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[Illustration: "Give it to the poor woman with the sick baby," whispered
Effie--CHAPTER III]
EFFIE MAURICE
OR
What do I Love Best
A TALE
London
GALL AND INGLIS, 25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE;
_AND EDINBURGH_.
Contents.
CHAPTER
I. THE FIRST COMMANDMENT
II. PLANS PROPOSED
III. NEW YEAR'S DAY
IV. THE MISER
V. THE POOR WIDOW
VI. GENEROSITY AND JUSTICE
VII. THE NEW BOOK
VIII. ANOTHER OF MR. MAURICE'S LESSONS
IX. THE FUNERAL
EFFIE MAURICE
OR
What do I Love Best
CHAPTER I.
'Thou shalt have no other gods before me.'
'Mother,' said little Effie Maurice, on a Sabbath evening in winter, 'Mr
L---- said to-day that we are all in danger of breaking the first
commandment,--do you think we are?'
'Did not Mr L. give you his reasons for thinking so?'
'Yes, mother.'
'Didn't you think he gave good reasons?'
'I suppose he did, but I could not understand all he said, for he
preached to men and women. Perhaps he thought children were in no danger
of breaking it.'
'Well, bring your Bible--'
'O mother, I can say all the commandments, every word. The first is,
"Thou shalt have no other gods before me." I thought this was for the
Burmans and Chinese, and all those who worship idols where the
missionaries go.'
'The poor heathen are not the only idolaters in the world, my child; we
have many of them in our own Christian land.'
'What! _here_, mother? Do people worship idols in this country?'
'Yes, my dear, I fear we do.'
'_We_ do, mother? You don't mean to say that you, and papa, and Deacon
Evarts, and all such good people, worship idols?'
'Do you suppose, Effie, that all the idols or false gods in the world
are made of wood and stone?'
'Oh no, mother, I read in my Sunday-school book of people's worshipping
animals, and plants, and the sun, and moon, and a great many of the
stars.'
'And gold and silver, and men, women and children, did you not?'
'Yes mother.'
'Well, if a man loves gold or silver better than he loves God, does it
make any difference whether he has it made into an image to pray to, or
whether he lays it away in the shape of silver dollars and gold eagles?'
Effie sat for a few moments in thought, and then suddenly looking up,
replied,--'Men don't worship dollars and eagles.'
'Are you sure?' inquired Mrs Maurice.
'I never heard of any one who did.'
'You mean you never heard of one who prayed to them; but there are a
great many people who prefer money to anything else, and who honour a
fine house, fine furniture, and fine dress, more than the meek and quiet
spirit which God approves.'
'And then money is the god of such people, I suppose, and they are the
ones that break the first commandment?'
'Not the only ones, my dear; there are a great many earthly gods, and
they are continually leading us away from the God of heaven. Whatever we
love better than Him, becomes our God, for to that we yield our
heart-worship.'
'I never thought of that before, mother. Yesterday, Jane Wiston told me
that her mother didn't visit Mrs Aimes because she was poor; and when I
told her that you said Mrs Aimes was very pious, she said it did not
make any difference, ladies never visited there. Is Mrs Wiston's god
money?'
'If Mrs Wiston, or any other person, honours wealth more than humble,
unaffected piety, she disobeys the first commandment. But in judging of
others, my dear, always remember that _you cannot see the heart_, and
so, however bad the appearance may be, you have a right to put the best
possible construction on every action.'
'How can I believe that Mrs Wiston's heart is any better than her
actions, mother?'
'In the first place, Jane might have been mistaken, and money may have
nothing to do with her mother's visits; and if she is really correct,
Mrs Wiston may never have considered this properly, and so at least she
deserves charity. I desire you to think a great deal on this subject,
and when you understand it better, we will talk more about it.'
'I think I understand it now, mother. Every thing we love better than
the God of heaven becomes our god, and if we don't bow down to pray to
it, we give it our _heart-worship_, as you said, and that is quite as
wicked. But after all, mother, I don't think there is any danger of my
breaking the first commandment.'
'Do you remember the text Harry repeated at the table this morning? "Let
him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall."'
Effie looked very thoughtful for a moment, and then laying her face in
her mother's lap, she said: 'It is not because I am so good that I think
so, mother; I know I am very wicked, but I am sure that I love my
heavenly Father better than any thing else.'
'I am glad to believe you do,' said Mrs Maurice, drawing the child
nearer to her and kissing her cheek. 'I am persuaded that calmly and
deliberately you would not prefer the world to Him. But perpetual
distrust of self, with constant trust in God, is your only ground of
safety. Those who do not fall, may for a moment slip, and you with all
the rest of us must watch and pray.'
CHAPTER II.
PLANS PROPOSED.
The conversation that Effie Maurice had had with her mother made a very
deep impression on her mind; but still, with all the confidence of one
who has had but few trials, she was grieved that any one should suppose
she could for a moment forget her heavenly Father, or prefer any thing
to His glory and honour. She repeated what her mother had said to her
brother Harry, and he increased her self-confidence by recalling a great
many little sacrifices she had made, which he was quite sure other young
persons would not do.
'And now, Effie,' said the kind-hearted brother, 'we will talk no more
about this, for it makes you very sober. Remember that to-morrow is New
Year's day, and we've got the money to spend that Aunt Norton sent us,
so we must be out early, or all the prettiest things will be sold. I
went by Mr T.'s shop to-night, and it was all lighted up so that I could
see great sticks of candy, almost as big round as my wrist, and jars of
sweetmeats, and there was a rocking horse all saddled and bridled, and
the neatest little whip you ever did see, and _such_ a little rifle--but
I forgot, girls don't mind those things; let me think--I dare say there
were dolls, though I didn't look for them, and then such a pretty little
rocking-chair all cushioned with purple silk, just about big enough for
dolly, and heaps of other nice things--so we must be out early, Effie.'
'Harry--'
'What is it, Effie?'
'I was thinking--'
'What about? Do you want something I haven't mentioned? I dare say it is
there.'
'No, I was thinking--I--I believe I will give my money to the
missionaries.'
'Now, Effie!'
'Then I shan't make a god of it.'
'But Aunt Norton gave you this to buy some pretty things for yourself.'
'I know it, but--'
'And you have given ever so much to the missionaries.'
'Well, Harry, I don't know that I need any new toys.'
'When you see Mr T.'s shop--'
'I don't want to see Mr T.'s shop, that would be going in the way of
temptation.'
Harry was silent a few moments,--he was two years older than Effie, and
although sometimes dazzled by appearances, as in the case of the
attractive toy shop, when he waited to think, his judgment was usually
very good for one so young. At last he looked up with a smile, 'I've
thought it out, Effie, we don't need any new toys; we might buy books
for our little library, but father has promised us two or three more
soon. Then our subscriptions to the Missionary Society, and the Bible
Society, and the Colporteur Society, are paid (to be sure it wouldn't
hurt us to give a little more), but I have just thought what to do with
this money (that is, yours and mine together, you know), which I think
is better than all the rest.'
'What is it?'
'We'll make a New Year's present of it.'
'To whom?'
'Can't you think?'
'To father, or mother?'
'No, I should love to buy them something, but they would rather not.'
'To old Phillis, then?'
'Old Phillis!--it _would_ be a good notion to buy her a gown, wouldn't
it, but I was thinking of John Frink.'
'You didn't mean to give it to _him_, I hope, such an idle,
good-for-nothing boy as he is?'
'He isn't idle and good-for-nothing now, Effie. Since he began to go to
the Sunday school he's as different as can be. Now if we could put our
money together, and help him to go to school this winter (he can't even
read the Bible, Effie,) I think it would do more good than anything else
in the world.'
'Perhaps it would, but I never liked John Frink very well. He will learn
to read the Bible at the Sunday school, and if he did know any more, I'm
not sure he'd make a good use of it.'
'Perhaps he wouldn't, but we could hope, Effie, and pray, and then we
should have the pleasure of knowing that our duty was done, as Mr L.
said the other day. If John Frink should become reformed, only think of
how much good he might do in that wicked family, and among the wicked
boys here in the city, and then when he gets to be a man--'
'But if he isn't reformed, Harry?'
'That is just what Mr S. said to father, the other day, when he asked
him for money to buy tracts for boatmen on the canal--"If they don't
read them," said he.
'Father told him that if we did our duty faithfully, it was all that is
required of us, and we must leave the results in the hands of God. Now I
think just so of John Frink, only that I can't help believing that he
will reform. The Bible says, "In the morning sow thy seed, and in the
evening withhold not thine hand: for thou knowest not whether shall
prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good."
Now, maybe, all the money you have given this year will do good, but
perhaps this to John Frink most of all.'
'I believe you are right, Harry,' said Effie, 'but you will give me
to-night to think about it.'
'Oh yes, to be sure, you could not give the money, with your whole
heart, unless you believed it was to do good, and so you may think just
as long as you please. Now your kiss, Effie, for I must go to bed. We
will be up early, if we _don't_ go to Mr T.'s shop.'
CHAPTER III.
NEW YEAR'S DAY.
Harry Maurice was out 'bright and early,' wishing everybody a 'Happy New
Year,' and making them happy at least for the moment, by the expression
of his ruddy, laughing face. We love to see in children cheerfulness and
contentment. Harry's head was full of plans for doing good, and though
more than half of them were visionary, they seemed realities then, and
so being in good humour with himself, he could not fail of being so with
everybody else. Effie refused to go with him to Mrs Frink's, for she had
her own little gifts to dispense, but she consented to take a walk with
him in the afternoon, and even to call at Mr T.'s shop, for she
concluded there could be no danger in looking at the toys after they had
disposed of their money.
Harry's account of his reception at Mrs Frink's was anything but
satisfactory to Effie, for although he evidently endeavoured to make the
best of it, he said not a single word of John's gratitude. 'I am afraid,
Effie,' he rather mischievously whispered, 'if you had gone with me to
Mrs Frink's you would have thought dirt was her god, for I believe she
loves it better than anything else.'
'O Harry, I am sure it is wicked to make fun--'
'I didn't mean to make fun, Effie, but I'm sure I couldn't help thinking
of the old man in Pilgrim's Progress with the muck rake, refusing the
crown, all the time I was there.'
'Father told me that the man with the muck rake, meant the miser.'
'Well, I suppose it does, but I should think it might mean any body that
is not a Christian, for such people, you know, are rejecting a heavenly
crown for worldly things, which are in reality worth about as much as
the trash the old man is raking together in the picture.' Effie stared
at her brother in complete astonishment, for she could not but wonder
how so small a head could contain such a wondrous amount of knowledge.
Harry endured a stare for a moment with considerable dignity, but he was
naturally a modest lad, and finally added, 'That is pretty nearly the
substance of what Frank Ingham told me about it--I can't remember the
words quite.'
After dinner was over, and Harry and Effie had distributed the remnants
of it among several poor families that lived on an adjoining street,
they set out on their walk. The day was extremely cold, but clear and
still, and altogether as beautiful as any day in the whole year. Effie
in cloak, hood, and muff, seemed the very picture of comfort as she
walked along beside her brother in his equally warm attire, towards Mr
T.'s shop.
'Are you cold? What makes you shiver so?' inquired Harry. Effie did not
answer, but she drew her hand from her muff and pointed with her gloved
finger to a little girl who stood a few yards from her, stamping her
feet, and clapping her red bare hands, and then curling them under her
arms as if to gain a little warmth from thence. 'Poor thing!' said
Harry, 'I should think she would freeze, with nothing but that old rag
of a handkerchief about her shoulders, and that torn muslin bonnet. I
don't wonder you shivered, Effie, it makes me cold to look at her.'
'Let us see if she wants anything,' said Effie.
By this time the attention of the little girl was attracted by the
children's conversation and glances, and she came running towards them,
crying at every step, 'Give me a sixpence, please?'
'We have no money, not even a penny,' said Harry, 'are you very hungry?'
The girl began to tell how long it was since she had had anything to
eat, but she talked so hurriedly, and used so many queer words, that the
two children found it very difficult to understand her.
'She is in want, no doubt,' whispered Harry to his sister, 'but father
would say, it was best to give her food and clothing, not money.'
'I wish I had a sixpence, though,' said Effie.
The wealthy and the gay, the poor and the apparently miserable, went
pouring by in crowds, and some did not hear the beggar-child's plea,
others that heard did not heed it, while many paused from idle curiosity
to gaze at her, and a few flung her a penny, and passed on. Harry and
Effie too went on, frequently looking back and forming little plans for
the good of the child, until their attention was attracted by other
objects of compassion or admiration. Sleighs were continually dashing
past them, drawn by beautiful horses, and filled with the forms of the
young, the gay, and the happy. Old men, bowed down by the weight of
years, hobbled along on the pavements, their thin blue lips distorted by
a smile--a smile of welcome to the year that, perhaps, before its
departure, would see them laid in the grave--and busy tradesmen, with
faces strongly marked by care, or avarice, or anxiety, jostled by them;
ladies too, in gay hats and large rich shawls, or the more
comfort-seeking in cloaks and muffs; and poor women, with their tattered
clothing drawn closely around their shrinking forms, were hurrying
forward apparently with the same intent. Every variety of the human
species seemed crowded on those narrow pavements.
Harry and Effie were only a few rods from Mr T.'s door, when Mr Maurice
overtook them, on his way to some other part of the city. He smiled, as
he always did, on his children, then putting a few pence into Effie's
hand, whispered something about '_temptation money_,' and passed on.
'I shan't be tempted, though,' said the child, holding the coin before
her brother's eyes.
'No, Effie,' replied the boy, 'it isn't wrong to spend this money for
yourself, so you can't be tempted to do wrong with it. This is every
body's day for pleasure, and you ought to enjoy it.'
'I have enjoyed it,' said Effie, looking upon her brother smilingly,
'and I guess somebody else has helped me.'
'I guess so, too,' was the reply, 'I think we have been a great deal
happier than if we had come here in the morning.'
Children though they were, they were demonstrating the words of the Lord
Jesus, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'
Mr T.'s shop was crowded to overflowing with children, a few grown
people intermingling: and every one, from the errand boy, that, with his
hard-earned pittance in his hand, was estimating the amount of good
things it would purchase, to the child of the wealthy merchant,
murmuring because the waxen doll she contemplated adding to her store,
was not in every respect formed to suit her difficult taste, seemed
intent on pleasure.
Harry and Effie were as much pleased as any one, and some, who had seen
with what readiness they had parted with their money in the morning,
would have wondered at their taste for toys; but these children had one
talent which a great many grown people as well as children would do well
to imitate. It was not absolutely necessary that they should _possess_ a
thing in order to _enjoy_ it. They had been taught when very young, to
distinguish beautiful things from those that were merely novel, and
although they liked (as I believe is natural) to call things their own,
they could be pleased with what was calculated to produce pleasure,
without envying its possessor, just as you would look upon a beautiful
sunset, or a fine landscape, without thinking of becoming its owner. But
Effie had a little money to spend, and this occasioned a great deal of
deliberation, for to tell the truth, the little girl was so pleased with
her day's work, that she was still determined on self-denial.
'Take care,' whispered Harry, as he watched her examining some trifles
which he was pretty sure were intended for old Phillis, 'take care,
Effie, that you don't get proud of your generosity--there is more than
one way to make self a god.'
Effie blushed, and calling for some nuts, threw her money on the
counter, saying to her brother, 'We can share them together in the
evening.' The nuts were scarce stowed away in reticule and muff, when a
poorly-clad young woman, very pale and thin, bearing in her arms an
infant still paler, pressed her way through the throng, and gained the
counter. She inquired for cough lozenges. It was a long time before she
could be attended, but she stood very patiently, though seemingly scarce
able to support the weight of her own person. Harry involuntarily
glanced around the shop for a chair, and as he did so, his eye rested on
a bright-faced little girl, close beside his sister, who was choosing
and rejecting a great many pretty toys, and now and then casting a
glance at the well-filled purse in her hand, as if to ascertain after
each purchase the state of her finances.
'Beautiful!' she exclaimed, her eye glistening with pleasure at the
sight of the purple cushioned rocking-chair of which Harry had told his
sister.
'Is that all?' inquired a sad, low voice, and again Harry's eye turned
to the poor woman who was purchasing the lozenges.
'Yes, ma'am, to be sure,' replied the pert shopkeeper, 'and a pretty
large all too--what could you expect for a penny?'
The poor woman made no reply, but the hurried glance she gave her infant
with its accompanying sigh, seemed to say, 'God help my poor baby then!'
Harry involuntarily thrust his hand into his pocket, but he quickly
withdrew it, and glanced at the little girl who was purchasing the
rocking-chair.
'This chair has cost so much,' she said, addressing the shopkeeper,
'that I have only a shilling left.'
'Oh, then,' whispered Effie, emboldened by her brother's looks of
anxiety, 'give it to the poor woman with the sick baby.'
The little girl stared at her somewhat rudely, then turning to the
woman, exclaimed, 'What! _that_ one, with the horrid looking bonnet!'
and, shaking her head, laughingly replied, 'Thank you, Miss, I have a
better use for it.'
Effie was really distressed. The poor woman looked so pale and sad, and
yet so meek and uncomplaining withal, that both brother and sister found
themselves strangely interested.
'O how I wish we could do something for her,' whispered Harry. 'Will
you please exchange my nuts for cough lozenges?' inquired Effie in a
faltering voice, of the shopkeeper.
'Rather too busy, Miss.'
'But it will oblige me very much.'
'Happy to oblige you on any other day, Miss, but we really have no time
for exchanges now.' By this time the poor woman had gained the door, and
Effie, looking round, observed that her brother too was missing.
'He followed the woman with the baby,' said the little girl who had
purchased the rocking-chair; then pursing up her mouth with an
expression as near contempt as such a pretty mouth could wear, she
inquired, 'Is she your _aunt_?'
The angry blood rushed in a flood to Effie's face, but she quickly
subdued it, and with ready thought replied, 'No, my _sister_.'
It was now the turn of the stranger girl to blush, and at the same time
she cast upon her new companion a slight glance of surprise. She then
turned over with her fingers her new toys, glanced at the rocking-chair,
and seemingly dissatisfied with all, again turned to Effie.
'Please give her this,' she said, putting the remaining shilling in her
hand. 'I know what you mean, my mother taught me that, but--she is dead
now.'
'If Harry finds where the poor woman lives,' returned Effie, 'we will go
there together.' The little girl seemed to waver for a moment, then said
hastily, 'No, I must go home--give the money to her,' and hurried away
as fast as the crowd would permit. In a few moments Harry returned. He
had found out where the poor woman lived, but it was a great distance,
and he was too considerate to leave his sister alone. Harry was not one
of those philanthropists who, in doing a great amount of good, become
blind to trifles; for his father had taught him, that duties never
interfere with each other, and he knew that he owed Effie every care and
attention. I have often observed that those children, who are the most
kind and considerate to brothers and sisters, always shew more justice
and generosity to others, than those who think such attentions of but
little importance.
Harry found out but little more of the woman, than that she was poor,
and sick, and friendless. Her baby too, her only comfort, was wasting
away before her eyes, whether of disease or for lack of food, she did
not tell, and there was none to help her.
'We will speak to father about her,' said Harry, as they proceeded
homeward, 'perhaps he can do something for them,--it is a sweet little
baby, Effie, with a skin clear and white, and eyes--oh, you never saw
such eyes! they look so soft and loving, that you would think the poor
thing knew every word you said, and how I pitied it. I could hardly help
crying, Effie.'
'I am glad you followed the poor woman.'
'So am I. But Effie, you don't know how vexed I was with that selfish
little miss, that bought the rocking-chair.'
'Harry!'
'Now, don't go to taking her part, Effie, it will do no good, I can tell
you; she is the most selfish and unfeeling little girl that I ever saw.
Because the woman wore an _old bonnet_, she couldn't help her--only
think of that! how mean!'
'She--O Harry! now I know what mother meant when she talked to me so
much about having charity for people, and told me that we could not
always judge the heart by the actions. I thought as badly of her as you
at first, but I'm sure now she is not unfeeling.'
'Well, if she has any feeling, I should like to see her shew it, that's
all. I tell you, Effie, if anybody ever made a god of self, it is that
little girl we saw to-night. She thought her gratification of more
consequence than that poor baby's life.'
'No, Harry, she is one of the thoughtless ones mother tells us so much
about. If you had seen her when she gave me this money,' putting the
silver piece into her brother's hand, 'you would never call her
unfeeling.'
'Did you tease her for it?'
'No, I didn't ask her again, for I did feel a little vexed--yes, a good
deal so, at first, but, Harry, I don't feel vexed now, I am sorry for
her. There was a tear in her eye, I am pretty sure, though she was
ashamed to have me see it, and her lips quivered, and she looked--oh, so
sad, when she told me her mother was dead; I wish you could have seen
her, Harry.'
'I would rather not see her again, for I can't bear proud people--'
Effie was about interrupting her brother in defence of the little
stranger girl, but at that moment a new object attracted their
attention. It was a fine sleigh drawn by a pair of beautiful gray
horses, that, with proudly arched neck and flowing mane, stepped
daintily, as if perfectly aware of the fact that they were gentlemen's
horses, and carried as fashionable a load as New York afforded. A little
girl leaned quite over the side of the sleigh, and smiled and nodded to
Effie, then waving her handkerchief, to attract still more attention,
dropped something upon the ground. It was the child they had seen at the
toy-shop. Harry flew to pick up the offering, and gave it to his sister.
'Now, what do you think of her?' inquired Effie, as her eye lighted on
the self-same purse she had seen but a little while before; 'I knew she
must be kind-hearted--did you ever see anything so generous? Here is
ever so much money, and all for the poor woman and her sick baby--why
don't you speak, Harry?'
