“Like Mrs. Porter, who—”
“Hush,” said Mrs. Claremont, “you have nothing to do with the idols of your neighbours; try and find out what is your own.”
“I do not think that I have any.”
“Do you then love God with all your heart? Is it your chief business to serve him; your greatest delight to do his will?”
“No; of course, I like to amuse myself like other people.”
“Have you ever given up any one thing to show your love to him who made you?”
Sophy looked vexed, but made no reply.
“Whom do you like best to please? Whom do you like best to serve? Have you no idol which you decked out this very morning in all the finery which you could collect?”
“I suppose that you mean myself.”
“Yes; self is the idol of the vain, their hopes and joys are bound up in self, therefore their hopes and joys are amongst the corruptible things which must pass away. O my young friend, the foolish pleasures which you felt this morning in these fanciful clothes, in one moment was changed to pain; and but for the mercy of God, your own poor body might now have been lying crushed and lifeless. Why rest your happiness upon that which cannot last, and which may, any hour, be taken away from you for ever?”