Then, as memory brought the scene more clearly before her, and sherecollected how her conscience had fairly pushed her into the room, herlittle face grew red with shame, and she softly said, "I will neverfight with conscience again, for if I had had my own way, I could neverhave saved poor Willie's life."
* * * * *
PAST AND FUTURE
The past is lost to us--the book is sealed, By mortal ne'er to be unclosed again; The past is gone--beyond all human power To change the record of but one short hour, Though since repented of in tears and pain.
The future lies before us--a fair page, Whereon 'tis ours to write whate'er we will! Then let us pause in case our careless hand Shall make a stain which will forever stand, Through endless time a silent witness still.
'Tis not enough to keep the pages pure, And let them ever but a blank remain; Each leaf in turn should on its surface bear Some writing that shall stand out clear and fair, To prove our lives have not been spent in vain.
ANNA'S DIFFICULTY
Our friend Anna came home from school one day with her sunny face all ina cloud, and looking as if it might presently get a sprinkling of tears.There was one to whom she always went in trouble, besides that other Onewhom she tried never to forget, and she sought her best earthly friendnow.
"Mother, I do think it is really mean and rude in the Wilsons that theypass me by when nearly all the class of girls are invited. I don't wantto feel bad about such a thing, but I can't help it. I don't know asanybody likes to be slighted."
"Of course not, my daughter," said Mrs. Jones; "the feeling of havingbeen rudely treated is always uncomfortable. What do you suppose is thereason you are not included in the party?"
"It is because the Wilsons feel above us, mother. The girls dress infiner clothes than I do, and have more accomplishments; and then we workfor a living, and they do not. But, mother, I believe I am asintelligent and well-bred as they. I can't bear it, mother."
"It is not pleasant, to be sure, Anna; but think again, darling, beforeyou say you _can not_ bear it."
"Well, mother, who could? Nobody but you, who seem to have a way ofgetting round hard places, or walking through them."
"I have had many more years of experience in life than you. But I wishyou to think now whether there is not some way for you to bear thislittle vexation."
"Oh, yes, mother, I know what you always say, and that, of course, isright; but I don't see how feeling and acting like a Christian takesaway one's natural feeling about being slighted and ill-treated byothers."
"Perhaps it does not. I sometimes think one's sensibilities are greatlyintensified by leading the better life. A Christian, in trying to bringhis own character up to the point of perfect love and honor, oftenbecomes exacting of such perfection in others, and failing to find it,feels exquisite pain. Yet the pain will oftener be because God's greatprinciples of right are violated, than that his personal feelings arehurt. Which is easier for you, child, to be wounded in personal feeling,or to see what is wrong against God?"
"I never thought exactly; it is dreadful to see the wrong, but one feelsin the other a sense of shame--feels so wronged--it is quite different."
"My precious one," said Mrs. Jones, "when you have so learned the loveof God as to know no difference between the interests and the honor ofhis law, and your own comfort and pleasure and good name, you will seemore clearly how this is, and feel, it is likely, the sense of shame andwrong in a different way."
"But, mother, haven't we a right to feel hurt when we are wronged orslighted--I mean personally hurt?"
"Yes; but may be if we looked a little deeper into the principles ofthings, or our own principles, we should not suffer so much. What is thesecret of your feeling hurt by the Wilsons? Does the slight make yourreal self in any respect less or worse? Does it injure you in theestimation of others?"
"Why no, mother, I suppose not; but I am as good and as much respectedas they are; and I don't like to have it seem that I am beneath thembecause I am not so rich, and all that."
"My dear, I believe we have talked this subject over before, and longago understood that we desire no position, no companionship which is notours by right of moral and intellectual character.
"It is the Christian principle to live in all things for the true andthe right; to be willing to take our own place in business and society,and fill it well; to think less of what others think of us than of whatwe in ourselves are; to appear to be only what we are, and be willing toappear thus while we are always looking up to something wiser, andlovelier, and better.
"I never could get the idea of a Christian's being above or beneath anyone in the sense you mean. His associations are, or should be, such asChrist's were in His walk among men. Christ, infinitely endowed with allexcellence and beauty, was also infinitely humble. He neither sought norshunned any one for His own sake, but lived out the divine fullness ofHis life of suffering and love without regard to His position orpopularity with men. I said He did not seek others, but I must exceptthe beloved John, and the household at Bethany, and a few others whom Heloved undoubtedly for their own sake, with a personal, human sort ofattachment."
"You don't mean, mother, that we should never seek people for their ownsake or our own pleasure?"
"No, surely; but those only who are congenial in principles and life.Treat others with courtesy and generosity, and after that, allow them tobe as indifferent to you as you are to those whom you do not prefer.Every person has a right to select his companions, and every one shouldpossess enough personal dignity and generosity not to be offended if heis not preferred.
"I suspect you are wrong about the Wilson's. If they do not prefer youfor your own sake, they have the right not to do so, and you shouldaccord it to them just as you take the privilege of not inviting certainothers who might feel the same about you as you do toward the Wilsons.And more than this, Anna; if the Wilsons live for different principles,making friends for other reasons than you do, why, indeed, should youcare for their especial regard? A friendship built upon the accidents offortune, distinction, or show, has but a sandy foundation at best.
"There is no security of happiness in any earthly advantage. Only takecare to be in yourself what in your circumstances is noble and beautifuland good, and you will find the right position without any particularseeking. The love and approval of the good and pure will come to you,and that is what you want of any friendship, and nothing more.
"Half the personal ill-feeling in the world comes of people's aspiringto what they have no fitness for; they have neither the dignity nor thehumility to take the place God in His providence assigns them; andinstead of reaching out of it by making themselves nobler and better,they attempt to build up by some appearance which is not more than halftrue.
"The real Christian will not want a name or a reputation which he doesnot by right of goodness or talent deserve; but by living well where hemay be, he makes any duty, any position, honorable and good. He hasnothing to do with the _false_; he can afford to seem in all things whathe is, and to depend for love and favor on his consciousness of worth."
"But, mother, I never thought of depending upon anything else. TheWilsons know that I am their equal in the school room, and in all thequalities which they ought to respect."
"You remember we spoke of a right of choice on their part; and now areyou, a Christian, going to be hurt because fashionable people do notcourt you? Can you not yet think of a way to bear the vexation? Is it,indeed, so much of a trial, as you think it all over?
"You know, little daughter, that Christians can look at these thingsonly in the light the Christ-life sheds on their souls, on all theirearthly relations, on the path that leads them up to the Source oflight, truth and right. Think of it, and tell me to-morrow if you canbear to be slighted by the Wilsons."
_"Well, Anna, have you come to a conclusion?"_]
* * * * *
/> "Well, Anna," said Mrs. Jones the next day, "have you come to aconclusion?"
"Really, mother," said Anna, "you have a great way of taking the stingout of uncomfortable things. I wonder if I shall ever get so as not tocare for my own sake."
"That will depend upon how closely you are united to God. If you livethe true Christ-life, nothing of the sort will hurt you much; theconsciousness of being right, the joy of His approval, will suffice you.But what about the Wilsons?"
"Why, mother, nothing about them; I don't think I shall feel bad anymore. If they do not care for me, I shall not for them, only to be kindand polite; and I am sure I want no one's favor who does not love me forjust what I am, and for trying to become better than I am. I shall go toschool very happy to-day."
"I am truly glad, Anna; but always remember this: Every soul is createdby the same God--purchased by the blood of the same Saviour, and has anindividual life as dear to God as any other life.
"The Christian is peculiarly precious to Him, and however humble in thisworld's estimate, is an heir to His eternal glory and happiness; and sothe Christian should, whatever may be his gifts or calling, possess thatquietness and dignity of spirit, that, resting in the consciousness ofGod's love and approval, he will not be greatly moved by the applause orthe displeasure of his fellows."
"And so, mother, it saves a great many uncomfortable feelings to be aChristian."
"It saves a great amount of disappointed pride and wounded vanity, givesmany a sweet night's sleep in thinking God will take care of ourreputation, being willing to be what and where He will have us to be.
"On the whole, Anna, it is a happier, more comfortable thing, for therelations even of this life, to be a Christian; not a half-way disciple,but a whole-heart-and-soul believer, who keeps no reserves to stingconscience with. He will not feel a thousand things that sting others;and the real troubles that he must bear are shared by Him who haspromised to carry our human sorrows.
"Be at peace with God, dear child, and let the love which that peacebrings, speak in the very tones of your voice, in your manners, and inyour ways. Then you need not be embarrassed if duty calls you either toa palace or to a hovel."
"I shall get my lessons better to-day for that thought, mother. I shallnot feel half so vexed if I fail when I have done the best I can."
"That is the intention of religion always, my child, to keep thepossessor calm, assured, and quite aside from the little jostlings andvexations of a self-seeking life."
* * * * *
"The past is written, the future is beyond our control, but to-day isours, and is an opportunity to bestow a gift which will be more welcomethan any that money can purchase. There should be no guessworkconcerning affection; 'make it plain,' 'write it large.' 'Silence isgolden' when it represses bitter words or ignorant comment, but it sinkslike lead into the heart which has a right to expect tender and trustfulutterances."
COMPANY MANNERS
* * * * *
"Well," said Bessie, very emphatically, "I think Russel Morton is thebest boy there is, anyhow."
"Why so, pet?" I asked, settling myself in the midst of the busy groupgathered around in the firelight.
"I can tell," interrupted Wilfred, "Bessie likes Russ because he is sopolite."
"I don't care, you may laugh," said frank little Bess; "that _is_ thereason--at least, one of them. He's nice; he don't stamp and hoot in thehouse, and he never says, 'Halloo Bess,' or laughs when I fall on theice."
"Bessie wants company manners all of the time," said Wilfred. And Belladded: "We should all act grown up, if we wanted to suit her."
Dauntless Bessie made haste to retort. "Well, if growing up would makesome folks more agreeable, it's a pity we can't hurry about it."
"Wilfred, what are company manners?" I questioned from the depths of myeasy chair.
"Why--why--they're--it's _behaving_, you know, when folks are here, orwe go a visiting."
"Company manners are good manners;" said Horace.
"O yes," answered I, meditating on it. "I see; manners that are _too_good--for mamma--but just right for Mrs. Jones."
"That's it," cried Bess.
"But let us talk it over a bit. Seriously, why should you be more politeto Mrs. Jones than to mamma? Do you love her better?"
"O my! no indeed," chorused the voices.
"Well, then, I don't see why Mrs. Jones should have all that'sagreeable; why the hats should come off and the tones soften, and'please,' and 'thank you,' and 'excuse me,' should abound in her house,and not in mamma's."
"Oh! that's very different."
"And mamma knows we mean all right. Besides, you are not fair, cousin;we were talking about boys and girls--not grown up people."
Thus my little audience assailed me, and I was forced to a change ofbase.
"Well, about boys and girls, then. Can not a boy be just as happy, if,like our friend Russel, he is gentle to the little girls, doesn't pitchhis little brother in the snow, and respects the rights of his cousinsand intimate friends? It seems to me that politeness is just as suitableto the playground as the parlor."
"Oh, of course; if you'd have a fellow give up all fun," said Wilfred.
"My dear boy," said I, "that isn't what I want. Run, and jump, and shoutas much as you please; skate, and slide, and snowball; but do it withpoliteness to other boys and girls, and I'll agree you shall find justas much fun in it.
_"It is Burke who brings a glass of water."_]
"You sometimes say I pet Burke Holland more than any of mychild-friends. Can I help it? For though he is lively and sometimesfrolicsome, his manners are always good. You never see him with hischair tipped up, or his hat on in the house. He never pushes ahead ofyou to get first out of the room. If you are going out, he holds openthe door; if weary, it is Burke who brings a glass of water, places achair, hands a fan, springs to pick up your handkerchief,--and all thiswithout being told to do so, or interfering with his own gayety in theleast.
"This attention isn't only given to me as the guest, or to Mrs. Joneswhen he visits her, but to mamma, Aunt Jenny, and little sister, just ascarefully; at home, in school, or at play, there is always just so muchguard against rudeness.
"His courtesy is not merely for state occasions, but it is like awell-fitting garment worn constantly. His manliness is genuine lovingkindness. In fact, that is exactly what real politeness is; carefulnessfor others, and watchfulness over ourselves, lest our angles shallinterfere with their comfort."
It is impossible for boys and girls to realize, until they have growntoo old, easily to adopt new ones, how important it is to guard againstcontracting careless and awkward habits of speech and manners. Some veryunwisely think it is not necessary to be so very particular about thesethings except when company is present. But this is a grave mistake, forcoarseness will betray itself in spite of the most watchful care.
It is impossible to indulge in one form of speech, or have one set ofmanners at home, and another abroad, because in moments of confusion orbashfulness, such as every young person feels sometimes who is sensitiveand modest, the every day mode of expression will discover itself.
It is not, however, merely because refinements of speech and grace ofmanners are pleasing to the sense, that our young friends arerecommended to cultivate and practice them. Outward refinement of anykind reacts as it were on the character and makes it more sweet andgentle and lovable, and these are qualities that attract and draw aboutthe possessor a host of kind friends.
CONFIDE IN MOTHER
The moment a girl hides a secret from her mother, or has received aletter she dare not let her mother read, or has a friend of whom hermother does not know, she is in danger.
A secret is not a good thing for a girl to have. The fewer secrets thatlie in the hearts of women at any age, the better. It is almost a testof purity. She who has none of her own is best and happiest.
In girlhood, hide nothing from your mother; do noth
ing that, ifdiscovered by your mother, would make you blush. When you are married,never conceal anything from your husband. Never allow yourself to writea letter that he may not know all about, or to receive one which you arenot quite willing that he should read.
Have no mysteries whatever. Tell those who are about you, where you go,and what you do,--those who have the right to know, I mean, of course.
A little secretiveness has set many a scandal afloat; and much as issaid about women who tell too much, they are a great deal better offthan the woman who tells too little.
The girl who frankly says to her mother, "I have been there, I metso-and-so. Such and such remarks were made, and this or that was done,"will be sure to receive good advice and sympathy.
If all was right, no fault will be found. If the mother knows as theresult of her greater experience, that something was improper orunsuitable, she will, if she is a Christian mother, kindly advise herdaughter accordingly.
You may not always know, girls, just what is right or what iswrong,--for you are yet young and inexperienced. You can not be blamedfor making little mistakes, but you will not be likely to go very farwrong, if from the first, you have no secrets from your mother.
To thy father and thy mother Honor, love, and reverence pay; Thiscommand, before all other, Must a Christian child obey.
Help me, Lord, in this sweet duty; Guide me in Thy steps divine; Show meall the joy and beauty Of obedience such as thine.