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.
SIR CHARLES.
That misfortune was entirely their own fault. It should always be a fixed rule with boys never to play with firearms; for in every thing that depends on ourselves we ought to be circumspect, and to be careful of our own lives, and of the lives of others, as a loan, which we must return at the time it pleases the Almighty to demand it—we must return our talents improved, or fearfully wait for the punishment denounced against the unfaithful servant.
WILLIAM.
Are not they equally wrong who venture their lives on the ice, before the frost is quite set in, only for the pleasure of skaiting a few days sooner?
The passion for pleasure so blinds them, that they think not of the danger. It is then wrong to indulge ourselves in all that we desire, for when this propensity to present pleasure is master of us, it dispossesses our judgment of its rightful place in the mind, and the quiet suggestions, reflection would obtrude, are not heard in the tumult.
CHARLES.
But, Sir, what is Harry to do? He is not now capable of service.
EMILIA.
I know my parents are so good—so humane—
LADY GRANDISON.
Well, and what would Emilia say further?
EMILIA.
You know better than I what is proper to do for him.
Speak, tell us your opinion.
EMILIA.
You gave a yearly income to our old gardener because he had been a faithful servant.
SIR CHARLES.
Very true; but the gardener was a decrepid old man, worn out in the service of my family; he could not do any thing to earn a livelihood. I respect old age, I would not grub up a tree which had long afforded me a shade; and the horse I rode on, when I was young, has now a meadow to range in, and a soft bed to stretch those limbs on, which were formerly active in my service.
EMILIA.
I would readily save my pocket-money, and give up the new clothes I have been promised, to contribute to support poor Harry.
You are a good girl; what you have said adorns your face, and makes you appear much more lovely than the finest ornaments could. But, Charles, let me hear what you would advise?
CHARLES.
I am afraid to give you advice, you know every thing so much better than I do.
LADY GRANDISON.
That is very well observed; but your father asks, not to be informed what is proper to be done, but to hear your sentiments.
CHARLES.
I respect Harry, nay love him; though not as I love my dear father, and I would fain serve him.
SIR CHARLES.
Go on, Charles.
His father was a good shoe-maker, and worked hard to bring up a large family; he brought Harry up a shoe-maker; but Harry had a mind to see the world, as he told me, when he was sick, and he left his father, he was then very sorry for it. His father died since he has been in your service, and he has constantly sent most part of his wages to his poor mother.—Now if you would have the goodness to give him a little furniture, and leather and tools, he and his mother might live together, and they would both be provided for; and, in time, he might be able to return you the money, for he has an honest heart.
SIR CHARLES.
What, without interest, Charles?
CHARLES.
Now, Sir, you joke with me—but I perceive why.
Because you were so very careful, and would have the money returned.
Charles kissed his mother’s cheek, and said, forgive me, I see you will do more for him, than I could presume to ask.
SIR CHARLES.
Yes, I am glad that your sentiments so well accord with mine. We do the poor an essential service when we put them in a way to earn their own subsistence; for then we support the body without injuring the mind. Idleness in every station leads to vice. Do you go and speak to Harry, and ask him how much will be requisite for this purpose, and then we will give him it as a reward for his fidelity, and to comfort him under his misfortune.
Dear parents, I thank you; I will run immediately and tell him the good news. It will rejoice his heart, for when he was sick and delirious, he raved about his mother, and repented, sorely repented that he had not followed her advice and worked at his own trade. He will be so glad to maintain his mother, for the poor old woman, after bringing up a family, finds it hard to stand at the wash-tub.—He was going—
EMILIA.
Stop a moment, I must go with you, for I love to see people happy.
O, my dear mother, how delightful it is to have it in our power to be bountiful. The poor man cried for joy, when Charles informed him what his parents designed to do for him. Thus God provides for those who behave well to their parents. He saved to assist an old mother, and now he is lame his master takes care of him. In this way, said Sir Charles, we ought to lighten the afflictions we are liable to, and must humbly endure.
Two months more and I shall again be with you.
WILLIAM.