"O, I had rather be blind than be a king!" said Edward.

"Well, my dear Edward," observed his mother, with a smile, "I am glad
you are convinced that your own lot is not the hardest in the world."



CHAPTER VII.

It was a pleasant sight, for those who had eyes, to see how patiently
the blinded little boy now submitted to what he had at first deemed an
intolerable calamity. The beneficent Creator has not allowed our
comfort to depend on the enjoyment of any single sense. Though he has
made the world so very beautiful, yet it is possible to be happy without
ever be holding the blue sky, or the green and flowery earth, or the
kind faces of those whom we love. Thus it appears that all the external
beauty of the universe is a free gift from God over and above what is
necessary to our comfort. How grateful, then, should we be to that
divine Benevolence, which showers even superfluous bounties upon us!

One truth, therefore, which Edward's blindness had taught him was, that
his mind and soul could dispense with the assistance of his eyes.
Doubtless, however, he would have found this lesson far more difficult
to learn had it not been for the affection of those around him. His
parents, and George and Emily, aided him to bear his misfortune; if
possible, they would have lent him their own eyes. And this, too, was a
good lesson for him. It taught him how dependent on one another God has
ordained us to be, insomuch that all the necessities of mankind should
incite them to mutual love.