147. Robert Bloomfield to Elizabeth
Glover, 3 December 1804*
City Road. London.
My Dear Mother,
This Eight and Thirtieth birthday I am still alive and moderately
happy. George have given us but
a poor account of your health. I think more of you, sleeping and waking, than of
any one of the family, not that I could do you good were I by you, nor keep off
the progress of decay; but I know that I shall feel as I have never felt should
you go before us, which Nature and your own good sence tell you is very
probable. But rich as you are in a life of virtue—and honesty and affection, you
will certainly fulfil the words on your sample 'Let me die
the death of the righteous; and let my latter end be like his.'
It would be useless and unkind to perplex you with my literary
troubles. I have many. But they will diminish in proportion as I shew a firmness
of conduct, and a determination to act right.—
My Heart is very low at present; but always yours Dear Mother affectionately
Thank you for the Apples. I send you some Tea and Sugar, and George will buy and send you
a Bottle of Rum.