Abbeychurch; Or, Self-Control and Self-ConceitYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
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Abbeychurch; Or, Self-Control and Self-Conceit
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
English fiction -- 19th century; Religious fiction
'No, no, you need not, my dear,' said Lady Merton; 'it would be
grievous and sinful indeed to say any such things of baptized
Christians, trained up by the Church. The more you love them, and the
more you hope for them, the better. You will learn how to hope and how
to fear as you grow older.'
'But I have had as much experience as Lizzie,' said Anne; 'I am but a
month younger, and school has been my Sunday delight ever since I can
remember; Mamma, I think the Abbeychurch people must be very bad--you
see they keep shop on Sunday; but then you spoke of our own people. It
must have been my own careless levity that has prevented me from
feeling like Lizzie; but I cannot believe--'
'You have not been the director of the school for the last few years,
as Lizzie has,' said Lady Merton; 'the girls under your own protection
are younger, their trial is hardly begun.'
'I am afraid I shall be disheartened whenever I think of them,' said
Anne; 'I wish you had not said all this--and yet--perhaps--if
disappointment is really to come, I had better be prepared for it.'
'Yes, you may find this conversation useful, Anne,' said Lady Merton;
'if it is only to shew you why I have always tried to teach you
self-control in your love of the school.'
'I know I want self-control when I let myself be so engrossed in it as
to neglect other things,' said Anne; 'and I hope I do manage now not to
shew more favour to the girls I like best, than to the others; but in
what other way do you mean, Mamma?'
'I mean that you must learn not to set your heart upon individual
girls, or plans which seem satisfactory at first,' said Lady Merton;
'disappointment will surely be sent in some form or other, to try your
faith and love; and if you do not learn to fear now that your hopes are
high, you will hardly have spirit enough left to persevere cheerfully
when failure has taught you to mistrust yourself.'
'I know that I must be disappointed if I build upon schemes or
exertions of my own,' said Anne; 'but I should be very conceited--very
presumptuous, I mean--to do so, and I hope I never shall.'
'I cannot think how you, or anybody who thinks like you, can ever
undertake to keep school,' said Helen; 'I never saw how awful a thing
it is, before; not merely hearing lessons, and punishing naughty
children, I am sure I dread it now; I would have nothing to do with it
if Papa did not wish it, and so make it my duty.'
'Nobody would teach the children at all if they thought like you,
Helen,' said Anne; 'and then what would become of them?'
'People who are not fit often do teach them, and is not that worse than
nothing?' said Helen; 'I should think irreverence and false doctrine
worse than ignorance.'
'Certainly,' said Lady Merton; 'and happy it is, that, as in your case,
Helen, the duty of obedience, or some other equally plain, teaches us
when to take responsibility upon ourselves and when to shrink from it.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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