The pastor's daughter

Front matter

J LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. J l|lrap.P.V |op g rigW |fo

THE

PASTOR'S DAUGHTER:

Contents

CHAPTER I. — Introduction. Reasons for supposing that Maria's history may do good. Her early interest in Religion. How can I have a good heart ? How ministers are made. Disobedience. The Peach. Why did the angels sin ? The way to find out pride. The way to cure pride. Design of the book. ... 13

CHAPTER II.— What if I was a fairy ? Money will not make people happy. Desires increase as fast as they are gratified. We do not learn from the experience of others. No perfect happiness in this world. Why some people are happier than others. Fable. The exchange of calamities 25

CHAPTER III.— Story of the three little trouts. It is better to confide in God, than to choose for ourselves. Another story. Visit to the country. Peace and Inexperience. Fancy and Reality. Books do not always tell the truth. . ; 33

Chapter I

" I am far from thinking that the Spirit of God does not manifest itself in thildren, in a very striking manner, and at a very early age."

Maria was the daughter of a clergyman, who resided in a pleasant town in America. Of his character I will only say that earth has rarely witnessed a more lovely exemplification of the principles of the Christian religion.

My reasons for supposing that an account of the various states of mind through which Maria passed, preparatory to her becoming a disciple of Christ, may benefit other young persons, are several. The feelings which she expressed in conversation with her father, and the^ objections which she brought forward, are, doubtless, substantially the same which are felt and urged by all who reflect upon the subject of religion, for any considerable time, before they yield their hearts to its influence. To such, it may be of service to find their objections answered, their excuses shown to be groundless, the artifices of their hearts exposed, 2 and the motives to repentance and submission urged upon them. Those who have never reflected upon the subject may be led to do so, by reading of the interest which she felt, and the result of this interest.

If it should be thought that the observations attributed to Maria indicate more maturity of mind, and greater command of language, than could be expected in a child at her age, it should be remembered that she was the eldest Ghild of the family, and as such received a large share of attention from both her parents : that her father, in particular, devoted much time to her instruction, and that she united to an inquiring and eager mind, a great love of reading, all which circumstances conspired to hasten the development of her powers.

Maria's interest in the subject of religion commenced at a very early age. I do not know, nor does any one, how early. When she was between two and three years old, she would sit on a little stool, at her father's feet, with the tears rolling down her cheeks, while he talked to her of the sinfulness of her heart, and the impossibility of her ever being happy till it was changed. The following incident occurred when she was about a year and a half old. She had been sick for some time, and had been rocked to sleep in the cradle; but was now so far recovered that her mother thought it proper for her to sleep up stairs. Anticipating some objection to this measure on the part of the child, she began to talk to her as she lay in the cradle, about being good, telling her that this was the only way to be happy, &c. Maria suddenly asked, in the quick way in which she commonly spoke, " Ma, how can I be good ?"

Her mother told her she must nave a new heart.

" How can I have a good heart ? I will take out my naughty heart," said she, untying her frock, "and stamp on it, and beat it — will that make it good?"

Her father, coming in at this moment, heard the question.

" No, my daughter," said he, " you cannot make your heart good."

" You, then, pa. Didn't pa make his new heart ? didn't ma make hers ? didn't Phebe make hers ?"

" No, nobody but God can make new hearts ; and if yon want one you must ask him."

After some more conversation of this sort, her mother carried her up to bed. When she was about leaving her, she said, u Has my little daughter any thing to say to her mother ?" hoping Maria would ask her to pray ; bu*t, instead of this, she clasped her hands, and looking up to heaven with an expression of the greatest seriousness and earnestness, she said,

" Please, great Papa up in heaven, take away the naughty out of my bosom."

For two or three months after this there was so remarkable a change in Maria's disposition, she was so much more gentle and yielding, that her parents almost began to hope that the infantile petition had been heard.

Maria was of a very inquisitive temper, and this disposition was never checked by a refusal on the part of her parents to answer her inquiries, though she uttered them with a rapidity and eagerness which hardly allowed time for reply. One Sabbath, her father, feeling unable to preach from illness, her mother was lamenting the necessity he was under of going into the pulpit, when Maria said quickly,

" Why doesn't uncle preach ?"

" Because he is not a minister," said her mother ; "nobody can preach but ministers."

" What is a minister % How came there to be any ministers ?"

Her father explained to her, that other ministers ordained them, or set them apart, by laying on of hands and prayer.

" They couldn't make the first minister so, I know. Who made the first one?"

Her father then related to her the account of the sending forth of the apostles, and the conversion and ministry of Saul of Tarsus.

"What, that wicked Saul, that wanted to kill David ? I thought he was a wicked man when he died."

"No, not that Saul, but another."

" Well, why didn't God make that Saul a good man? Why don't he make every body good?"

When Maria was nearly three years old, she refused to say, Please, mother, on one occasion when she had been directed to do so. Her mother reasoned with her for some time, but finding it ineffectual, she directed Maria to go into the closet. There she remained for half an hour, without giving any signs of a willingness to obey. Her mother said to the domestic, loud enough for Maria to hear, " You may cover up the fire, Nancy, it is time to go to bed." The little girl thought she was to spend the night in the closet. " O, dear!" said she, in a piteous tone, "I wish I could say, Please, mother."

Just then her father came in, and heard how matters stood. He took Maria from the closet, put on her cloak and bonnet, opened the street door, and led her out on the steps. " There," said he, "Maria may go away; we don't want any little girls here who won't mind their mothers." The child stood for a moment confounded ; then burst into tears, and sobbed out, "Please, mother !"

A few months afterward, she received a lesson 2* iC THE PASTOR'S DAUGHTER.

which might have cured her of believing herself wiser than any body else. Her mother was pickling some peaches, and had just taken them from the salt and water with which they had become tnoroughly impregnated, when Maria came into the kitchen, and asked for one. She had eaten ripe peaches, in their natural state, and supposed these to be of the same kind. In va:n was she assured that they were not good to eat, that they were both bitter and salt; in short, worse than any medicine she had ever tasted : Maria knew they were good, and knew she should like them. Finally, her mother told her she might have one on condition that she should eat the whole, which she gladly promised to do. But no sooner had she taken a mouthful, than it was rejected with the greatest disgust. " I never tasted any thing so ugly in my life; mayn't I have something to take the taste out of my mouth ?"

" No, my dear, you must eat it all ; you know that was the condition on which I gave it to you."

Maria began to cry. " O, mamma, you won't make me eat that nasty thing ?"

"Yes, Maria, you must abide by your own choice : you see now that you had better have believed me."

Maria was sure she never could get it down, are it would make het sick, it would kill her ■ but her mother was firm. At length, with the help of a piece of bread which her mother allowed her, and with tears and sighs, the nauseous morsel was fairly swallowed; but Maria did not soon forget the lesson it had taught her.

Another time she came sobbing to her father, and told him she was afraid heaven was not so happy a place as it was supposed to be.

" Why, my dear, what makes you think so ?"

" Because, papa, if it is, what made the angels sin? They were happy, and they knew they were happy, didn't they, papa? Then why should they sin?"

As she grew up, she proposed, at different times, all the objections which have been urged by cavillers and objectors against religion ; thus proving, as her father observed, that they have their origin in the heart, not in the head.

Maria had been taught to repeat Miss Taylor's Hymn, beginning, " Pride, ugly pride," and its meaning had been explained to her. One morning, before she was up, her father was disturbed by strange sounds, which seemed to proceed from the adjoining room, where Maria and her lit le brother slept. On going to ascertain the cause, he found her, and the little boy, at her instigation, with two sticks, employed in beating the pillows with great vehemence and indignation. He inquired what offence they had committed ; and was gravely informed by Maria that they were " making believe" the pillows were pride, and so they meant to give them a good beating. Maria seemed to feel that she had achieved quite a conquest in this way; but her parents inclined to the opinion that the chastisement inflicted on the pillows had tended more to their detriment, than to the increase of humility in the children. As the hymns are very good, and not very often to be met with, I will insert them.

THE WAY TO FIND OUT PRIDE.

"Pride, ugly pride, sometimes is seen, In haughty looks and lofty mien ; But oft'ner it is found that pride Loves deep within the heart to hide: And while the looks are mild and fair, It sits and does its mischief there. Now if you really wish to find If pride be lurking in your mind, Inquire if you can bear a slight, Or patiently give up your right.

Can you submissively consent To take reproof and punishment, And feel no angry passions start, In any corner of your heart ?

Can you with frankness own a crime, And promise for another time 1 Or say you've been in a mistake, Nor try some poor excuse to make, But freely own that it was wrong To argue for your side so long ?

Flat contradiction can you bear,

When you are right, and know you are?

Nor flatly contradict again,

But wait, and modestly explain,

A.nd tell your reasons one by one,

Nor think of triumph when you've done!

Can you, in business or in play,

Give up your wishes, or your way?

Or do a thing against your will,

For some one who is younger still,

And never try to overbear,

Or say a word that is not fair?

Does laughing at you in a joke,

No anger nor revenge provoke :

But can you laugh yourself, and be

As merry as the company ?

Or when you find that you could do

By them as they have done by you,

Can you keep down the wicked thought,

And do exactly as you ought ?

Put all these questions to your heart,

And make it act an honest part ;

And when they've each been fairly tried

I think you'll own that you have pride;

Some one will suit you as you go,

And force your heart to tell you so ;

But if the whole should be denied,

Then you're too proud to own your pride. *

THE WAY TO CURE PRIDE.

"Now I suppose that having tried,

And found the secret of your pride, •

You wish to drive it from your heart,

And learn to act a humbler part.

Well, are you sorry and sincere ?-

I'll try to help you then, my dear.

And first, the best and surest way, Is to kneel down at once and pray. The lowly Savior will attend, And strengthen you, and be your friencL Tell him the mischief that you find For ever working in your mind, And beg his pardon for the past, And strength to overcome at last. But then you must not go your way, And think it quite enough to pray ; This is but doing half your task, For you must watch as well as ask. You pray for strength, and that is right, But then it must be strength to fight ; For where's the use of being strong, Unless you conquer what is wrong % Then look within— ask every thought If it be humble as it ought.

Put out the smallest spark of pride The very moment 'tis descried, And do not stay to think it o'er, For while you wait it blazes more. If it 1 should take you by surprise, And beg you just to let it rise, And promise not to keep you long, Say, ' No, the smallest pride is icrong.* And when there's something so amiss, That pride says, ' Take offence at this' Then if you feel at all inclined To brood upon it in your mind, And think revengeful thoughts within, And wish it were not wrong to sin — O stop at once ! for if you dare To wish for sin, that sin is there ! 'Twill then be best to go and pray That God would take your pride away;

Or if just then you cannot go,

Pray in your heart, and God will know,

And beg his mercy to impart

The best of gifts — a kumble heart.

Remember too that you must pray,

And watch, and labor, every day ;

Nor think it wearisome, or hard,

To be for ever on your guard.

No— every morning must begin

With resolutions not to sin ;

And every evening recollect

How much you've failed in this respect

Ask whether such a guilty heart

Should act a proud or humble part ;

Or, since the Savior was so mild,

Inquire if pride becomes a child;

And when all other means are tried,

Be humble, that you've so much pride."

It has been already mentioned, that before Maria was three years old, she was very unwilling to be convinced that she did not love God, and often wept because her father seemed to doubt this affection. She observed one day, that " she wished she could die, and then her father would see her fly right up to heaven like a little angel, and he would know she loved God." However, this wore off; and for a year previous to the commencement of our history, she manifested no particular interest in the subject of religion, and had quite forgotten her former conversations relating to it. It will be seen that at this period, her impressions were revived.

Our aim will not be to give a connected history of the progress of her mind, but merely to present conversations and incidents which occurred at intervals, after she had attained the age of four years.

CHAPTER II. "Oct rery wishes give us not our wish."

Little Maria sat on her cricket one day, looking very intently into the fire, but not as if she saw it. Her eyes were fixed, and there was a half smile on her countenance, as if her thoughts were pleasantly occupied.

" Maria, what are you thinking about ?" said her father, at last.

" O, papa," said the little girl, " I was thinking what if I was a fairy."

" Well, and what if you were a fairy ?" said her father.

" Why then how nice it would be, papa. If I wanted to go any where, I should only have to wish, and then I should be there — and if I wanted a beautiful house, or a garden, or books, or any thing in the world, I should only have to stamp on the ground, and it would come right up. And I've just thought of another thing, too ; I could do just what I liked all the time, and if ma wanted me to go up stairs for her, when I was reading, I could wish r and the things she wanted would come. O, how funny it would be," continued she, 3 bursting into a laugh, "to see the things come tumbling down stairs."

Her father smiled, too. " This last is a very important consideration, to be sure," said he.

" O, it would be so nice. Don't you wish I was a fairy, papa f\

" No, my dear."

" You don't, papa ! — well, I don't see why — you know you could have every thing you wanted, too ; I would build you a fine house, a great deal better than this, and you should have as many books as you want to study, and horses and carriages to ride in, and every thing else. Now don't you wish so, papa?"

" No, my dear."

" How strange ! will you tell me why, papa ?"

" One reason is, that I do not think all these fine things would make us any happier."

" Not any happier, with every thing we wanted ! papa, you grow stranger and stranger."

" I do not suppose T can make you understand this, but if you live a few years longer, you will learn that our happiness is very little affected by such things."

" Why, papa, it seems to me that this is all which makes some people happier than others."

" Then rich people are always happy, and poor ones always unhappy. Is it so?"

" No, papa, I think — I am sure it rs not. You know that little girl that was burnt so dreadfully, and was very poor besides ; I am sure she seemed a great deal happier than Mr. C. does, with all his money."

" These two cases, then, seem to be exceptions to your rule."

44 O, papa, it will not do for a rule at all ; for now I think of a great many more just like them; so I give up, papa, about money's making people happy. And yet," resumed she, after a pause, "I can't help thinking it would make me happy — there are so many things I want."

44 Will money buy every thing you want?"

14 No, papa ; but if I was a fairy, you know I could have every thing, whether it could be bought or not — couldn't I?"

44 As I am not so w r ell acquainted with the powers of fairies as you seem to be, I will not undertake to answer that question."

44 O, papa, now you are laughing at me ; but I am not so foolish as to suppose there are such things as fairies — only if there were, and if I were one."

44 Two very important ifs. Suppose you were trying to fill up a pit, and it grew larger just as fast as you poured into it — would it ever be full?"

44 No, papa," said Maria, wondering at what she thought a very irrelevant question.

" Well, my dear, to attempt to satisfy a person's desires is just like this ; for they increase as fast as they are gratified, and the person is just as far from being satisfied as he was at the beginning."

" I don't see how that can be."

" How is it in your own case, Maria ? you thought a month ago that you should be perfectly happy if you had as many books as your cousin Sarah ; your uncle made you a present of all Miss Edge worth's stories for children, and now I want to know if you were as happy as you expected to be?"

" I was at first, papa."

" I know that, my dear. I have not forgotten how you capered about, and shook the house in your joy ; but after a little while, were you perfectly satisfied ?"

" No, papa ; I remember I began to wish that I had books enough to fill my little red library. And papa, I do believe, now I think of it, that it is always so ; for when uncle gave me a quarter of a dollar last fourth of July, I began to want more, though before I did not think any thing about it. I thought if I had & whole dollar I should be satisfied; but afterwards I had a dollar for having my tooth out, I was not any more satisfied."

"Well, now you have only to put thousands of dollars in the place of one, and you will under* , stand how a rich man may be as dissatisfied with his condition as a poor one."

44 Papa," resumed Maria, after a pause, " if I believed you ever so much, I do not think it would keep me from wishing for such things ; I want to be a fairy as rnuch now as I did before."

Her father smiled. " So I suppose, my dear ; the reason is, that we do not fully believe what others tell us, till we have learned it by experience."

" What is experience, papa ?"

" Look at your little brother : see how his mother is obliged to hold him back to prevent him from seizing the candle with his hands. Would you take hold of it if you ware told you might ?"

" No, indeed, papa," said Maria, laughing.

" Why wouldn't you ?"

44 Because I should be burnt."

" How do you know you would be ?"

" How do I know ? why, I have always known it, I believe."

44 No, indeed, my dear ; when you were at your brother's age, you would have put your hands into it if you had been permitted."

44 1 suppose, then, you told me that it would burn."

44 Yes, I did, but that alone was not enough ; you

never believed me fully till I held your finger so

near the light that it became painful, and you were

glad to draw it back; after that you never tried to

3* grasp the light again. That is learning By experience."

" Then should I have to be a fairy in order to learn by experience that it would not make me happy?"

" Not exactly that. If you learn by experience, as you grow up, that it does not always make you happy to have your wishes gratified, you will conclude that it would be the same with that wish."

" Then, papa, are there no people happy ?"

" None that are perfectly happy, in this world, but some are much happier than others."

11 1 suppose you mean Christians, papa."

" Yes ; but even among those that are not Christians, some are happier than others."

" What is the reason, if being rich or poor does not make any difference ?"

" Some persons are disposed to be contented in any circumstances ; they are always cheerful and good-natured, and make every body around them happy. Others have a peevish, discontented disposition, which would make them unhappy if they were masters of the world. You have seen examples of both these kinds of persons."

" Have I, papa? who are they, I wonder ? O, I know ! Cousin Sarah is the one that is always so happy, and" —

11 Well it is no matter who the other is. I have one more thing to tell you, and that is, that any place or situation looks pleasanter at a distance than near. Those persons whom you think the happiest, have some secret troubles of which you know nothing; and if you could change places with them, you would probably be glad to return to your own condition. When you are a little older, you shall read a fable on this subject that will amuse you, I think/'

" O, papa, please to tell it to me, instead of letting me read it."

11 1 will tell you a little about it. The fable supposes that Jupiter, being wearied with the complaints of mortals, gave them all leave to bring their calamities, and deposite them in a mass. So, there might be seen persons coming from every quarter, bearing loads on their shoulders, which they hastened to throw down as soon as they reached the appointed place. Most of the burdens consisted of some personal defect ; but no one took this opportunity to get rid of his sins. There was a personage named Fancy, with a mirror in her hand, who made herself very busy in the scene, causing each man's burden to appear much larger than before. After the grievances had been all deposited, Jupiter issued another proclamation, directing each one to take his choice from among the burdens thrown down by the others. I do not remember the particular exchanges which were made, but they were very amusing. One man who had thrown away a wooden leg went away with a hump on his back ; and a lady who had deposited her gray hairs, took in their stead a set of false teeth. But instead of being more contented, after these changes were completed, each one was more dissatisfied than at first. Groans and complaints were heard from all quarters, and when Jupiter again proclaimed that each man might resume his original burden, they all hastened to throw off their loads. Then a person called Patience took her station by the heap, which immediately shrank to half its size. She then fitted each man's burden to his shoulder, and showed him how to carry it, and the whole assembly retired, much more contented than they came."

" Thank you, papa, that is a very funny story; don't you know any more?' 7

Her father smiled. " You illustrate my remark, Maria, very well ; I have hardly finished one story and you require another. But you must wait till

Chapter III

■ Far from unde rstarjding what is best for each other, we may be assured we do not understand it, even for ourselves."

The next day evening Maria waited patiently till her father had finished an account he was giving her mother of something in which she- did not feel interested, and then presented her request.

" You know you said last night, papa, that I must wait till to-day for another story."

11 Well, my dear," said her father, smiling.

"Well, papa, I thought that was the same as promising that you would tell me one to-day."

"Pretty good reasoning, Maria; so I suppose I must tell you a story which I once read.

" There were once three little silver trouts, who lived in a stream of clear water, which ran between two high green banks. The banks protected it from the wind and storms, so that the water was always smooth; and as the sun shone there, it was a very delightful place. Besides, these little fishes had plenty to eat and drink, and nothing to trouble them ; so that you would have expected them to be perfectly happy. But alas ! it was not so ; thess little trouts were so foolish as to be discontented and unhappy, and God heard them complaining. So he told the little fishes that each of them might wish for whatever he pleased, and it should be granted. So the first little trout said, * I am tired of moping up here in the water, and of having to stay all the time in one place ; I should like to have wings, to fly in the air as the birds do, and go where I pleased.'

" The next said, * I am a poor, ignorant little fish, and I do not know how to protect myself from danger ; I should like to have a great deal ot knowledge, and understand all about hooks and nets, so that I might always keep out of danger. 7

" The other little trout said, * I too am a poor, ignorant little fish, and for that reason, I do not know what is best for me ; my wish is that God would take care of me, and give me just what he sees best for me ; I do not want any thing that he does not choose to give me. 7