PERHAPS there are few more pretty or interesting sights than the merry groups of children, enjoying a visit to the seaside, as we wander over the yellow sands and shingly beach, on a bright autumn morning, at all or any of our watering-places. And I think it would have been difficult to find a happier party than the one, of whose sayings and doings "among the rocks" I am now going to tell you.
The eldest of the party was Hilda May, a tall slightly-formed girl of about thirteen years of age, very fond of reading and fancy work, and though of a gentle and affectionate disposition, rather too much given to indulgence in day-dreams.
She might have made a pretty picture for the pencil of an artist, as she sat where the high cliffs throw their shadows over the sandy beach, her thoughtful face shaded by her large sun hat; her hands lay idly in her lap, half hidden among the folds of the soft white shawl she had been knitting only a few moments before; while her eyes, with a dreamy, far-off look in them, were gazing on the wide waters that rippled along the shore or broke in tiny wavelets almost at her feet.
Her younger sisters, Alice and Maude, and her only brother, Albert, a merry, fun-loving boy of nine, were busy building a castle in the sand at a short distance from where Hilda sat; but she did not heed their ringing shouts of laughter, so absorbed had she become in what Albert sometimes called one of her "brown studies.”
A few moments later, and a young lady, whose approach by the steep road that led from the cliff to the sands Hilda had not noticed, was standing by her side, and a pleasant voice said, "Castle building again, dear Hilda?”
Hilda started, colored and caught up her knitting, saying as she rose to give a very loving welcome to the new-corner, "Really, dear Edith, I am quite ashamed of being so idle, but I was having a very pleasant time; sit down here, please, and we can have a nice long talk," and Hilda drew Edith to a rocky seat by her side. Edith Lee, though several years older than Hilda, and an assistant teacher in the day school where Hilda was a pupil, was her great friend and confidante, and a very real affection had grown up between the two girls.
As soon as her companion was comfortably seated, Hilda said, "I quite expect you will think me foolish, Edith, but I am going to tell you all about my castles in the air. Two or three years at most, and if we are still down here, I shall be leaving school, and do you know what I should like to do with my life? I think it would be delightful to nurse poor sick people in some large city hospital. Mamma had such an interesting book, called ‘Memorials of Agnes Jones,' and I have read how, though she was quite a lady, she left her own beautiful home and went to nurse sick people in a workhouse at Liverpool, and she used to speak to them about the Lord Jesus, and they all loved her very much, and were so sorry when she died.
“Perhaps I could not do quite as much as Miss J ones did, but I think I could learn to nurse. Or if I cannot do that, I should like to go abroad and teach little heathen children. You know Miss Mason has a dear friend who is teaching in a school in Syria, and she writes such charming letters and says the Bible seems almost a new book to her, now she is able to study it in a land where the customs of the people throw light on many passages which we who live in England find it hard to understand. She has seen women grinding at the mill, and drawing water from the wells just as they used to do when the Bible was written.
“Would it not be delightful, dear Edith?" asked the young girl eagerly, while a bright flush of pleasure made her cheeks glow and her eyes sparkle.
“You have drawn a bright picture, Hilda," her friend said gently; "but please, dear, do not be vexed with me if I try to show you that dreaming and doing are not quite the same.
“You know, darling, our lives do not come to any of us a year or a week or even a day or an hour at a time. Only a moment at a time is really ours. And I do not see any reason why you should not learn to teach little children and nurse sick people before you leave school.
“Your own dear mother is far from being strong, and sometimes is not able to leave her room for days together. Do not you think the tender, thoughtful nursing of a loving, affectionate daughter would be a great comfort to her?”
“Oh yes, Edith; I am sure it would, and I wonder I never thought of it before. But you see mamma is so often ill, and then Hill, our old nurse, does almost everything for her, and I am only asked to do little things; not like real sick nursing," Hilda said in rather a sad tone of voice.
“‘Faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord' (Matt. 25:23), were the words of the Lord Jesus, you know, dear Hilda, when in the parable of the talent He spoke of the servant who had done his Lord's will; and day by day, I think, the Lord is showing me more clearly how I may do what you call ‘little things' for His glory—just common everyday home or school duties—'ye serve the Lord Christ.' And you and I who, through grace, can say, ‘We love him because he first loved us' (John 4:19), want to be His true-hearted, loyal servants, do we not, darling?”
“Oh yes, Edith, indeed we do, and I thank you very much for showing me some ways in which I may begin at once. But I suppose I really must wait till I am older before I could teach others?”
“I am not so sure of that as you seem to be. You are older than your sisters and Albert, could you not help them in their lessons, and show them in many ways the beauty of the new life seen in unselfish loving words and ways?”
“I have really tried sometimes, Edith; but Alice and Maude did not seem to take much notice of what I told them, and Albert is so fond of play and such a tease, it did not seem of much use trying to teach him anything out of school; but I will try again, dear Edith, I will indeed.”
Edith's reply, spoken in a low, gentle tone, was "Let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not." (Gal. 6:9.)
The younger children who had been too busy building a castle on the sand to notice Edith's arrival, now ran to welcome her—her gentle spirit, her many small kindnesses to them, having quite won their young hearts; and when at their request she went to see and praise the skill and patience of the young builders, Hilda followed, and seemed to take far more real interest in making those around her happy than she had been in the habit of doing.
WHEN languor and disease invade
This trembling house of clay,
'Tis sweet to look beyond our cage,
And long to fly away;
Sweet to look inward, and attend
The whispers of His love;
Sweet to look upward to the place
Where Jesus lives above;
Sweet to look back, and see my name
In life's fair book set down;
Sweet to look forward, and behold
Eternal joys my own;
Sweet to reflect how grace divine
My sins on Jesus laid;
Sweet to remember that His blood
My debt of sins has paid;
Sweet on His faithfulness to rest,
Whose love can never end;
Sweet on His covenant of grace
For all things to depend;
Sweet in the confidence of faith
To trust His firm decrees;
Sweet to lie passive in His hands,
And kno'w no will but His;
Sweet, blessed hope I and I at last
Shall see Him and adore;
Be with His likeness satisfied,
And grieve and sin no more.