Effie Maurice | Page 7

ought to be glad.'
'I wish I could find out her name,' said Effie, 'perhaps it is on the purse.'
Harry drew the silken purse from his pocket, and after examining it
closely, found engraved on one of the rings the name of 'ROSA
LYNMORE.'
In the evening the children related the events of the day to their mother,
and found her approbation a sufficient reward for all their self-denial.
The conduct of Rosa Lynmore was duly canvassed, too; and, while Mrs
Maurice praised her generosity, she endeavoured to shew her children
the difference between this one impulsive act, and the constant,
self-denying effort which is the result of true benevolence. 'This little
girl,' she said, 'may make but a small sacrifice in parting with this
money, not half so great as it would be to go and seek out the poor
woman and administer to her necessities, but still we have no right to
find fault with what is so well done, and I am sure, my children, that
you do not desire it.'
'No, mother,' said Effie, 'I see now why you told me not to judge Mrs
Wiston by appearances; if I had come away a little sooner, I should
have thought this pretty Rosa Lynmore one of the most selfish little

girls in the world. But now I know she was only thoughtless.'
'Well, I hope, my child, you will always remember not to judge hastily,
and without sufficient reason; yet to be utterly blind to the apparent
faults of those around you, is neither safe nor wise. It is not safe,
because by being too credulous you may easily make yourself the
object of imposition; and not wise, because, by such indiscriminate
charity, you lose a useful lesson.'
'I think, mother,' said Harry, 'that I can see the lesson we can learn from
Rosa Lynmore's faults.'
'I don't see that she has any faults,' said Effie, earnestly. 'I am sure,
Harry, you ought not to make so much of that one careless little word
about the bonnet; it was an ugly bonnet, with so deep a front that I dare
say Rosa didn't see the poor woman's pale face.'
'You call it a careless word, Effie,' said Mrs Maurice, 'you admit that
this little girl was guilty of thoughtlessness, and surely you cannot
consider that no fault--but under certain circumstances this fault is
more pardonable than under others. Now you know nothing of these
circumstances, and so could not, if you wished, be Rosa Lynmore's
judge. But, taking everything as it appears, you may draw your lesson
without assuming a province which does not belong to you. Now,
Harry, we will hear what you have to say.'
'It was not what Rosa said, that I meant, mother,--I was thinking of
what we might learn to-day from all her actions, and I am sure I didn't
want to blame her more than Effie did.'
'I supposed not, my son.'
'But, mother, Harry had reason to blame her more, for he didn't see how
sorry she looked, and how her voice trembled when she said, "She is
dead now."--meaning her mother, I shouldn't think a little girl would
ever do right, without a mother to teach her.'
'Such children deserve pity, my love, and I am glad you have a heart to

pity them, but I suspect that all little girls have wicked thoughts and
feelings that they must strive against, and whether they are blessed with
parents, or have only a Heavenly Father to guide them, they will have
need to watch and pray. But Harry has not given his lesson yet.'
'Father told me a story the other day--an allegory he called it--about
impulse and principle.
'Principle went straight forward, and did whatever was right, and tried
to make her feelings agree with it, but Impulse hurried along in a very
crooked path, stopping here, and then bounding forth at the sight of
some new object--one minute neglecting every duty, and the next,
doing something so great that everybody was surprised, and praised her
beyond all measure. Principle very seldom did wrong, and made so
little show, that she was quite unobserved by the world in general, but
Impulse was as likely to do wrong as right, and according as good or
evil predominated, received her full share of praise or censure.
Principle had an approving conscience, and however she might be
looked upon by the world, she was contented and happy, while poor
Impulse was half of the time tossed about by a light thing called Vanity,
or gnawed by a monster named Remorse. I liked the story very much,
and I couldn't help remembering it to-day, when the little girl dropped
the purse over the side of the sleigh. I thought she was governed by