0,49 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
- Sprache: Englisch
Martha Finley: Collected Works encompasses the prolific contributions of one of the 19th century's most influential authors in children's literature. Renowned for her iconic "Elsie Dinsmore" series, these collected works reflect Finley's intricate storytelling that merges moral didacticism with the burgeoning ideals of womanhood and personal virtue prevalent in her time. Rich in sentimental prose and vivid characterizations, her writing is emblematic of the Victorian literary context, offering readers an immersive glimpse into the ethical frameworks that shaped the lives of young women in the post-Civil War era. Martha Finley, born in 1828 and a product of a deeply religious upbringing, channeled her personal experiences and Christian values into her work. Her strong convictions about morality and education were fueled by a desire to positively influence young readers during a time when societal expectations for women were evolving. Finley's dedication to storytelling was not merely a professional endeavor but a vocational mission to inspire and uplift the next generation, making her a forerunner in children's literature. For readers seeking a profound exploration of 19th-century values and the trials of youth, Martha Finley: Collected Works is an essential addition to any literary collection. It offers both historical insight and timeless themes of resilience and morality, making it a thought-provoking read for scholars and casual readers alike. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A comprehensive Introduction outlines these selected works' unifying features, themes, or stylistic evolutions. - A Historical Context section situates the works in their broader era—social currents, cultural trends, and key events that underpin their creation. - A concise Synopsis (Selection) offers an accessible overview of the included texts, helping readers navigate plotlines and main ideas without revealing critical twists. - A unified Analysis examines recurring motifs and stylistic hallmarks across the collection, tying the stories together while spotlighting the different work's strengths. - Reflection questions inspire deeper contemplation of the author's overarching message, inviting readers to draw connections among different texts and relate them to modern contexts. - Lastly, our hand‐picked Memorable Quotes distill pivotal lines and turning points, serving as touchstones for the collection's central themes.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
Ähnliche
Martha Finley: Collected Works
Table of Contents
Introduction
This single-author omnibus gathers more than thirty-five novels by Martha Finley, presenting in one continuous volume the complete cycles centered on two of her most enduring protagonists together with a set of closely related standalone works. Conceived as a comprehensive reading experience, the collection enables readers to follow the full arc of Finley’s narrative imagination across multi-volume family sagas and compact moral dramas. Bringing these books together preserves the unity of an authorial project devoted to the formation of character in home, church, and community, while offering a convenient resource for general readers, teachers, and researchers interested in American domestic fiction and its popular, faith-inflected expressions.
The contents are novels—long-form narrative prose—organized chiefly as serial installments and companion volumes. They represent the traditions of domestic and family fiction, often written for young readers and households but with concerns that extend to adult audiences. The two principal series unfold as continuous sagas with recurring characters and interlinked households, while the additional titles develop self-contained plots that echo the same moral and social concerns. There are no plays, poems, essays, or letters here; instead, the focus is sustained storytelling, episodic development, and dialogue-rich scenes that move characters from early tests of conscience toward mature responsibility within family and community settings.
Across the whole, unifying themes predominate: the shaping of conscience, the claims of faith, filial and marital duty, stewardship, friendship, and perseverance under trial. Finley’s stylistic hallmarks include an earnest, didactic tone; clear, accessible prose; affectionate attention to domestic spaces; and a reliance on conversation, mentorship, and example as engines of change. Repetition and seriality are not defects but deliberate patterns, allowing readers to watch principles applied across seasons of life and generations. The result is a cohesive moral universe whose significance lies in its sustained portrayal of character formation within family networks, providing a revealing window onto the values and reading tastes that animated much popular nineteenth-century American fiction.
One of the two pillars of this volume traces a young girl’s growth into a guiding matriarch, following her through childhood trials, education, courtship, motherhood, and the responsibilities that accompany influence and loss. The saga broadens into a multigenerational portrait, attending to children, grandchildren, and kin as they navigate changing circumstances at home and abroad. Episodes of travel, hospitality, celebration, and service frame questions of conscience, obedience, and leadership, while the recurring rhythm of family worship and counsel supplies moral continuity. The series’s longevity allows virtues to be tested in varied settings, making its cumulative effect that of a family chronicle devoted to principled living.
The companion family saga presents a different vantage, beginning with a capable young woman whose sense of duty, industry, and compassion anchors her household and enlarging circle of friends. As she moves from youth into marriage and parenthood, the narrative observes the daily economies of home life, education, hospitality, and neighborly care. Sibling bonds, practical problem-solving, and community engagement receive sustained attention, creating a complementary study of character to set alongside the first saga’s arc. Occasional intersections between the two narrative worlds reinforce a shared framework of belief and conduct while highlighting distinctive temperaments and paths toward maturity.
The additional novels broaden the author’s concerns through compact narratives that place protagonists before consequential choices. Many center on promises made and kept, the cost of compromise, the relief of repentance, the pain of concealed wrongs, and the redemptive work of truth brought to light. Settings range from quiet homes to more turbulent locales, but the moral lens remains steady: character is revealed in action, affections must be ordered, and influence carries responsibility. These standalones complement the larger sagas by exploring similar principles at different scales, offering readers swift, focused studies of temptation, resilience, and the far-reaching effects of small decisions.
Taken together, the volume invites continuous reading or selective exploration, whether one wishes to follow multigenerational arcs or pause for single-volume meditations on duty and grace. It offers a coherent map of a narrative world where conscience is formative, affection is disciplined, and home life is the principal stage for growth. For contemporary readers, the collection provides both an immersion in a historically significant mode of American storytelling and a case study in how serial fiction builds communities of characters over time. As a whole, it preserves a complete picture of a writer dedicated to dramatizing moral development through engaging, accessible prose.
Historical Context
Martha Finley (1828–1909) wrote across a transformative half‑century in the United States, from the aftermath of the Civil War to the dawn of the Progressive Era. Born in Chillicothe, Ohio, and later residing for many years in Elkton, Maryland, she published steadily from the late 1860s into the first decade of the twentieth century. Her Mildred tales look westward to the antebellum Midwest and small‑town settlement, while the Elsie saga follows Southern gentry through national change. Both cycles grew within a booming juvenile market served by Sunday‑school publishers and New York houses, reflecting the move from plantation society to an industrial, urban republic and a culture of travel and consumption.
Finley’s oeuvre is inseparable from nineteenth‑century evangelical Protestantism. The Second Great Awakening’s legacy—Bible reading, hymnody, temperance, and Sabbath observance—permeated American homes and Sunday schools from the 1830s through the 1890s. Organizations such as the American Sunday School Union (founded 1824) and the American Tract Society (1825) shaped the market that welcomed narratives of conversion, obedience, and domestic piety. Her titles about promises, pledges, and moral testing reflect the era’s reformist idiom and the didactic tone of Presbyterian discourse. Scripture memorization, catechesis, and home worship anchor both the Dinsmore and Keith families, providing a stable moral grammar amid upheavals in economy, region, and class.
The Civil War (1861–1865) and Reconstruction (1865–1877) supply the social horizon for much of Finley’s intergenerational plotting. Plantations near New Orleans and along the South Atlantic—mirrored in fictional estates visited in volumes set at Viamede and Ion—register the transition from slavery to freedom and the reorganization of labor and kinship after emancipation. Her Southern gentry characters confront loss, migration, and changing law, while paternalistic depictions of formerly enslaved people reflect contemporary white Protestant attitudes and the rise of Lost Cause memory in the 1880s–1890s. Meanwhile, Midwestern paths of settlement and town‑building frame the Mildred narratives, linking domestic faith to America’s westering republic.
Finley’s families travel through a rapidly integrating nation, their itineraries tracing the era’s transportation revolution. The Pennsylvania Railroad and other trunk lines, Pullman sleeping cars (introduced in the 1860s), and passenger steamers opened routes to resorts and cities. Settings on the Hudson River, Nantucket, the Great Lakes, and the St. Lawrence, as well as winter trips to New Orleans and the Carolinas, place her genteel protagonists within the new geography of leisure. The World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago (1893) marks their encounter with modern spectacle and national boosterism. Tourism becomes pedagogy: museums, fairs, forts, and battlefields are classrooms where history, science, and morality are rehearsed.
Gender ideology in the books echoes mid‑century prescriptions often summarized as the Cult of True Womanhood—piety, purity, domesticity, and submissiveness—while registering incremental legal change. From New York’s Married Women’s Property Act (1848) to similar statutes across the states by the 1870s, wives gained limited control over property and earnings. Yet moral authority, not civic power, remains Finley’s principal engine of female agency. Influences from domestic theorists such as Catharine Beecher and editors like Sarah Josepha Hale surface in her depictions of housekeeping, maternal pedagogy, and charitable visiting. Grandmothers, mothers, and daughters transmit virtue across generations, sustaining family sovereignty amid market volatility.
Finley’s success belongs to a golden age of American juvenile series fiction. After Susan Warner’s The Wide, Wide World (1850) legitimated evangelical domestic narrative for girls, the field diversified: Horatio Alger’s Ragged Dick (1867) popularized rags‑to‑respectability for boys; Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women (1868–69) blended realism with moral uplift; Isabella Macdonald Alden (“Pansy”) sustained Sunday‑school didacticism. Finley fused serial continuity with a genealogical sweep, encouraging repeat purchases for home and parish libraries. Her chapters, often ending on moral or plot hooks, suited gift‑book cycles at Christmas and Easter. Illustrations, uniform bindings, and reissues by New York firms helped keep the families in print for decades.
Late‑century technologies and geopolitics subtly reshape Finley’s later volumes. Telephones (patented 1876), electric lighting (commercialized after 1879), typewriters, and improved printing make cameo appearances as conveniences of the respectable household. Steam yachts and fashionable hotels signal Gilded Age consumption. The Spanish–American War (1898) and the ensuing U.S. presence in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines inflect patriotic lessons for younger characters, complementing earlier scenes of Civil War remembrance. The 1893 fair’s “White City,” Chautauqua‑style lectures, and museum visits educate readers into a Protestant national culture that prized order, self‑control, and benevolence, even as labor conflict, immigration, and racial segregation strained that ideal.
Reception and legacy illuminate changing American tastes. Finley’s books were staples in Sunday‑school libraries and middle‑class parlors from the 1870s through the early 1900s, praised for promoting obedience and faith. Twentieth‑century critics often faulted their sentimentality and racial paternalism, yet the cycles’ longevity—reprinted and adapted well into the new century—attests to their durable appeal. The multigenerational architecture anticipates later family sagas and girls’ series that map virtue across time and place. Read against the record—Ohio birth in 1828, Chicago’s 1893 fair, Maryland death in 1909—Finley’s oeuvre offers a continuous moral panorama of the United States in transition.
Synopsis (Selection)
Elsie Dinsmore
Introduces Elsie, a devout and sensitive Southern girl whose steadfast faith guides her through fraught family relationships and early trials.
Elsie's Holidays at Roselands
Continues Elsie’s childhood at her relatives’ plantation, where holiday gatherings bring both joys and tests of character.
Elsie's Girlhood
Follows Elsie through adolescence as she navigates growing social pressures, deepening family bonds, and moral choices.
Elsie's Womanhood
Charts Elsie’s entrance into adult society, courtship, and the responsibilities that come with establishing her own household.
Elsie's Motherhood
Depicts Elsie’s early years as a mother, balancing domestic duties, moral training, and family harmony.
Elsie's Children
Focuses on the next generation, as Elsie and her husband nurture their children through illnesses, lessons, and moral development.
Elsie's Widowhood
Portrays Elsie’s resilience and faith as she adjusts to loss and continues guiding her family.
Grandmother Elsie
Elsie embraces her role as matriarch, overseeing an expanding family and fostering unity across generations.
Elsie's New Relations
New marriages and connections widen the family circle, bringing fresh responsibilities, friendships, and challenges.
Elsie at Nantucket
A seaside sojourn offers restorative leisure, natural history, and moral reflection amid coastal adventures.
The Two Elsies
Explores the bond between Elsie and her younger namesake, highlighting intergenerational influence and shared ideals.
Elsie's Kith and Kin
Delves into extended family ties, tracing kinship networks and the obligations of loyalty and charity.
Elsie's Friends at Woodburn
At the family estate, community life and hospitality shape friendships, education, and daily good works.
Christmas with Grandma Elsie
A holiday gathering centers on home, charity, and storytelling that reinforces faith and family affection.
Elsie and the Raymonds
Intertwines the Travilla-Dinsmore clan with the Raymond family through shared travels, friendships, and moral instruction.
Elsie Yachting with the Raymonds
A family yachting voyage blends coastal sightseeing with lessons in prudence, courage, and courtesy.
Elsie's Vacation
A restful journey offers change of scene, gentle adventures, and opportunities for teaching by example.
Elsie at Viamede
Visits to the Southern family estate reveal regional history, plantation life, and domestic stewardship.
Elsie at Ion
Back at the home estate, Elsie manages households, welcomes guests, and guides young relatives.
Elsie at the World's Fair
A visit to the World’s Fair exposes the family to modern inventions, cultures, and educational exhibits.
Elsie's Journey on Inland Waters
River and lake travel becomes a rolling classroom in geography, history, and character under testing circumstances.
Elsie at Home
Home-centered episodes emphasize daily duties, neighborhood ties, and the quiet heroism of domestic life.
Elsie on the Hudson
A scenic tour along the Hudson River blends American history, natural beauty, and family fellowship.
Elsie in the South
Southern travels revisit familiar places and people, reflecting on heritage, reconciliation, and hospitality.
Elsie's Young Folks in Peace and War
The younger generation confronts peacetime routines and the strains of national conflict while holding to principle.
Elsie's Winter Trip
A winter journey to milder climates promotes health, study, and family cohesion.
Elsie and Her Loved Ones
Family milestones and reunions showcase enduring bonds and the support system of an extensive kin network.
Elsie and Her Namesakes
Elsie meets and mentors younger girls who bear her name, examining legacy and the transmission of values.
Mildred Keith
Introduces Mildred and her family as they settle into small-town life, facing social tests with earnest piety and perseverance.
Mildred at Roselands
Mildred visits the Dinsmore circle, strengthening cross-family friendships and moral kinship.
Mildred and Elsie
The deepening friendship between Mildred and Elsie frames parallel paths of growth, duty, and faith.
Mildred's Married Life, and a Winter with Elsie Dinsmore
Early married years bring new responsibilities and a formative season spent under Elsie’s hospitable guidance.
Mildred at Home: With Something About Her Relatives and Friends
Domestic management and extended-family concerns test Mildred’s resourcefulness and patience.
Mildred’s Boys and Girls
Parenting challenges and educational choices shape the next generation’s character and prospects.
Mildred's New Daughter
Welcoming a new child reshapes family rhythms and underscores themes of love, sacrifice, and gratitude.
Edith’s Sacrifice
A young woman’s costly choice for duty and conscience leads to personal growth and reconciliation.
Ella Clinton, or By Their Fruits Ye Shall Know Them
Character is revealed through action as Ella’s choices yield visible consequences in family and community.
Signing the Contract and What it Cost
A hasty agreement brings unforeseen burdens, illustrating prudence, accountability, and steadfastness under trial.
The Thorn in the Nest
A hidden wrong or difficult relationship disturbs domestic peace until truth and forgiveness can heal it.
The Tragedy of Wild River Valley
Calamity strikes a rural community, testing courage, compassion, and the power of redemption.
MARTHA FINLEY Ultimate Collection – 35+ Novels in One Volume (Including The Complete Elsie Dinsmore Series & Mildred Keith Collection)
Elsie Dinsmore Series
Elsie Dinsmore
Table of Contents
Chapter First
"I never saw an eye so bright, And yet so soft as hers; It sometimes swam in liquid light, And sometimes swam in tears; It seemed a beauty set apart For softness and for sighs." —MRS. WELBY.
The school-room at Roselands was a very pleasant apartment; the ceiling, it is true, was somewhat lower than in the more modern portion of the building, for the wing in which it was situated dated back to the old-fashioned days prior to the Revolution, while the larger part of the mansion had not stood more than twenty or thirty years; but the effect was relieved by windows reaching from floor to ceiling, and opening on a veranda which overlooked a lovely flower-garden, beyond which were fields and woods and hills. The view from the veranda was very beautiful, and the room itself looked most inviting, with its neat matting, its windows draped with snow-white muslin, its comfortable chairs, and pretty rosewood desks.
Within this pleasant apartment sat Miss Day with her pupils, six in number. She was giving a lesson to Enna, the youngest, the spoiled darling of the family, the pet and plaything of both father and mother. It was always a trying task to both teacher and scholar, for Enna was very wilful, and her teacher's patience by no means inexhaustible.
"There!" exclaimed Miss Day, shutting the book and giving it an impatient toss on to the desk; "go, for I might as well try to teach old Bruno. I presume he would learn about as fast."
And Enna walked away with a pout on her pretty face, muttering that she would "tell mamma."
"Young ladies and gentlemen," said Miss Day, looking at her watch, "I shall leave you to your studies for an hour; at the end of which time I shall return to hear your recitations, when those who have attended properly to their duties will be permitted to ride out with me to visit the fair."
"Oh! that will be jolly!" exclaimed Arthur, a bright-eyed, mischief-loving boy of ten.
"Hush!" said Miss Day sternly; "let me hear no more such exclamations; and remember that you will not go unless your lessons are thoroughly learned. Louise and Lora," addressing two young girls of the respective ages of twelve and fourteen, "that French exercise must be perfect, and your English lessons as well. Elsie," to a little girl of eight, sitting alone at a desk near one of the windows, and bending over a slate with an appearance of great industry, "every figure of that example must be correct, your geography lesson recited perfectly, and a page in your copybook written without a blot."
"Yes, ma'am," said the child meekly, raising a pair of large soft eyes of the darkest hazel for an instant to her teacher's face, and then dropping them again upon her slate.
"And see that none of you leave the room until I return," continued the governess. "Walter, if you miss one word of that spelling, you will have to stay at home and learn it over."
"Unless mamma interferes, as she will be pretty sure to do," muttered Arthur, as the door closed on Miss Day, and her retreating footsteps were heard passing down the hall.
For about ten minutes after her departure, all was quiet in the school-room, each seemingly completely absorbed in study. But at the end of that time Arthur sprang up, and flinging his book across the room, exclaimed, "There! I know my lesson; and if I didn't, I shouldn't study another bit for old Day, or Night either."
"Do be quiet, Arthur," said his sister Louise; "I can't study in such a racket."
Arthur stole on tiptoe across the room, and coming up behind Elsie, tickled the back of her neck with a feather.
She started, saying in a pleading tone, "Please, Arthur, don't."
"It pleases me to do," he said, repeating the experiment.
Elsie changed her position, saying in the same gentle, persuasive tone, "O Arthur! please let me alone, or I never shall be able to do this example."
"What! all this time on one example! you ought to be ashamed. Why, I could have done it half a dozen times over."
"I have been over and over it," replied the little girl in a tone of despondency, "and still there are two figures that will not come right."
"How do you know they are not right, little puss?" shaking her curls as he spoke.
"Oh! please, Arthur, don't pull my hair. I have the answer—that's the way I know."
"Well, then, why don't you just set the figures down. I would."
"Oh! no, indeed; that would not be honest."
"Pooh! nonsense! nobody would be the wiser, nor the poorer."
"No, but it would be just like telling a lie. But I can never get it right while you are bothering me so," said Elsie, laying her slate aside in despair. Then taking out her geography, she began studying most diligently. But Arthur continued his persecutions—tickling her, pulling her hair, twitching the book out of her hand, and talking almost incessantly, making remarks, and asking questions; till at last Elsie said, as if just ready to cry, "Indeed, Arthur, if you don't let me alone, I shall never be able to get my lessons."
"Go away then; take your book out on the veranda, and learn your lessons there," said Louise. "I'll call you when Miss Day comes."
"Oh! no, Louise, I cannot do that, because it would be disobedience," replied Elsie, taking out her writing materials.
Arthur stood over her criticising every letter she made, and finally jogged her elbow in such a way as to cause her to drop all the ink in her pen upon the paper, making quite a large blot.
"Oh!" cried the little girl, bursting into tears, "now I shall lose my ride, for Miss Day will not let me go; and I was so anxious to see all those beautiful flowers."
Arthur, who was really not very vicious, felt some compunction when he saw the mischief he had done. "Never mind, Elsie," said he. "I can fix it yet. Just let me tear out this page, and you can begin again on the next, and I'll not bother you. I'll make these two figures come right too," he added, taking up her slate.
"Thank you, Arthur," said the little girl, smiling through her tears; "you are very kind, but it would not be honest to do either, and I had rather stay at home than be deceitful."
"Very well, miss," said he, tossing his head, and walking away, "since you won't let me help you, it is all your own fault if you have to stay at home."
"Elsie," exclaimed Louise, "I have no patience with you! such ridiculous scruples as you are always raising. I shall not pity you one bit, if you are obliged to stay at home."
Elsie made no reply, but, brushing away a tear, bent over her writing, taking great pains with every letter, though saying sadly to herself all the time, "It's of no use, for that great ugly blot will spoil it all."
She finished her page, and, excepting the unfortunate blot, it all looked very neat indeed, showing plainly that it had been written with great care. She then took up her slate and patiently went over and over every figure of the troublesome example, trying to discover where her mistake had been. But much time had been lost through Arthur's teasing, and her mind was so disturbed by the accident to her writing that she tried in vain to fix it upon the business in hand; and before the two troublesome figures had been made right, the hour was past and Miss Day returned.
"Oh!" thought Elsie, "if she will only hear the others first, I may be able to get this and the geography ready yet; and perhaps, if Arthur will be generous enough to tell her about the blot, she may excuse me for it."
But it was a vain hope. Miss Day had no sooner seated herself at her desk, than she called, "Elsie, come here and say that lesson; and bring your copybook and slate, that I may examine your work."
Elsie tremblingly obeyed.
The lesson, though a difficult one, was very tolerably recited; for Elsie, knowing Arthur's propensity for teasing, had studied it in her own room before school hours. But Miss Day handed back the book with a frown, saying, "I told you the recitation must be perfect, and it was not."
She was always more severe with Elsie than with any other of her pupils. The reason the reader will probably be able to divine ere long.
"There are two incorrect figures in this example," said she, laying down the slate, after glancing over its contents. Then taking up the copy-book, she exclaimed, "Careless, disobedient child! did I not caution you to be careful not to blot your book! There will be no ride for you this morning. You have failed in everything. Go to your seat. Make that example right, and do the next; learn your geography lesson over, and write another page in your copy-book; and, mind, if there is a blot on it, you will get no dinner."
Weeping and sobbing, Elsie took up her books and obeyed.
During this scene Arthur stood at his desk pretending to study, but glancing every now and then at Elsie, with a conscience evidently ill at ease. She cast an imploring glance at him, as she returned to her seat; but he turned away his head, muttering, "It's all her own fault, for she wouldn't let me help her."
As he looked up again, he caught his sister Lora's eyes fixed on him with an expression of scorn and contempt. He colored violently, and dropped his eyes upon his book.
"Miss Day," said Lora, indignantly, "I see Arthur does not mean to speak, and as I cannot bear to see such injustice, I must tell you that it is all his fault that Elsie has failed in her lessons; for she tried her very best, but he teased her incessantly, and also jogged her elbow and made her spill the ink on her book; and to her credit she was too honorable to tear out the leaf from her copy-book, or to let him make her example right; both which he very generously proposed doing after causing all the mischief."
"Is this so, Arthur?" asked Miss Day, angrily.
The boy hung his head, but made no reply.
"Very well, then," said Miss Day, "you too must stay at home."
"Surely," said Lora, in surprise, "you will not keep Elsie, since I have shown you that she was not to blame."
"Miss Lora," replied her teacher, haughtily, "I wish you to understand that I am not to be dictated to by my pupils."
Lora bit her lip, but said nothing, and Miss Day went on hearing the lessons without further remark.
In the meantime the little Elsie sat at her desk, striving to conquer the feelings of anger and indignation that were swelling in her breast; for Elsie, though she possessed much of "the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit," was not yet perfect, and often had a fierce contest with her naturally quick temper. Yet it was seldom, very seldom that word or tone or look betrayed the existence of such feelings; and it was a common remark in the family that Elsie had no spirit.
The recitations were scarcely finished when the door opened and a lady entered dressed for a ride.
"Not through yet, Miss Day?" she asked.
"Yes, madam, we are just done," replied the teacher, closing the French grammar and handing it to Louise.
"Well, I hope your pupils have all done their duty this morning, and are ready to accompany us to the fair," said Mrs. Dinsmore. "But what is the matter with Elsie?"
"She has failed in all her exercises, and therefore has been told that she must remain at home," replied Miss Day with heightened color and in a tone of anger; "and as Miss Lora tells me that Master Arthur was partly the cause, I have forbidden him also to accompany us."
"Excuse me, Miss Day, for correcting you," said Lora, a little indignantly; "but I did not say partly, for I am sure it was entirely his fault."
"Hush, hush, Lora," said her mother, a little impatiently; "how can you be sure of any such thing; Miss Day, I must beg of you to excuse Arthur this once, for I have quite set my heart on taking him along. He is fond of mischief, I know, but he is only a child, and you must not be too hard upon him."
"Very well, madam," replied the governess stiffly, "you have of course the best right to control your own children."
Mrs. Dinsmore turned to leave the room.
"Mamma," asked Lora, "is not Elsie to be allowed to go too?"
"Elsie is not my child, and I have nothing to say about it. Miss Day, who knows all the circumstances, is much better able than I to judge whether or no she is deserving of punishment," replied Mrs. Dinsmore, sailing out of the room.
"You will let her go, Miss Day?" said Lora, inquiringly.
"Miss Lora," replied Miss Day, angrily, "I have already told you I was not to be dictated to. I have said Elsie must remain at home, and I shall not break my word."
"Such injustice!" muttered Lora, turning away.
"Lora," said Louise, impatiently, "why need you concern yourself with Elsie's affairs? for my part, I have no pity for her, so full as she is of nonsensical scruples."
Miss Day crossed the room to where Elsie was sitting leaning her head upon the desk, struggling hard to keep down the feelings of anger and indignation aroused by the unjust treatment she had received.
"Did I not order you to learn that lesson over?" said the governess, "and why are you sitting here idling?"
Elsie dared not speak lest her anger should show itself in words; so merely raised her head, and hastily brushing away her tears, opened the book. But Miss Day, who was irritated by Mrs. Dinsmore's interference, and also by the consciousness that she was acting unjustly, seemed determined to vent her displeasure upon her innocent victim.
"Why do you not speak?" she exclaimed, seizing Elsie by the arm and shaking her violently. "Answer me this instant. Why have you been idling all the morning?"
"I have not," replied the child hastily, stung to the quick by her unjust violence. "I have tried hard to do my duty, and you are punishing me when I don't deserve it at all."
"How dare you? there! take that for your impertinence," said Miss Day, giving her a box on the ear.
Elsie was about to make a still more angry reply; but she restrained herself, and turning to her book, tried to study, though the hot, blinding tears came so thick and fast that she could not see a letter.
"De carriage am waiting, ladies, an' missus in a hurry," said a servant, opening the door; and Miss Day hastily quitted the room, followed by Louise and Lora; and Elsie was left alone.
She laid down the geography, and opening her desk, took out a small pocket Bible, which bore the marks of frequent use. She turned over the leaves as though seeking for some particular passage; at length she found it, and wiping away the blinding tears, she read these words in a low, murmuring tone:
"For this is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God endure grief, suffering wrongfully. For what glory is it if, when ye be buffeted for your faults, ye shall take it patiently? but if when ye do well, and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with God. For even hereunto were ye called; because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example that ye should follow His steps."
"Oh! I have not done it. I did not take it patiently. I am afraid I am not following in His steps," she cried, bursting into an agony of tears and sobs.
"My dear little girl, what is the matter?" asked a kind voice, and a soft hand was gently laid on her shoulder.
The child looked up hastily. "O Miss Allison!" she said, "is it you? I thought I was quite alone."
"And so you were, my dear, until this moment" replied the lady, drawing up a chair, and sitting down close beside her. "I was on the veranda, and hearing sobs, came in to see if I could be of any assistance. You look very much distressed; will you not tell me the cause of your sorrow?"
Elsie answered only by a fresh burst of tears.
"They have all gone to the fair and left you at home alone; perhaps to learn a lesson you have failed in reciting?" said the lady, inquiringly.
"Yes, ma'am," said the child; "but that is not the worst;" and her tears fell faster, as she laid the little Bible on the desk, and pointed with her finger to the words she had been reading. "Oh!" she sobbed, "I—I did not do it; I did not bear it patiently. I was treated unjustly, and punished when I was not to blame, and I grew angry. Oh! I'm afraid I shall never be like Jesus! never, never."
The child's distress seemed very great, and Miss Allison was extremely surprised. She was a visitor who had been in the house only a few days, and, herself a devoted Christian, had been greatly pained by the utter disregard of the family in which she was sojourning for the teachings of God's word. Rose Allison was from the North, and Mr. Dinsmore, the proprietor of Roselands, was an old friend of her father, to whom he had been paying a visit, and finding Rose in delicate health, he had prevailed upon her parents to allow her to spend the winter months with his family in the more congenial clime of their Southern home.
"My poor child," she said, passing her arm around the little one's waist, "my poor little Elsie! that is your name, is it not?"
"Yes, ma'am; Elsie Dinsmore," replied the little girl.
"Well, Elsie, let me read you another verse from this blessed book. Here it is: 'The blood of Jesus Christ his Son, cleanseth us from all sin.' And here again: 'If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father Jesus Christ the righteous.' Dear Elsie, 'if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins.'"
"Yes, ma'am," said the child; "I have asked Him to forgive me, and I know He has; but I am so sorry, oh! so sorry that I have grieved and displeased Him; for, O Miss Allison! I do love Jesus, and want to be like Him always."
"Yes, dear child, we must grieve for our sins when we remember that they helped to slay the Lord. But I am very, very glad to learn that you love Jesus, and are striving to do His will. I love Him too, and we will love one another; for you know He says, 'By this shall men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another,'" said Miss Allison, stroking the little girl's hair, and kissing her tenderly.
"Will you love me? Oh! how glad I am," exclaimed the child joyfully; "I have nobody to love me but poor old mammy."
"And who is mammy?" asked the lady.
"My dear old nurse, who has always taken care of me. Have you not seen her, ma'am?"
"Perhaps I may. I have seen a number of nice old colored women about here since I came. But, Elsie, will you tell me who taught you about Jesus, and how long you have loved Him?"
"Ever since I can remember," replied the little girl earnestly; "and it was dear old mammy who first told me how He suffered and died on the cross for us." Her eyes filled with tears and her voice quivered with emotion. "She used to talk to me about it just as soon as I could understand anything," she continued; "and then she would tell me that my own dear mamma loved Jesus, and had gone to be with Him in heaven; and how, when she was dying, she put me—a little, wee baby, I was then not quite a week old—into her arms, and said, 'Mammy, take my dear little baby and love her, and take care of her just as you did of me; and O mammy! be sure that you teach her to love God.' Would you like to see my mamma, Miss Allison?"
And as she spoke she drew from her bosom a miniature set in gold and diamonds, which she wore suspended by a gold chain around her neck, and put it in Rose's hand.
It was the likeness of a young and blooming girl, not more than fifteen or sixteen years of age. She was very beautiful, with a sweet, gentle, winning countenance, the same soft hazel eyes and golden brown curls that the little Elsie possessed; the same regular features, pure complexion, and sweet smile.
Miss Allison gazed at it a moment in silent admiration; then turning from it to the child with a puzzled expression, she said, "But, Elsie, I do not understand; are you not sister to Enna and the rest, and is not Mrs. Dinsmore own mother to them all?"
"Yes, ma'am, to all of them, but not to me nor my papa. Their brother Horace is my papa, and so they are all my aunts and uncles."
"Indeed," said the lady, musingly; "I thought you looked very unlike the rest. And your papa is away, is he not, Elsie?"
"Yes, ma'am; he is in Europe. He has been away almost ever since I was born, and I have never seen him. Oh! how I do wish he would come home! how I long to see him! Do you think he would love me, Miss Allison? Do you think he would take me on his knee and pet me, as grandpa does Enna?"
"I should think he would, dear; I don't know how he could help loving his own dear little girl," said the lady, again kissing the little rosy cheek. "But now," she added, rising, "I must go away and let you learn your lesson."
Then taking up the little Bible, and turning over the leaves, she asked, "Would you like to come to my room sometimes in the mornings and evenings, and read this book with me, Elsie?"
"Oh! yes, ma'am, dearly!" exclaimed the child, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.
"Come then this evening, if you like; and now goodbye for the present." And pressing another kiss on the child's cheek, she left her and went back to her own room, where she found her friend Adelaide Dinsmore, a young lady near her own age, and the eldest daughter of the family. Adelaide was seated on a sofa, busily employed with some fancy work.
"You see I am making myself quite at home," she said, looking up as Rose entered. "I cannot imagine where you have been all this time."
"Can you not? In the school-room, talking with little Elsie. Do you know, Adelaide, I thought she was your sister; but she tells me not."
"No, she is Horace's child. I supposed you knew; but if you do not, I may just as well tell you the whole story. Horace was a very wild boy, petted and spoiled, and always used to having his own way; and when he was about seventeen—quite a forward youth he was too—he must needs go to New Orleans to spend some months with a schoolmate; and there he met, and fell desperately in love with, a very beautiful girl a year or two younger than himself, an orphan and very wealthy. Fearing that objections would be made on the score of their youth, etc., etc., he persuaded her to consent to a private marriage, and they had been man and wife for some months before either her friends or his suspected it.
"Well, when it came at last to papa's ears, he was very angry, both on account of their extreme youth, and because, as Elsie Grayson's father had made all his money by trade, he did not consider her quite my brother's equal; so he called Horace home and sent him North to college. Then he studied law, and since that he has been traveling in foreign lands. But to return to his wife; it seems that her guardian was quite as much opposed to the match as papa; and the poor girl was made to believe that she should never see her husband again. All their letters were intercepted, and finally she was told that he was dead; so, as Aunt Chloe says, 'she grew thin and pale, and weak and melancholy,' and while the little Elsie was yet not quite a week old, she died. We never saw her; she died in her guardian's house, and there the little Elsie stayed in charge of Aunt Chloe, who was an old servant in the family, and had nursed her mother before her, and of the housekeeper, Mrs. Murray, a pious old Scotch woman, until about four years ago, when her guardian's death broke up the family, and then they came to us. Horace never comes home, and does not seem to care for his child, for he never mentions her in his letters, except when it is necessary in the way of business."
"She is a dear little thing," said Rose. "I am sure he could not help loving her, if he could only see her."
"Oh! yes, she is well enough, and I often feel sorry for the lonely little thing, but the truth is, I believe we are a little jealous of her; she is so extremely beautiful, and heiress to such an immense fortune. Mamma often frets, and says that one of these days she will quite eclipse her younger daughters."
"But then," said Rose, "she is almost as near; her own grand-daughter."
"No, she is not so very near," replied Adelaide, "for Horace is not mamma's son. He was seven or eight years old when she married papa, and I think she was never particularly fond of him."
"Ah! yes," thought Rose, "that explains it. Poor little Elsie! No wonder you pine for your father's love, and grieve over the loss of the mother you never knew!"
"She is an odd child," said Adelaide; "I don't understand her; she is so meek and patient she will fairly let you trample upon her. It provokes papa. He says she is no Dinsmore, or she would know how to stand up for her own rights; and yet she has a temper, I know, for once in a great while it shows itself for an instant—only an instant, though, and at very long intervals—and then she grieves over it for days, as though she had committed some great crime; while the rest of us think nothing of getting angry half a dozen times in a day. And then she is forever poring over that little Bible of hers; what she sees so attractive in it I'm sure I cannot tell, for I must say I find it the dullest of dull books."
"Do you," said Rose; "how strange! I had rather give up all other books than that one. 'Thy testimonies have I taken as a heritage forever, for they are the rejoicing of my heart,' 'How sweet are thy words unto my taste! Yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth.'"
"Do you really love it so, Rose?" asked Adelaide, lifting her eyes to her friend's face with an expression of astonishment; "do tell me why?"
"For its exceeding great and precious promises Adelaide; for its holy teachings; for its offers of peace and pardon and eternal life. I am a sinner, Adelaide, lost, ruined, helpless, hopeless, and the Bible brings me the glad news of salvation offered as a free, unmerited gift; it tells me that Jesus died to save sinners—just such sinners as I. I find that I have a heart deceitful above all things and desperately wicked, and the blessed Bible tells me how that heart can be renewed, and where I can obtain that holiness without which no man shall see the Lord. I find myself utterly unable to keep God's holy law, and it tells me of One who has kept it for me. I find that I deserve the wrath and curse of a justly offended God, and it tells me of Him who was made a curse for me. I find that all my righteousnesses are as filthy rags, and it offers me the beautiful, spotless robe of Christ's perfect righteousness. Yes, it tells me that God can be just, and the justifier of him who believes in Jesus."
Rose spoke these words with deep emotion, then suddenly clasping her hands and raising her eyes, she exclaimed, "'Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable gift!'"
For a moment there was silence. Then Adelaide spoke:
"Rose," said she, "you talk as if you were a great sinner; but I don't believe it; it is only your humility that makes you think so. Why, what have you ever done? Had you been a thief, a murderer, or guilty of any other great crime, I could see the propriety of your using such language with regard to yourself; but for a refined, intelligent, amiable young lady, excuse me for saying it, dear Rose, but such language seems to me simply absurd."
"Man looketh upon the outward appearance, but the Lord pondereth the heart," said Rose, gently. "No, dear Adelaide, you are mistaken; for I can truly say 'mine iniquities have gone over my head as a cloud, and my transgressions as a thick cloud.' Every duty has been stained with sin, every motive impure, every thought unholy. From my earliest existence, God has required the undivided love of my whole heart, soul, strength, and mind; and so far from yielding it, I live at enmity with Him, and rebellion against His government, until within the last two years. For seventeen years He has showered blessings upon me, giving me life, health, strength, friends, and all that was necessary for happiness; and for fifteen of those years I returned Him nothing but ingratitude and rebellion. For fifteen years I rejected His offers of pardon and reconciliation, turned my back upon the Saviour of sinners, and resisted all the strivings of God's Holy Spirit, and will you say that I am not a great sinner?" Her voice quivered, and her eyes were full of tears.
"Dear Rose," said Adelaide, putting her arm around her friend and kissing her cheek affectionately, "don't think of these things; religion is too gloomy for one so young as you."
"Gloomy, dear Adelaide!" replied Rose, returning the embrace; "I never knew what true happiness was until I found Jesus. My sins often make me sad, but religion, never.
"'Oft I walk beneath the cloud, Dark as midnight's gloomy shroud; But when fear is at the height, Jesus comes, and all is light.'"
Chapter Second
"Thy injuries would teach patience to blaspheme, Yet still thou art a dove." —BEAUMONT'S Double Marriage.
"When forced to part from those we love, Though sure to meet to-morrow; We yet a kind of anguish prove And feel a touch of sorrow. But oh! what words can paint the fears When from these friends we sever, Perhaps to part for months—for years— Perhaps to part forever." —ANON.
When Miss Allison had gone, and Elsie found herself once more quite alone, she rose from her chair, and kneeling down with the open Bible before her, she poured out her story of sins and sorrows, in simple, child-like words, into the ears of the dear Saviour whom she loved so well; confessing that when she had done well and suffered for it, she had not taken it patiently, and earnestly pleading that she might be made like unto the meek and lowly Jesus. Low sobs burst from her burdened heart, and the tears of penitence fell upon the pages of the holy book. But when she rose from her knees, her load of sin and sorrow was all gone, and her heart made light and happy with a sweet sense of peace and pardon. Once again, as often before, the little Elsie was made to experience the blessedness of "the man whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered."
She now set to work diligently at her studies, and ere the party returned was quite prepared to meet Miss Day, having attended faithfully to all she had required of her. The lesson was recited without the smallest mistake, every figure of the examples worked out correctly, and the page of the copy-book neatly and carefully written.
Miss Day had been in a very captious mood all day, and seemed really provoked that Elsie had not given her the smallest excuse for fault-finding. Handing the book back to her, she said, very coldly, "I see you can do your duties well enough when you choose."
Elsie felt keenly the injustice of the remark, and longed to say that she had tried quite as earnestly in the morning; but she resolutely crushed down the indignant feeling, and calling to mind the rash words that had cost her so many repentant tears, she replied meekly, "I am sorry I did not succeed better this morning, Miss Day, though I did really try; and I am still more sorry for the saucy answer I gave you; and I ask your pardon for it."
"You ought to be sorry," replied Miss Day, severely, "and I hope you are; for it was a very impertinent speech indeed, and deserving of a much more severe punishment than you received. Now go, and never let me hear anything of the kind from you again."
Poor little Elsie's eyes filled with tears at these ungracious words, accompanied by a still more ungracious manner; but she turned away without a word, and placing her books and slate carefully in her desk, left the room.
Rose Allison was sitting alone in her room that evening, thinking of her far-distant home, when hearing a gentle rap at her door, she rose and opened it to find Elsie standing there with her little Bible in her hand.
"Come in, darling," she said, stooping to give the little one a kiss; "I am very glad to see you."
"I may stay with you for half an hour, Miss Allison, if you like," said the child, seating herself on the low ottoman pointed out by Rose, "and then mammy is coming to put me to bed."
"It will be a very pleasant half-hour to both of us, I hope," replied Rose, opening her Bible.
They read a chapter together—Rose now and then pausing to make a few explanations—and then kneeling down, she offered up a prayer for the teachings of the Spirit, and for God's blessing on themselves and all their dear ones.
"Dear little Elsie," she said, folding the child in her arms, when they had risen from their knees, "how I love you already, and how very glad I am to find that there is one in this house beside myself who loves Jesus, and loves to study His word, and to call upon His name."
"Yes, dear Miss Allison; and there is more than one, for mammy loves Him, too, very dearly," replied the little girl, earnestly.
"Does she, darling? Then I must love her, too, for I cannot help loving all who love my Saviour."
Then Rose sat down, and drawing the little girl to a seat on her knee, they talked sweetly together of the race they were running, and the prize they hoped to obtain at the end of it; of the battle they were fighting, and the invisible foes with whom they were called to struggle—the armor that had been provided, and of Him who had promised to be the Captain of their salvation, and to bring them off more than conquerors. They were pilgrims in the same straight and narrow way, and it was very pleasant thus to walk a little while together. "Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another; and the Lord hearkened and heard it; and a book of remembrance was written before Him for them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon His name. And they shall be mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that day when I make up my jewels; and I will spare them, as a man spareth his own son that serveth him."
"That is mammy coming for me," said Elsie, as a low knock was heard at the door.
"Come in," said Rose, and the door opened, and a very nice colored woman of middle age, looking beautifully neat in her snow-white apron and turban, entered with a low courtesy, asking, "Is my little missus ready for bed now?"
"Yes," said Elsie, jumping off Rose's lap; "but come here, mammy; I want to introduce you to Miss Allison."
"How do you do, Aunt Chloe? I am very glad to know you, since Elsie tells me you are a servant of the same blessed Master whom I love and try to serve," said Rose, putting her small white hand cordially into Chloe's dusky one.
"'Deed I hope I is, missus," replied Chloe, pressing it fervently in both of hers. "I's only a poor old black sinner, but de good Lord Jesus, He loves me jes de same as if I was white, an' I love Him an' all His chillen with all my heart."
"Yes, Aunt Chloe," said Rose, "He is our peace, and hath made both one, and hath broken down the middle wall of partition between us; so that we are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow-citizens with the saints and of the household of God; and are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner-stone."
"Yes, missus, dat's it for sure; ole Chloe knows dat's in de Bible; an' if we be built on dat bressed corner-stone, we's safe ebery one; I'se heard it many's de time, an' it fills dis ole heart with joy an' peace in believing," she exclaimed, raising her tearful eyes and clasping her hands. "But good night, missus; I must put my chile to bed," she added, taking Elsie's hand.
"Good-night, Aunt Chloe; come in again," said Rose. "And good-night to you, too, dear little Elsie," folding the little girl again in her arms.
"Ain't dat a bressed young lady, darlin'!" exclaimed Chloe, earnestly, as she began the business of preparing her young charge for bed.
"O mammy, I love her so much! she's so good and kind," replied the child, "and she loves Jesus, and loves to talk about Him."
"She reminds me of your dear mamma, Miss Elsie, but she's not so handsome," replied the nurse, with a tear in her eye; "ole Chloe tinks dere's nebber any lady so beautiful as her dear young missus was."
Elsie drew out the miniature and kissed it, murmuring, "Dear, darling mamma," then put it back in her bosom again, for she always wore it day and night. She was standing in her white night-dress, the tiny white feet just peeping from under it, while Chloe brushed back her curls and put on her night-cap.
"Dere now, darlin', you's ready for bed," she exclaimed, giving the child a hug and a kiss.
"No, mammy, not quite," replied the little girl, and gliding away to the side of the bed, she knelt down and offered up her evening prayer. Then, coming back to the toilet table, she opened her little Bible, saying, "Now, mammy, I will read you a chapter while you are getting ready for bed."
The room was large and airy, and Aunt Chloe, who was never willing to leave her nursling, but watched over her night and day with the most devoted affection, slept in a cot bed in one corner.
"Tank you, my dear young missus, you's berry good," she said, beginning the preparations for the night by taking off her turban and replacing it by a thick night-cap.
When the chapter was finished Elsie got into bed, saying, "Now, mammy, you may put out the light as soon as you please; and be sure to call me early in the morning, for I have a lesson to learn before breakfast."
"That I will, darlin'," replied the old woman, spreading the cover carefully over her. "Good-night, my pet, your ole mammy hopes her chile will have pleasant dreams."
Rose Allison was an early riser, and as the breakfast hour at Roselands was eight o'clock, she always had an hour or two for reading before it was time to join the family circle. She had asked Elsie to come to her at half-past seven, and punctually at the hour the little girl's gentle rap was heard at her door.
"Come in," said Rose, and Elsie entered, looking as bright and fresh and rosy as the morning. She had her little Bible under her arm, and a bouquet of fresh flowers in her hand. "Good-morning, dear Miss Allison," she said, dropping a graceful courtesy as she presented it. "I have come to read, and I have just been out to gather these for you, because I know you love flowers."
"Thank you, darling, they are very lovely," said Rose, accepting the gift and bestowing a caress upon the giver. "You are quite punctual," she added, "and now we can have our half-hour together before breakfast."
The time was spent profitably and pleasantly, and passed so quickly that both were surprised when the breakfast bell rang.
Miss Allison spent the whole fall and winter at Roselands; and it was very seldom during all that time that she and Elsie failed to have their morning and evening reading and prayer together. Rose was often made to wonder at the depth of the little girl's piety and the knowledge of divine things she possessed. But Elsie had had the best of teaching. Chloe, though entirely uneducated, was a simple-minded, earnest Christian, and with a heart full of love to Jesus, had, as we have seen, early endeavored to lead the little one to Him, and Mrs. Murray—the housekeeper whom Adelaide had mentioned, and who had assisted Chloe in the care of the child from the time of her birth until a few months before Rose's coming, when she had suddenly been summoned home to Scotland—had proved a very faithful friend. She was an intelligent woman and devotedly pious, and had carefully instructed this lonely little one, for whom she felt almost a parent's affection, and her efforts to bring her to a saving knowledge of Christ had been signally owned and blessed of God; and in answer to her earnest prayers, the Holy Spirit had vouchsafed His teachings, without which all human instruction must ever be in vain. And young as Elsie was, she had already a very lovely and well-developed Christian character. Though not a remarkably precocious child in other respects, she seemed to have very clear and correct views on almost every subject connected with her duty to God and her neighbor; was very truthful both in word and deed, very strict in her observance of the Sabbath—though the rest of the family were by no means particular in that respect—very diligent in her studies, respectful to superiors, and kind to inferiors and equals; and she was gentle, sweet-tempered, patient, and forgiving to a remarkable degree. Rose became strongly attached to her, and the little girl fully returned her affection.
