V.
APRIL 6.
I have taken it at last. I would not take one before, because I knew
I could not teach little children how to love God, unless I loved Him
myself. My class is perfectly delightful. There are twelve dear
little things in it, of all ages between eight and nine. Eleven are
girls, and the one boy makes me more trouble than all of them put
together. When I get them all about me, and their sweet innocent
faces look up into mine, I am so happy that I can hardly help
stopping every now and then to kiss them. They ask the very strangest
questions I mean to spend a great deal of time in preparing the
lesson, and in hunting up stories to illustrate it. Oh, I am so glad
I was ever born into this beautiful world, where there will always be
dear little children to love!
APRIL 13.-Sunday has come again, and with it my darling little class!
Dr. Cabot has preached delightfully all day, and I feel that I begin
to understand his preaching better, and that it must do me good. I
long, I truly long to please God; I long to feel as the best
Christians feel, and to live as they live.
APRIL 20.-Now that I have these twelve little ones to instruct, I am
more than ever in earnest about setting them a good example through
the week. It is true they do not, most of them, know how I spend my
time, nor how I act. But I know, and whenever I am conscious of not
practicing what I preach, I am bitterly ashamed and grieved. How much
work, badly done, I am now having to undo. If I had begun in earnest
to serve God when I was as young as these children are, how many
wrong habits I should have avoided; habits that entangle me now, as
in so many nets. I am trying to take each of these little gentle
girls by the hand and to lead her to Christ. Poor Johnny Ross is not
so docile as they are, and tries my patience to the last degree.
APRIL 27.-This morning I had my little flock about me, and talked to
them out of the very bottom of my heart about Jesus. They left their
seats and got close to me in a circle, leaning on my lap and drinking
in every word. All of a sudden I was aware, as by a magnetic
influence, that a great lumbering man in the next seat was looking at
me out of two of the blackest eyes I ever saw, and evidently
listening to what I was saying. I was disconcerted at first, then
angry. What impertinence. What rudeness! I am sure he must have seen
my displeasure in my face, for he got up what I suppose he meant for
a blush, that is he turned several shades darker than he was before,
giving one the idea that he is full of black rather than red blood. I
should not have remembered it, however-by it-I mean his
impertinence--if he had not shortly after made a really excellent
address to the children. Perhaps it was a little above their
comprehension, but it showed a good deal of thought and earnestness.
I meant to ask who he was, but forgot it.
This has been a delightful Sunday. I have really feasted on Dr.
Cabot's preaching. But I am satisfied that there is something in
religion I do not yet comprehend. I do wish I positively knew that
God had forgiven and accepted me.
MAY 6.-Last evening Clara Ray had a little party and I was there. She
has a great knack at getting the right sort of people together, and
of making them enjoy themselves.
I sang several songs, and so did Clara, but they all said my voice
was finer and in better training than hers. It is delightful to be
with cultivated, agreeable people. I could have stayed all night, but
mother sent for me before any one else had thought of going.
MAY 7.-I have been on a charming excursion to-day with Clara Ray and
all her set. I was rather tired, but had an invitation to a concert
this evening which I could not resist.
JULY 21.-So much has been going on that I have not had time to write.
There is no end to the picnics, drives, parties, etc., this summer. I
am afraid I am not getting on at all. My prayers are dull and short,
and full of wandering thoughts. I am brimful of vivacity and good
humor in company, and as soon as I get home am stupid and peevish. I
suppose this will always be so, as it always has been and I declare I
would rather be so than such a vapid, flat creature as Mary Jones, or
such a dull, heavy one as big Lucy Merrill.
JULY 24.-Clara Ray says the girls think me reckless and imprudent in
speech. I've a good mind not to go with her set any more. I am afraid
I have been a good deal dazzled by the attentions I have received of
late; and now comes this blow at my vanity.
On the whole, I feel greatly out of sorts this evening.
JULY 28.-People talk about happiness to be found in a Christian life.
I wonder why I do not find more! On Sundays I am pretty good, and
always seem to start afresh; but on week-days I am drawn along with
those about me. All my pleasures are innocent ones; there is surely
no harm in going to concerts, driving out, singing, and making little
visits! But these things distract me; they absorb me; they make
religious duties irksome. I almost wish I could shut myself up in a
cell, and so get out of the reach of temptation.
The truth is, the journey heavenward is all up hill I have to force
myself to keep on. The wonder is that anybody gets there with so much
to oppose--- so little to help one!
JULY 29.-It is high time to stop and think. I have been like one
running a race, and am stopping to take breath. I do not like the way
in which things have been going on of late. I feel restless and ill
at ease. I see that if I would be happy in God, I must give Him all.
And there is a wicked reluctance to do that. I want Him-but I want to
have my own way, too. I want to walk humbly and softly before Him,
and I want to go where I shall be admired and applauded. To whom
shall I yield? To God? Or to myself?
JULY 30.-I met Dr. Cabot to-day, and could not, help asking the
question:
"Is it right for me to sing and play in company when all I do it for
is to be admired?"
"Are you sure it is all you do it for?" he returned.
"Oh," I said, "I suppose there may be a sprinkling of desire to
entertain and please, mixed with the love of display."
"Do you suppose that your love of display, allowing you have it,
would be forever slain by your merely refusing to sing in company?"
"I thought that might give it a pretty hard blow," I said, "if not
its death-blow."
"Meanwhile, in, punishing yourself you punish your poor innocent
friends," he said laughing. "No child, go on singing; God has given
you this power of entertaining and, gratifying your friends. But,
pray without ceasing, that you may sing from pure benevolence and
not from pure self-love."
"Why, do people pray about such things as that?" I cried.
"Of course they do. Why, I would pray about my little finger, if my
little finger went astray."
I looked at his little finger, but saw no signs of its becoming
schismatic.
AUG. 3.-This morning I took great delight in praying for my little
scholars, and went to Sunday-school as on wings. But on reaching my
seat, what was my horror to find Maria Perry there!
"Oh, your seat is changed," said she. "I am to have half your class,
and I like this seat better than those higher up. I suppose you don't
care?"
"But I do care," I returned; "and you have taken my very best
children-the very sweetest and the very prettiest. I shall speak to
Mr. Williams about it directly."
"At any rate, I would not fly into such a fury," she said. "It is
just as pleasant to me to have pretty children to teach as it is to
you. Mr. Williams said he had no doubt you would be glad to divide
your class with me, as it is so large; and I doubt if you gain
anything by speaking to him."
There was no time for further discussion, as school was about to
begin. I went to my new seat with great disgust, and found it very
inconvenient. The children could not cluster around me as they did
before, and I got on with the lesson very badly. I am sure Maria
Perry has no gift at teaching little children, and I feel quite vexed
and disappointed. This has not been a profitable Sunday, and I and
now going to bed, cheerless and uneasy.
AUG. 9.-Mr. Williams called this evening to say that I am to have my
old seat and all the children again. All the mothers had been to see
him, or had written him notes about it, and requested that I continue
to teach them. Mr. Williams said he hoped I would go on teaching for
twenty years, and that as fast as his little girls grew old enough to
come to Sunday-school he should want me to take charge of them. I
should have been greatly elated by these compliments, but for the
display I made of myself to Maria Perry on Sunday. Oh, that I could
learn to bridle my unlucky tongue!
JAN. 15, 1835.-To-day I am twenty. That sounds very old, yet I feel
pretty much as I did before. I have begun to visit some of mother's
poor folks with her, and am astonished to see how they love her, how
plainly they let her talk to them. As a general rule, I do not think
poor people are very interesting, and they are always ungrateful.
We went first to see old Jacob Stone. I have been there a good many
times with the baskets of nice things mother takes such comfort in
sending him, but never would go in. I was shocked to see how worn
away he was. He seemed in great distress of mind, and begged mother
to pray with him. I do not see how she could. I am perfectly sure
that no earthly power could ever induce me to go round praying on
bare floors, with people sitting, rocking and staring all the time,
as the two Stone girls stared at mother. How tenderly she prayed for
him!
We then went to see Susan Green. She had made a carpet for her room
by sewing together little bits of pieces given her, I suppose, by
persons for whom she works, for she goes about fitting and making
carpets. It looked bright and cheerful. She had a nice bed in the
corner, covered with a white quilt, and some little ornaments were
arranged about the room. Mother complimented her on her neatness, and
said a queen might sleep in such a bed as that, and hoped she found
it as comfortable as it looked.
"Mercy on us!" she cried out, "it ain't to sleep in! I sleep up in
the loft, that I climb to by a ladder every night."
Mother looked a little amused, and then she sat and listened,
patiently, to a long account of how the poor old thing had invested
her money; how Mr. Jones did not pay the interest regularly, and how
Mr. Stevens haggled about the percentage. After we came away, I asked
mother how she could listen to such a rigmarole in patience, and what
good she supposed she had done by her visit.
"Why the poor creature likes to show off her bright carpet and nice
bed, her chairs, her vases and her knick-knacks, and she likes to
talk about her beloved money, and her bank stock. I may not have done
her any good; but I have given her a pleasure, and so have you."
"Why, I hardly spoke a word."
"Yes, but your mere presence gratified her. And if she ever gets into
trouble, she will feel kindly towards us for the sake of our sympathy
with her pleasures, and will let us sympathize with her sorrows."
I confess this did not seem a privilege to be coveted. She is not
nice at all, and takes snuff.
We went next to see Bridget Shannon. Mother had lost sight of her for
some years, and had just heard that she was sick and in great want.
We found her in bed; there was no furniture in the room, and three
little half-naked children sat with their bare feet in some ashes
where there had been a little fire. Three such disconsolate faces I
never saw. Mother sent me to the nearest baker's for bread; I ran
nearly all the way, and I hardly know which I enjoyed most, mother's
eagerness in distributing, or the children's in clutching at and
devouring it. I am going to cut up one or two old dresses to make the
poor things something to cover them. One of them has lovely hair that
would curl beautifully if it were only brushed out. I told her to
come to see me to-morrow, she is so very pretty. Those few visits
used up the very time I usually spend in drawing. But on the whole I
am glad I went with mother, because it has gratified her. Besides,
one must either stop reading the Bible altogether, or else leave off
spending one's whole time in just doing easy pleasant things one
likes to do.
JAN. 20.-The little Shannon girl came, and I washed her face and
hands, brushed out her hair and made it curl in lovely golden
ringlets all round her sweet face, and carried her in great triumph
to mother.
"Look at the dear little thing, mother!" I cried; "doesn't she look
like a line of poetry?"
"You foolish, romantic child!" quoth mother. "She looks, to me,
like a very ordinary line of prose. A slice of bread and butter and a
piece of gingerbread mean more to her than these elaborate ringlets
possibly can. They get in her eyes, and make her neck cold; see, they
are dripping with water, and the child is all in a shiver."
So saying, mother folded a towel round its neck, to catch the falling
drops, and went for bread and butter, of which the child consumed a
quantity that, was absolutely appalling. To crown all, the ungrateful
little thing would not so much as look at me from that moment, but
clung to mother, turning its back upon me in supreme contempt.
Moral.-Mothers occasionally know more than their daughters do.