Self and Self-sacrifice, or Nelly's Story

Preface

. It has been said — "He was justly accounted, a skilful poisoner, who destroyed his victims by bouquets of lovely und fragrant flowers. The art has not been lost ; nay, it is practised every day by — the world ! " * If we apply the remark to the " world " of books, how very true and forcible does it become ! He who should go among a starving population, and scatter abroad food, tempting indeed to the palate and the eye, yet imbued with the most deadly poison, would be justly condemned as a monster of cruelty. But, suppose that food contained such a poisonous property as would keep its victim in torture for a life-time, would not our condemnation be far more severe ? Reader — books are the food of the soul ; and some leave it to starve, while others poison it for ever! — not for a year, nor for a life-time, only, but, for all eternity !

Truly, an author's responsibility is fearfully great ; and he must beware, lest, while weaving the garlands that are to charm and dazzle the sense of those who may catch them as they fall, some leaf from the deadly Upas lurk among the bright and fragrant roses : — nay, it is his duty to furnish, to the best of his power, such mental food as may be, not only harmless, but nourishing. * Bishop Latimer.

PREFACE.

In drawing the characters of Nelly and Edith, I have endeavoured to portray that quiet virtue of Self-Sacrifice, so frequently met with, but, alas ! so little appreciated ; to render the "beauty of holiness" more attractive than the false allurements of the world ; and to shew, that there is but one strength that is able to nerve us against temptation. I have also tried to depict the importance of Early Discipline — and that, too, of a sound religious kind ; and I have, to the best of my power, worked out the characters of my two heroines — their virtues and their faults — in accordance with the early training received by each. The childish education of the one tended to promote selfishness — that of the other, the reverse. My duty, I have, I trust performed ; — how perfectly, my Readers will decide.

To their verdict, I trust my book. siif aw© siimmiotki. 1 " It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth." Lamentations iii. 27. " Yes, Aunt Mary ; but it ; <s so hard to be good ! " " Ah ! Nelly, dear, many children, and many grown-up men and women, have said so before you ; and all, from the cradle to the grave, find it very, very ' hard to be good.' " "Oh ! Auntie, does every one find it so hard? Does every one feel angry, and long to be in a passion — I mean, in a great, great passion — and — Oh ! Aunt, you don't mean that every one finds it hard to be good ? " " Yes, my child ; every one, at times." " But you don't, dear Auntie ? You are so good — as good as any one that ever lived ! I am sure you must have been born good ; and I am quite sure that you never did a wicked thing in all your life — no, not even when you were a little child !

Oh ! you don't know — you can't think — what it is, to feel so bad — so wicked ! " And, laying my head in her lap, I sobbed aloud. " Poor Nelly ! " There was not much in the words ; but I shall never forget the tone of voice in which they were uttered. It spoke of a tender affection that had long watched o?er me — of a sympathy that had been with me through all my childish sorrows of a yearning depth of affection which I had thought none could ever feel for me. " Dear Auntie ! " B ; I looked in her face, and saw that her eyes were silled with tears. Tears — for me ! — the despised, ungainly child, whom none loved — whom all pronounced ugly, and selfish, and dis agreeable ! My own grief was checked. A tumult of feelings, impossible to describe, kept me silent. It was so new — so wonderful — that any one should feel an interest in me ! that any one should grieve for me !

I knew not what to think ; I only knew that I adored Aunt Mary ; and again and again I kissed the hand that was passed caressingly round my neck. At last she spoke : — " Nelly, it is true that none are good — ' no, not one ' — for God has said so ; but all can try to be good, and can pray to God to make them so ; for ' without His help we can do nothing.' When I was a little child, I used sometimes to feel as you do now, and I hardened myself against good advice, and thought it a fine thing to shew ' spirit ' (as I called it) — and I grew up to be very self-willed and passionate ; and if I had died then, how dreadful it would have been ! But, Nelly, darling, God is more merciful to us than we are to ourselves ; so He sent me bitter trials and afflictions, and took from me many things that 'were dearer to me than life ; and so, when trouble and sorrow had humbled my rebellious spirit, I learned to submit myself to Him who would have been able to console me in far greater trials than those which He so mercifully sent me."

" But, Aunt Mary, there's one thing I can't understand — " " Well, clear, what is it ? " " Why — you say that God loves us all — yes, all ; He loves you, who are so good — -more good than any one that ever was born — yes, I think more good than even those very, very good men and women in the Bible ! I can quite believe that God loves you ; — but how can He love me ? They all say, I am so ugly, and naughty, and deceitful ! But as you say that He does love me, I will try to think so. Yet that is not what I was thinking of: what I want to know is this — If God does love me, why doesn't He make me good at once? Why doesn't He put good thoughts into my heart, so that I shall find it easier to be good than naughty ? And wh)- doesn't He give me beautiful golden hair, and beautiful eyes, and a ok, nelly's story. 3 white skin, and a little mouth, so small that you could hardly see it, and a voice — oh, Aunt !

I heard those ladies who were here the other day, talking of my Uttle sister ; and the}' said all that of her — and they said that she was more bke an angel than a child, and that ' to look at her was to love her ' — and they never noticed me ; so I ran out to the brook, and sat down on the bridge, and wished I were dead. And then I wondered why God had made Edith so pretty that no one could help loving her, and why He had made me so ugly. And then I felt very angry, and I determined to be naughty, and I hated Edith — and I hate her now, — her, and mamma, and those ladies, and — " " Oh, NeUy ! " " WeU, Auntie, I won't say it, then ; — but do tell me all these things that I want to know." " My dear Nelly, it is not very easy to explain ' all these things' ; but I wiU try. You say that you cannot understand how God can love you ; yet He does love you, though Pie hates the evU that is in you.

If you read your Bible, you will find in every page some proof of God's wonderful love for man — not merely for the good and obedient, but also for the wicked and ungrateful. You will there read that He has, over and over again, pardoned their faults, and tried to lead them to do well ; and they would not listen to Him, but chose rather to foUow their own wicked devices. He has even said, ' Ye will not come unto me' ; — and again, ' How often would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wing, and ye would not.' How He bore with the dis obedience and ingratitude of the Jewish people ! — indeed, their ingratitude seems to have been only surpassed by His love and forbearance. How He led them through dangers and difficulties ; defeated their enemies, who were as the sand of the shore for multitude ; and finally, placing them in ' a land flowing with milk and honey,' made of them a great and glorious nation !

And what return did they make for so much love ? They murmured against Him repeatedly, and at last forsook Him for senseless blocks of wood and stone. And then He saw that they would be lost for ever if He did not send them some punishment to humble them, and make them feel that He was their God, and that without Him they could do b nothing. You know that parents (good parents, I mean) al ways correct their children when they do wrong, because they know that, unless they are good, they can never be happy : in the same way God, who is the Parent of us all, corrects us for our welfare when we go astray. And there is this difference between the correction of an earthly and of a heavenly parent : — a father or mother cannot look into a child's heart, and read its thoughts, and a child is therefore not always un derstood by its parents ; they can only judge by appearances, and then act for what they think to be for the best.

But God can see into the heart, and can read every thought in it more easily than you can read a book ; and therefore He cannot be mistaken, but always knows exactly what degree of correction is necessary, to make us repent and turn to Him. So He allowed them to fall into captivity, and they suffered great troubles till they repented, and then He had mercy on them, and drew them out of captivity ; but they never again became the same great nation they had been before, because prosperity would have hardened their hearts, and they would again have rebelled against him. And we read, ' God so loved the world, that He gave His only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him might not perish.' He gave 'His only Son'! and they despised and persecuted Him, and put Him to death ! — this beloved Son, whom their God had sacrificed for their salvation !

And did He then utterly reject them, and blot them from the face of the earth ? No; He still held out promises of future benefit ; and we have His word that, despite aU their disobedience and ingratitude, He will yet make a great nation of them at the last. Oh ! Nelly, never again doubt God's love ! " She paused for a moment, and I felt her tears falling upon my neck. I looked up in her face, illuminated by the dazzling radiance of the setting sun ; and, for a moment, I fancied she was an angel, and could have worshipped her. Soon she resumed : — " And you ask me, darling, why, if God loves us, and really wishes us to be good, He does not make us so — since He could do so if He chose ? Now, Nelly dear, it has puzzled many wiser and better people than myself to answer this question ; but is it not enough for us to know that God must act for S'lORl. the best ?

What right have we to ask why He does this, or that, or the other ? Suppose the worm were to question God's wisdom, because He made it crawl on the ground, instead of walk? Suppose your little baby-sister were to say that her mamma was very siUy not to let her sit up till ten o'clock at night, or do anything else that she thought would be very consistent and very wise ? Suppose you were to find fault with the sayings and doings of grown-up people ? All this would be very absurd, but not half so absurd and wicked as to question the wisdom and mercy of Almighty God in His dealings with fallen, rebellious man ! But, dear, you must remember that your heart is not open to good influences only ; — we are told that ' Satan goeth about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour' ; that is, he puts wicked and rebellious thoughts into our hearts, and they drive away aU our good feelings and resolutions ; and so we sin."

" But, Aunt, why does not God kill Satan ?" " My child, he is an immortal spirit, and God has ordained that such cannot die. It is enough for you to know, that if you obey and love God, and continue earnest in prayer to Him, He will never allow you to fall under the dominion of Satan ; and that though you may transgress again and again, He will, on your repentance, forgive you for the sake of Jesus Christ. — But now, dear, we have had a long talk, and it is time you were home ; so, good night." I received her kiss, and, leaving her, went on my way, thinking on all she had said, and wondering why God didn't take her up to heaven at once, as He did the holy prophet long ago; for it seemed impossible one so good should die, and be laid in the earth. But here I remembered what she had told me about questioning God's purposes; so I wondered no longer, but entered the house.

" Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry : for anger resteth in the bosom of fools." — Ecclesiastes. And now I must describe it — the dear, old-fashioned house, with all its ins and outs, and its long passages — with other passages leading out of them, and that, too, so sharply, that a stranger was always taken by surprise, and was sure to ex claim, " WeU — I never should know my way about this house ! " Then, the dark nooks and corners that one feU upon here and there — they seemed made for no conceivable purpose, unless for the harbouring of ghosts (in the existence of whieh uncomfortable phenomena I had, as a chUd, most unswerving faith). But 1 must not go off into rhapsodies, as I always feel inclined to do, whUe describing the dear old place — the scene of so much sorrow, and of such intense happiness — forgetting that its hallowed associations would render it in my thoughts a paradise, even were it the most ordinary spot on the face of the earth.

The house, except at the front entrance, which was approached by a drive, was surrounded on all sides by grounds — such grounds! What words could convey the faintest idea of their exquisite beauty ? They descended, in terraces and mossy slopes, tiU they were lost to the eye amidst groves of the densest foliage. Here and there the bright river peeped forth, like a brilliant serpent gliding through the emerald verdure of the grass and trees, until at last it emptied itself into a lake, deep, dark, and still. From this lake, forth ran a brook, tumbling and leaping — a mimic cataract — over STORY. 7 a rough precipice of rock and earth, tui at last it feU into the sea, which beat upon the sand and rocks at the foot of the hill on which we lived. The large, stately drawing-room overlooked this magnificent view.

Six French windows opened on a balcony, from which a broad flight of steps con ducted to the terraces. Before continuing my narrative, I must tell you, that I was an orphan. My mother died shortly after my birth ; and my father, a few years afterwards, married again. Twelve months before the period of which I write, he also died, leaving one child by his second marriage — a Uttle girl of extraordinary beauty. And now I wUl continue : first teUing you, that you must suppose me to be a warm-hearted, impetuous, self-wiUed child, nine years of age ; my Uttle sister, Edith, was only three — six years my junior. On entering the morning-room, in which we generally sat when we had no company, I found my mother reading a story book to little Edith, who was sitting in her lap. Fresh from my late conversation with Aunt Mary, I was determined to be good, and to give no cause of offence ; so, in order not to interrupt the reading, I sat down in a window seat, and listened to the tale.

When it was concluded, my mother looked up, and saw me, and, addressing Edith, said coaxingly: — " Now, darling, you promised to go to bed directly your sister came in ; so go, like a good chUd." And she rang the beU for the nurse. " Nasty, tiresome NeUy, to come back ! I wish she hadn't come in!" And the Uttle girl pouted, and looked at me as though she bore me no especial good wiU. "Now, go, darling — and to-morrow you shall have a ride on the new pony!" (She did not say, "Go, because I tell you.") "•Nasty, ugly Nelly, to come back!" And, with this con cluding malediction, the child went away with her nurse, shaking her shoulders from side to side, as I have often seen children do, when afflicted with a fit of ill-humour which they have all the wiU, without the power, to wreak on every person and thing that comes in their way.

During this scene I had in vain struggled for self-control. At last, when the fatal word, "ugly," burst from Edith's lips. ; I could bear it no longer; and my wounded pride — or rather, vanity — broke forth in the passionate exclamation — "I hate you!" — when I suddenly remembered my mother's presence, and, looking up, met the cold crushing glance that she cast upon me. My mother never looked angrily at me — never gave way to an intemperate word or action towards me ; her demeanour was ever the same — calm, cold, and dignified. Once, when she had shewn me some little act of indulgence, I, in an excess of gratitude, had forgotten the chill reserve that had always cast its icy barrier between us — and had thrown my arms round her neck, and kissed her. I shall never forget what foUowed. She recoiled, as if I had been a serpent, or some loathsome thing ; I even felt her whole frame shudder, as she almost threw me from her ; and in her eyes I read that she hated me !

Terrified — bewildered — I fell at her feet, and gasped forth, — " Oh ! mamma — mamma — don't be angry ! I didn't know it was naughty ! I wont do it again ! Oh ! don't be angry with me, mamma !" She had already recovered her usual self-command. " I am not angry, Eleanor ; but I do not Uke these violent outbursts of seeling ; they are not ladylike, and I beg that you will restrain them." And that night I had gone to my Uttle room, and, amidst tears and sobs such as a child should never know, had prayed God to kill me — since mamma would never love me, and I had no one in the world to care for. For I had loved this new mamma with a depth — an intensity of affection — such as I had never felt for any one else. She was so beautiful, and had such a grand look, I thought, that I used to long to kneel down and worship her !

She was still young, then — only twenty-six — and had a face and form that I have never seen surpassed. The rich, glossy braids of her raven hair were gathered in heavy folds at the back of her most classically shaped head. Her complexion was like marble — hardly a tinge of colour varying its intense whiteness. Her eyes — black as night — large — fuU — lustrous ! Their size and brilliancy would have been painful, had they not been softened by lashes, almost incredibly long, which, at times, OR, NELLl's STORY. 9 gave to her face an expression of feminine softness that was perfectly irresistible. Her mouth — ah ! what character there is in a mouth ! the most ordinary expression of hers was that of indomitable and unbending pride ; but when her glance fell upon her little child, it changed to one of deep and womanly softness ; and then her face was angelic.

She had one other look — but this was for me alone, and I never saw it called forth by any one else ; it was a look of intense coldness, with a faint shade of repulsion, which I could feel, but could not define. This manner of hers never varied. I should have felt less pained if she had sometimes shewn herself angry with me ; but no — she seldom reproved me, even when I needed it, and only seemed to desire as little as possible of my presence ; so long as I was not actively disobedient, she did not notice me. Now, however, when I ventured thus boldly to vituperate her petted darUng, I ex pected that she would not allow me to pass unpunished. Half frightened — half defiant — I stood, awaiting my doom. Her manner was but a little colder than usual. " Eleanor, you should not give way to this excess of tem per.

Learn to restrain yourself." Blazing with indignation at what I thought the keenest injustice on her part, I retorted, — " Then why do you let her call me ' Nasty, tiresome Nelly ' — ' Nasty, ugly Nelly ' ? Why do you let her abuse me, and then scold me for answering ? I hate her, and you too J You are not my own mamma — my own, dear, beautiful mamma ! — and I don't love you, and I wish you and Edith " and here, utterly beside myself, I stamped with rage. StUl my mother was calm and dignified. "Leave the room, Eleanor!" Her quiet self-possession awed and impressed me. I obeyed. I sped rapidly along the corridor, ascended the stairs, and, threading the various passages above, entered a room of moderate size, which had served my father for a study. It was hung with dark green ; and the carpet was of a sombre hue.

Eound the walls were book-shelves, filled with books, which had never been opened since his death. The chairs, sofas, etc., were all of a gloomy colour ; and the ; whole room were such an air of sadness, and of "long — long ago," that, when I had one of my moody fits, I found it more congenial to me than any other room in the house. At one end of this chamber was a large fire-place, sur mounted by a strange, antiquated, carved chimney-piece; so strange, so old, that I have spent whole hours in staring at the quaint, grotesque figures with which it was ornamented, and in inventing long histories for every one of them ; — aided ;hiefly, I must confess, in these flights of imagination, by sundry books of fairy lore, which I was much in the habit of studying. But, enough of the old chimney-piece.

Over it, was a picture — the portrait of a lady, — very young, and very beautiful. Stay — I wiU describe her. — Hair, of the richest brown, drawn up in waves from her pure, white brow, and then faUing in wUd and beautiful luxuriance behind her small, delicate head ; smooth, and yet expressive eye-brows — so dark, that you would at first think them black; lashes, dark as night ; — and, under them, such wondrous eyes ! — not black, as you would imagine — but grey — such as look violet at night ; clear — large- — bright — with such an intensity of expression, that to gaze into them was like looking into weUs of unfathomable depth. Her mouth — so smaU, yet so expressive ; the perfect contour of her small, oval face ; the long, graceful, swan-like throat ! And her form — so slight and girUsh, yet so supple and undulating ! — All ! reader — forgive me !

You cannot feel as I do. Perhaps you have already divined — this was — m» mother ! And that night I passed like many others, kneeUng before this cherished Ukeness of the past — looking on the young, bright, joyous face, glowing with the rich tints of health and youth; — wondering if she had ever been unhappy — thinking of all that I would have done for her if she had Uved — thinking, that, since I was her own child, she would have loved me, though I was so ugly, and stupid, and awkward ; — thinking — thinking — till I fell asleep. Page on. nelly's STORY. 11 Ill " I loved to -walk where none had walked before. About the rocks that ran along the shore ; Or far beyond the sight of men to stray, And take my pleasure when I lost my way." Crabbe. When I awoke next morning, a brilUant sun was streaming in at the window, the birds were twittering and chirping in a fever of delight, and aU nature seemed so gay and happy, that I felt myself irresistibly imbued with its cheering influence.

My own room adjoined the one in which I had passed so sorrowful a night ; so, entering it, I effected a hasty toilet, and then descended the great stair-case, on my way to the garden. As all the doors were barred and locked, and I was not strong enough to undo them, I effected my egress by the simple process of jumping from the sUl of a window, which I managed to open ; this operation was achieved at the cost of a large rent in my frock — but, nothing daunted, I joyously bounded forward, over the smooth, closely-shaven grass. Leaving behind me the trim borders, weU kept gravel walks, ponds for gold fish, Chinese pagodas, tents, fountains, and aU the other adjuncts of an ornamental flower garden, I shaped my course towards the wUd, uncultivated portion of the grounds, running swiftly up and down the mossy slopes, and leaping over every obstruction in my path, till I came to the lake, at the side of which a little boat lay moored.

Springing into this, I was soon on the opposite bank, and running along the side of the stream, which flowed towards the sea. Soon, I gained the edge of the cUff and, after ; making a rather hazardous descent, found myself at last at my journey's end. This desired haven was a lonely little bay, completely shut in by rocks, over which the sea beat, in stormy weather, in awful surges ; it was then impossible to destfnd the cliff, which was not high. In fine weather, however, it was a peaceful, enchanting little spot ; and here I spent the greater part of my leisure hours. This, for many reasons, was my favourite haunt.— In the first place, I looked upon it as my own, exclusive property — no one but myself having, to my knowledge, set foot on its sacred ground. I considered myself the early discoverer, and imagined that no other person had any right to its possession ; and most jealously did I preserve the secret of its existence, lest any profane footstep should violate the sanctity of its hallowed precincts.

Since then I have seen many bays, and many scenes that are, no doubt, far more worthy of notice; butnot one of them has effaced rom my heart the memory of that little tranquil spot. And here, in the long summer days, I used to sit for hours, rejoicing in my solitude, utterly oblivious of everybody and everything, as happy as a bird. Ah ! those days of hope and trust — of trust in the reality of the present, unmixed with dread for the future !— -days that we see but once in our life's journey — a trust and hope that we feel when we are young, but how seldom after ! This morning, in particular, I felt more than usually gay and light-hearted. The sorrow of the previous night had passed away, as children's sorrows do ; I was too well accus tomed to such scenes, for them to weigh long upon my spirits ; and the exhilaration of feeling produced by my run in the fresh morning air, imparted its tone to all around me.