XXX 
LIFE OF WILSON. 
of the people about. I am glad of it, because I hope it will 
put it in my power to clear the road a little before you, and ba* 
nish despondence from the heart of my dearest friend. Be as- 
sured that I will ever as cheerfully contribute to your relief in 
difficulties, as I will rejoice with you in prosperity. But we 
have nothing to fear. One hundred bushels of wheat, to be 
sure, is no great marketing; but has it not been expended in 
the support of a mother, and infant brothers and sisters, thrown 
upon your bounty in a foreign country? Robert Burns, when 
the mice nibbled away his corn, said: 
“ I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave, 
And never miss ’t.” 
“ Where he expected one, you may a thousand. Robin, by 
his own confession, ploughed up his mice out of /la’ and 
hame. You have built for your little wanderers a cozie bield, 
where none dare molest them. There is more true greatness 
in the affectionate exertions which you have made for their 
subsistence and support, than the bloody catalogue of heroes 
can boast of. Your own heart will speak peace and satisfaction 
to you, to the last moment of your life, for every anxiety you 
have felt on their account. Colonel Sullivan talks with pride 
and affection of you. 
“ I wish Alexander had written me a few lines of the old 
German text. I laugh every time I look at his last letter: its 
a perfect antidote against the spleen. Well, Alexander, which 
is the h&si fun, handling the shuttle, or the ax? When John 
M. comes down, write me largely. And, dear sister, let me 
hear from you also. * * 
I would beg leave to suggest to you the propriety of teach- 
ing the children to behave with good manners, and dutiful re- 
spect, to yourself, each other, and every body. 
“You must excuse me for any thing I may have said amiss, 
or any thing I may have omitted to mention. I am, with sin- 
cere attachment, your affectionate friend.” 
The foregoing letters place the character of Wilson in the 
