On my return to Babelmandel, I had the grief to find a letter from Mr. Ferret, written in a friendly and feeling manner, concerning the conduct of Robin, my son. It could no longer be disguised, that the thoughtless lad had thrown the bridle on the neck of his passions, and was careering in a dangerous course. He had formed intimacies with a number of irreverent young men: “And though,” said Mr. Ferret, “it cannot yet be alleged that he actually neglects his business, as he is regular in his attendance in the office; yet it is impossible, after the night has been wasted in dissipation, that he can bring a clear head in the morning to his duty;—moreover, there is reason,” continued the worthy man, “to suspect that he is falling into debt. The amount, as far as I have been able to learn, is as yet inconsiderable; but still, as he has not been able to withstand the temptations of this city, I would advise you to send for him. He then expressed great sorrow for him, praising his natural talents, and commending exceedingly his acquirements, the fruit of the care and judicious tuition of Mr. Herbert.

This distressing letter for a time drove all lighter matters from my mind. I spent the watches of the night in anxiety and sorrow, and when I went forth in the morning, every thing around appeared faded and disconsolate. I went through the business of the day at the store, but my mind was absent from the work of my hands, and I only made confusion. Sometimes I thought of going to Mr. Bell for spiritual consolation; and then I reflected how, on a former occasion, he spoke with a severity against youthful follies, to which my heart could not accord. Mr. Hoskins was not a man to talk with on the subject at all; his notions of dissipation were of a coarser kind than religion would allow me to tolerate; indeed, all his ideas were wild and of the wilderness. My only visible refuge was in Mr. Herbert, and I sent for him to condole with me.