the
convenient neighbourhood of the
steeple under which that
Immaculate and final verity would be
beautifully proclaimed. Do not
think it, child; it is not so. This, on the
contrary, is the fact,-
-unpleasant you may think it; pleasant, it seems to ME,--that you,
with all your pretty dresses, and
dainty looks, and kindly thoughts,
and saintly aspirations, are not one whit more thought of or loved
by the great Maker and Master than any poor little red, black, or
blue
savage,
running wild in the pestilent woods, or naked on the
hot sands of the earth: and that, of the two, you probably know
less about God than she does; the only difference being that she
thinks little of Him that is right, and you much that is wrong.
That, then, is the first thing to make sure of;--that you are not
yet
perfectly well informed on the most abstruse of all possible
subjects, and that if you care to
behave with
modesty or propriety,
you had better be silent about it.
The second thing which you may make sure of is, that however good
you may be, you have faults; that however dull you may be, you can
find out what some of them are; and that however slight they may be,
you had better make some--not too
painful, but patient--effort to
get quit of them. And so far as you have confidence in me at all,
trust me for this, that how many soever you may find or fancy your
faults to be, there are only two that are of real consequence,--
Idleness and Cruelty. Perhaps you may be proud. Well, we can get
much good out of pride, if only it be not religious. Perhaps you
may be vain; it is highly
probable; and very pleasant for the people
who like to praise you. Perhaps you are a little
envious: that is
really very
shocking; but then--so is everybody else. Perhaps,
also, you are a little
malicious, which I am truly
concerned to
hear, but should probably only the more, if I knew you, enjoy your
conversation. But
whatever else you may be, you must not be
useless, and you must not be cruel. If there is any one point
which, in six thousand years of thinking about right and wrong, wise
and good men have agreed upon, or successively by experience
discovered, it is that God dislikes idle and cruel people more than
any others:- that His first order is, "Work while you have light;"
and His second, "Be
merciful while you have mercy."
"Work while you have light," especially while you have the light of
morning. There are few things more wonderful to me than that old
people never tell young ones how precious their youth is. They
sometimes sentimentally regret their own earlier days; sometimes
prudently forget them; often
foolishlyrebuke the young, often more
foolishlyindulge, often most
foolishlythwart and
restrain; but
scarcely ever warn or watch them. Remember, then, that I, at least,
have warned YOU, that the happiness of your life, and its power, and
its part and rank in earth or in heaven, depend on the way you pass
your days now. They are not to be sad days: far from that, the
first duty of young people is to be
delighted and
delightful; but
they are to be in the deepest sense
solemn days. There is no
solemnity so deep, to a rightly-thinking creature, as that of dawn.
But not only in that beautiful sense, but in all their
character and
method, they are to be
solemn days. Take your Latin dictionary, and
look out "solennis," and fix the sense of the word well in your
mind, and remember that every day of your early life is ordaining
irrevocably, for good or evil, the custom and practice of your soul;
ordaining either
sacred customs of dear and lovely recurrence, or
trenching deeper and deeper the furrows for seed of sorrow. Now,
therefore, see that no day passes in which you do not make yourself
a somewhat better creature: and in order to do that, find out,
first, what you are now. Do not think
vaguely about it; take pen
and paper, and write down as
accurate a
description of yourself as
you can, with the date to it. If you dare not do so, find out why
you dare not, and try to get strength of heart enough to look
yourself fairly in the face in mind as well as body. I do not doubt
but that the mind is a less pleasant thing to look at than the face,