' 'Oh, I
don't know. I've been to see a poor young girl, who, I'm afraid, is
dying.' 'Indeed; what is her name?' 'Susan Bland, the daughter of
John Bland, the superintendent.' Now Susan Bland is my oldest and
best scholar in the Sunday-school; and, when I heard that, I thought I
would go as soon as I could to see her. I did go on Monday afternoon,
and found her on her way to that 'bourn whence no traveller returns.'
After sitting with her some time, I happened to ask her mother, if she
thought a little port wine would do her good. She replied that the
doctor had recommended it, and that when Mr. W. was last there, he had
brought them a bottle of wine and jar of preserves. She added, that
he was always good-natured to poor folks, and seemed to have a deal of
feeling and kindheartedness about him. No doubt, there are defects in
his character, but there are also good qualities . . . God bless him!
I wonder who, with his advantages, would be without his faults. I
know many of his faulty actions, many of his weak points; yet, where I
am, he shall always find rather a defender than an accuser. To be
sure, my opinion will go but a very little way to decide his
character; what of that? People should do right as far as their
ability extends.
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