147. Robert Bloomfield to Elizabeth Glover, 3 December 1804* 

City Road. London.

Dec^m 3^d. 1804

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

Rob Bloomfield

Thank you for the Apples. I send you some Tea and Sugar, and George will buy and send you a Bottle of Rum.