Scenes and Characters, or, Eighteen Months at BeechcroftYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
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Scenes and Characters, or, Eighteen Months at Beechcroft
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Domestic fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
‘Look back on the past year, and say if you sincerely think you are fit
for confirmation.’
‘As to that,’ said Jane, ‘the best people are always saying that they are
not fit for these things.’
‘None can call themselves worthy of them; but I think the conscience of
some would bear them witness that they had profited so far by their
present means of grace as to give grounds for hoping that they would
derive benefit from further assistance.’
‘Well, I suppose I must be very bad, since you see it,’ said Jane, in a
manner rather more subdued; ‘but I did not think myself worse than other
people.’
‘Is a Christian called, only to be no worse than others?’
‘Oh no! I see, I mean—pray tell me my great fault. Pertness, I
suppose—love of gossip?’
‘There must be a deeper root of evil, of which these are but the visible
effects, Jane.’
‘What do you mean, Robert?’ said Jane, now seeming really impressed.
‘I think, Jane, that the greatest and most dangerous fault of your
character is want of reverence. I think it is want of reverence which
makes you press forward to that for which you confess yourself unfit; it
is want of reverence for holiness which makes you not care to attain it;
want of reverence for the Holy Word that makes you treat it as a mere
lesson; and in smaller matters your pertness is want of reverence for
your superiors; you would not be ready to believe and to say the worst of
others, if you reverenced what good there may be in them. Take care that
your want of reverence is not in reality want of faith.’
Jane’s spirits were weak and subdued. It was a great shock to her to
hear that she was not thought worthy of confirmation; her faults had
never been called by so hard a name; she was in part humbled, and in part
grieved, and what she thought harshness in her cousin; she turned away
her face, and did not speak. He continued, ‘Jane, you must not think me
unkind, your father desired me to talk to you, and, indeed, the time of
recovery from sickness is too precious to be trifled away.’
Jane wept bitterly. Presently he said, ‘It grieves me to have been
obliged to speak harshly to you, you must forgive me if I have talked too
much to you, Jane.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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