The Little Girl Who Was Taught by Experience

Excerpt

Little Lucy's mother had died when she was a very small child;—this was a great misfortune to Lucy, for her mother loved her very tenderly, and she would have taken the trouble to tell her what she did wrong, and when she felt wrong, and would have taught her to correct all her faults; she would have taught her that happiness could not dwell in her heart, while she permitted wicked passions to rise up and grow strong there, any more than the beautiful flowers which she planted in her little garden-bed, could thrive and bloom when she allowed all the rank weeds which sprang up with them, to become strong and remain there to choke them: wicked passions like troublesome weeds, grow very fast, and they soon root out all the mild, gentle virtues which are just budding into beauty, if we do not take great pains to check them, and pluck them out of our hearts.

Lucy's mother would have taught her all this, for she saw these evils were already springing up to destroy the lovely blossom of virtue in her young bosom; but she died, and Lucy was left to the care of a most indulgent father; he did not like to correct his little girl, for he only saw her when his busy day was over, and then he wished to gratify all her desires, to fondle over her and play with her and bless her while he thought of her dear mother whom he had lost; he did not see her faults the little time he was with her, the servants did not like to tell him of them, and poor Lucy was growing up a vain, selfish, self-willed, prying little girl, with an obstinate temper which could bear no contradiction.

Lucy had a pretty face and her father and the servants talked to her so much about it, that at last she really thought it was something good in her to be pretty, that she was in some way better because she was handsomer than other little girls; no kind friend ever said to Lucy, "that as she had not made her own face, she could not be more good for its being a pretty one; and that as she could not by any care keep it a moment, if it should please her heavenly Father to take it away, that it was very silly in her to be vain of it, and value it so much; but that she could do a great deal, to make herself good, and amiable, and obliging, and affectionate; and therefore she would be more dear to her friends and more happy in herself every time she even tried to correct a wrong feeling."

It was a sad thing that Lucy had no one to teach her all these things, for she might have learnt them easily then, and she was growing more selfish, and vain, and obstinate, and disobedient as she grew older, she thought a great deal about her dress, fine things to wear, and nice food to eat, and she liked to pry into things which did not concern her to know.

Lucy had an aunt living in Boston, who was a sensible and a very kind-hearted woman. She heard that Lucy would become a disagreeable if not a wicked child, if some friend did not have compassion and try to save her from her growing faults. She kindly sent to Lucy's Father who lived in New York, and persuaded him to let his daughter come and pass one year with her; she had a little girl of her own about the same age as Lucy, who had been watched, and guarded, and taught by this kind mother, and she was now a lovely child, so good—obedient—and amiable, that every one who knew her, saw that she would grow up a blessing to her family and friends; her mother had early taught her, and made her feel from experience, that she was always happier when she governed her temper, corrected a fault, and thought more about making others happy than she did of pleasing herself; she told her that her heavenly Father always looked down with peculiar love upon her, when she resisted a wicked feeling or a selfish action, and sent his best and sweetest reward of peace and joy into her heart, a reward he bestows only on goodness, but which is more delightful than any pleasure which the wicked can purchase....