'Your father's death had every circumstance that could enable you to
bear it; it was at a mature age, and it was expected; and as his general
life had been pious, his thoughts had doubtless for many years past been
turned upon eternity. That you did not find him sensible must doubtless
grieve you; his disposition towards you was undoubtedly that of a kind,
though not of a fond father. Kindness, at least actual, is in our power,
but fondness is not; and if by negligence or imprudence you had
extinguished his fondness, he could not at will rekindle it. Nothing
then remained between you but mutual forgiveness of each other's faults,
and mutual desire of each other's happiness.
'I shall long to know his final disposition of his fortune[481].
'You, dear Sir, have now a new station, and have therefore new cares,
and new employments. Life, as Cowley seems to say, ought to resemble a
well-ordered poem[482]; of which one rule generally received is, that
the exordium should be simple, and should promise little. Begin your new
course of life with the least show, and the least expence possible; you
may at pleasure encrease both, but you cannot easily diminish them.
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