the world, has ever been able to sink my spirits, and cast me so low as this part of my tragedy. Sist. What part, brother? Ꮓ Bro. Why, that my father, who kindly relieved me, when I wrote to him in my distress, who ordered me to be brought home, as I thought, that, according to my request, I might die in my native country, should, instead of that common compassion, which nature dictates for men in misery, bring me hither but just as they do malefactors, to die with the more shame; and, not suffering me to come within his doors, should send me hither, as it were to an hospital, to be kept upon his charity; like one, who, although he would not have starved, he had relieved, not in favour, but that he might die with the most exquisite tortures of the mind. This he could not but know such a thing would produce, and must produce in a soul that bad any sense of misery left. Sist. You lay it too much to heart, brother; that is not my father's design. Bro. Yes, yes, that is the design; why else had he not ordered me to some hospital, or place of retreat? some place where I need not have been a spectacle to, and the reproach of his servants, and the contempt of all my acquaintance? But he shall have his full satisfaction over me; and I will, as I dreamed I had done, cause myself to be carried to his gate, that he may say he had the pleasure to see his eldest son die at his door. Sist. Your grief permits you not to make a right judgment of things; I beg you will weigh the circumstances of every part, and you will find my father has quite other designs towards you. Bro. It cannot be, sister; for why this triumph then over my disasters; it is impossible. Sist. You cannot think so hardly of my father; you should rather conclude, that his bringing you so near him, is in order to restore you entirely, and a little patience would give you light into that matter. Bro. Has he given me so much as the least intimation of it? On the contrary, has he not brought me to pass his |