“I thank you for your letter. You may remember that in
my youth I had a good deal of such practical philosophy as may be learned from
Epictetus; it has often stood me in
good stead; it affords strength, but no consolation; consolation can be found
only in religion, and there I find it. My dear Lightfoot, it is now full two-and-twenty years since you and I
shook hands at our last parting. In all likelihood, the separation between my
son and me will not be for so long a time; in the common course of nature it
cannot possibly be much longer, and I may be summoned to rejoin him before the
year, yea, before the passing day or the passing hour be gone. Death has so
often entered my doors, that he and I have long been familiar. The loss of five
brothers and sisters (four of whom I remember well), of my father and mother,
of a female cousin who grew up with me, and lived with me; of two daughters,
and of several friends (among them two of the dearest friends that ever man
possessed), had very much weaned my heart from this world, or, more properly
speaking, had fixed its thoughts and desires upon a better state wherein there
shall be no such separation, before this last and severest affliction. Still it
would be senseless and ungrateful to the greatest degree, if I were not to feel
and acknowledge the abundant blessings that I still possess, especially
believing,
| 180 | LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE | Ætat. 42. |
“Whenever I see Crediton, I must journey into the West for that sole purpose. My last ties with my native city were cut up by the roots two years ago, by the death of one of my best and dearest friends, and I shall never have heart to enter it again. Will you not give me one of your summer holidays, and visit, not only an old friend, but the part of England which is most worth visiting, and which attracts visitors from all parts? . . . .
“God bless you!
