LETTER LII.
William to his Mother.
Honest Harry is returned quite recovered, that is, as well as he will ever be; for the surgeon was right, he will be a cripple all his life. Sir Charles and his Lady are much concerned, for he was a faithful servant, and has been in the family some years. This morning we had the following conversation.
CHARLES.
Harry’s accident makes me very uneasy.—Poor fellow! he was so well-made—so active.
SIR CHARLES.
We ought to draw useful lessons from the misfortunes we deplore. You find we are not a moment sure of ourselves. He rose in the morning alert, full of health—before night, he was stretched on a bed—helpless as a babe. A single unforeseen accident, which we cannot guard against, may in a moment deprive us of our limbs, our sight, nay, even of life itself. To him who lives conformable to the laws of God, no death is sudden or dreadful.
CHARLES.
Accidents, you say, we cannot guard against; but are there not many misfortunes which we bring on ourselves through imprudence?
WILLIAM.
An event of this kind, a fatal one, happened last year in Holland. Two boys were at play struggling together with a pistol, they did not know it was loaded, the pistol went off, and one of them was killed, and the other so shocked that he has walked about the fields melancholy ever since.