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? SIR CHARLES. 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.