'DEAR SIR,
'The earnestness and tenderness of your letter is such, that I cannot
think myself shewing it more respect than it claims by sitting down to
answer it the day on which I received it.
'This year has afflicted me with a very irksome and severe disorder. My
respiration has been much impeded, and much blood has been taken away. I
am now harrassed by a catarrhous cough, from which my purpose is to seek
relief by change of air; and I am, therefore, preparing to go to
Oxford[475].
'Whether I did right in dissuading you from coming to London this
spring, I will not determine. You have not lost much by missing my
company; I have scarcely been well for a single week. I might have
received comfort from your kindness; but you would have seen me
afflicted, and, perhaps, found me peevish. Whatever might have been your
pleasure or mine, I know not how I could have honestly advised you to
come hither with borrowed money. Do not accustom yourself to consider
debt only as an inconvenience; you will find it a calamity. Poverty
takes away so many means of doing good, and produces so much inability
to resist evil, both natural and moral, that it is by all virtuous means
to be avoided.
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