Then I am right; the laugh ceased as soon as you gave way to compassion, and of course this thoughtless unfeeling mirth may be restrained. Indeed if you had considered a moment, you would have felt the impropriety, and been ashamed of yourself; what, laugh when a respectable old man had hurt himself!—Dr. Bartlett now entered, and we changed the subject.
In the evening we went a walking together, and passed by a miserable hut, at the door of which a poor old blind man stood. His grey hair hung about his hollow cheeks, which poverty seemed to have deeply marked; it was wet with the labours of the day, for he had been turning a wheel, as I found afterwards; his trembling hands were supported by a crutch, on which his chin rested, and his clouded eyes were turned up to heaven without receiving a ray of light. You shall hear the conversation that this sight produced.
CHARLES.
What unhappy wretches there are in the world! look at that old man, cousin.
JAMES.
You are always looking at what gives you pain.
CHARLES.
He is blind and old, I cannot help pitying him.
JAMES.
But your pity will not restore his sight: let us go on, it is growing dark.