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that are less fortunate than ourselves, and not abhor them: even an erroneous conscience, by which he who bears it in his bosom tries and examines his actions, is still a thing to be respected.

“I think that you should write to your mother as little as possible, and perhaps for the present ask no favours of her. . . . But to go out of your way to insult her is horrible. . . .

"The ties between one human creature and another are so few in number, and so scanty, as society is at present constituted, that I would not wantonly break any of those that nature has made, and least of all that to a mother. Human creatures are left so much alone, hardly sufficiently aided in the giddiness of youth, and the infirmities of age, that I am sure it is not the part of a wise or a good man to increase this crying evil under the sun. I still hope the time will come when you shall relieve the sorrows of a mother, and when she shall look up to her son with pride and with pleasure. . . -Your sincere friend, W. GODWIN."

William Godwin to P. Patrickson.

"April 1, 1812.

"I perceive that you set up the present state of your understanding as the criterion of reason and justice, and have no notion that anything can be right which you do not understand, or, in other words, that any other person can see, or that you may hereafter see, what at present you do not. This tone of mind is a perfect leveller, and a leveller of the worst sort, bringing down to your own standard everything that may happen to be above you, but certainly not equally anxious about raising those that may happen to be below you.

"The opposite tone of mind cannot be designated by any name more properly than that of the religious feeling. It is the feeling which pious men cultivate towards the Author of the world. It consists in the acknowledgement that there may be something right which we do not comprehend, and something good that we do not perfectly see to be such. It is built upon a sober and perfect conviction of our weakness, our ignorance, and the errors to which we are perpetually liable. It therefore cherishes in us

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sentiments of honour, admiration, and affection, for those whom we apprehend to be in any way wiser and better than ourselves. I do not very distinctly see how love can grow up in the mind, or there can be anything exquisitely amiable in the character, where the religious feeling, in this explanation of the term, is wanting. This feeling, however, is perfectly consistent with the highest and purest notions of erectness and independence: nay, it strengthens and corrects them, because it converts what was before a cold decision of the judgment into a noble and generous sentiment."

The Same to the Same.

"July 10, 1812.

“You do not care if the result of what you do shall be to show the worst side of yourself to those you have intercourse with. This is very wrong. I know many persons in the world who, like you, are afraid that frankness, if they practised it, would become cant, or something similar to cant. It is true that he is the son of an opulent father, and therefore may say to me in the words of Hamlet,

"But what revenue can I hope from thee?'

A full heart, however, scorns the difference between riches and poverty, and will not whisper itself to hold its tongue, and not vent its emotions, because it has no revenue."

The Same to the Same.

"Jan. 4, 1813.

"My objection to your coming is on a point of prudence, and I earnestly entreat you, as you have any regard for your future peace and prosperity, to weigh well what I am going to say. Poverty, I assure you, is a very wretched thing. The prayer of Agur in the Bible is excellent, 'Give me neither poverty nor riches, lest I be full and deny Thee, and say, who is the Lord? or lest I be poor and steal, and take the name of my God in vain.' I should not of course express the reasons of my wish in my own behalf, or in behalf of any one in whom I was interested, in so

pious and religious a manner; but my sense would be nearly the same. Riches corrupt the morals and harden the heart, and poverty breaks the spirit and courage of a man, plants his pillow with perpetual thorns, and makes it all but impossible for him to be honest, virtuous, and honourable."

P. Patrickson to William Godwin.

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CAMBRIDGE, July 27, 1814. "Upon my return to this place I found my persecutors more active than they were before left it. On that account I have determined to confine myself to my lodgings during the day. I take my walks before seven o'clock in the morning, and after dusk in the evening. However, I don't entirely escape them by staying at home. Many times a day I hear people passing my window say to one another, 'Mr Patrickson, that came to college upon a subscription, lives there.' Sometimes this information causes a laugh; among working men commonly anger. They often cry, 'A damn'd barber's clerk: I wish he had to work as hard as me!' This expression 'barber's clerk,' which seems to be an indefinite term of contempt, has, I suppose, been the occasion of some persons, not versed in slang, taking up the idea that I'm the son of a barber.

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William Godwin to P. Patrickson.

"July 30, 1814.

must endeavour to . . I am sorry you

"I am so exceedingly pressed at this moment, that I must request you to be contented with £2, and send you a further supply on this day week. still allow yourself to be so plagued by the people you dignify with the name of your enemies. They ought to be regarded no more than if you were 'hush'd with buzzing night-flies to your slumber.' What harm do they do you? None: but seize upon a sickly part of your nature, which your better nature would bid be well, whenever you thought proper to call on him. Will they hinder your promotion? Will they cause you to be thought a profligate or a

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fool? Will they, if you are called to the bar, hinder you from having clients, or prevent the judge from paying proper attention to the solidity of your arguments? I am sure a little reading in Seneca, the philosopher, would set you right in this pitiable wrong. You will outlive, and rise superior to all this, and will then wonder that you could suffer yourself to be disturbed by it.-Your sincere friend, W. GODWIN."

On August 8th, Patrickson dined with Godwin in London, and on the next day returned to Cambridge. Immediately on his arrival he wrote the following letter to Godwin :

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P. Patrickson to William Godwin.

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My spirits have for some time been subject to fits of extreme depression, in which I have invariably felt myself compelled to put an end to my existence. I leave this letter to account to you for my conduct, in the event of my obeying one of these. I have endeavoured to the utmost of my power to combat these fits of low spirits, but my efforts have been in vain. Nothing, I believe, could relieve me but change of scene and agreeable company: and you know it is at present quite out of my power to try the effect of either. . . . I know not whether to ascribe it to an unhappy natural disposition, or to the joyless life that I have led, marked only with misfortune and misery, wanting the cheering kindness of friends and relations, and unenlivened by the amusements and pleasures which other young men have enjoyed in passing through the same stages of existence. But I certainly have not the same perceptions of enjoyment that others have: from the earliest of my recollections, life has been a thing of no value to me, and I have been accustomed in times of sorrow to envy even the ground I trod on, for its insensibility to the evils that vexed and tormented me. My past expectations have been so continually disappointed, that I am unable to place any dependence upon what at present appears favourable in my future prospects. Indeed, the more I think of the future, the more I am inclined to

despair: I believe I can never enjoy any kind of happiness or comfort until I shall have some kind of respectable settlement in life, and to obtain this requires exertions which, broken-spirited and broken-hearted as I am, are perfectly impracticable."

Mrs Godwin has noted on the letter, from which the last extract is taken, that it was soon followed by a note from the College Tutor, informing Mr Godwin that Patrickson had shot himself on the following day, Aug. 10th. No record of the event is to be found in the College books, but the Bedmaker," who attended the unfortunate young man, died only a few years ago, and the event is still remembered as a tradition at Emmanuel.

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