LUCY AND PRISCILLA.
“I do not like this path at all,” replied her elder sister; “it is so narrow, one is caught every minute by the thorns.”
“Ah, Priscilla! you are always looking out for thorns! I never think of them till I find myself caught.”
“That is because you are a silly, giddy child!” was Priscilla’s contemptuous reply.
It will be easily seen, from this short conversation, that however wise Priscilla might be in the eyes of other people, or in her own, she was not the most pleasant companion in the world. She was considered a very sensible girl, one possessing reflection beyond her years; and in some respects she deserved the character. She was wise in keeping clear of evil society; she was wise in performing her daily duties, and in not expecting too much from the world: but she was not wise in ever casting a shade of gloom over what Providence intended to be bright; she was not wise in ever meeting misfortune half-way—in always looking at the dark side of every event, and seeming as though she thought it almost a sin to be happy! In truth, in these matters, by taking the opposite extreme, Priscilla was just as foolish as her sister. The one, eager after pleasure, often met with disappointment: the other, fearing disappointment, scarce knew pleasure at all.
There was the same difference between them on the subject of religion, in which both had been carefully instructed. Lucy was too easily carried away by amusement: with a warm heart, but a giddy and thoughtless spirit, she too often, alas! neglected the one thing needful for the passing diversion of the hour. Priscilla never forgot her Bible reading or her prayer; but both were too often a mere matter of form. She would not for any temptation have worked, bought or sold, on the Sabbath; but she never considered it a delight. Priscilla quite put aside the commandment in the Bible, Rejoice evermore; and again I say unto you, Rejoice; while her sister forgot, in her heedless mirth, that it is also written, Rejoice with trembling. The one girl knew too little of the fear of the Lord; the other was a stranger to his love.
At length the sisters reached the shore, and saw before them the sparkling waves of the sea. On the waters large men-of-war were lying at anchor; little boats were floating on the sunny tide; some moving on steadily, as their line of oars rose and fell; others speeding along with graceful motion, like butterflies spreading their silver wings. Amongst the many boats which were plying here and there, and those which were fastened to the pier, Priscilla and Lucy vainly searched for the Nautilus, which was that which belonged to their uncle. As with anxious looks they proceeded along the shore, exclamations of impatience bursting from their lips, they were approached by an old friend of their uncle’s, whom they had seen several times before.
“On the look-out, eh?” said the old sailor, as he came towards them. “You’ll not hail the Nautilus to-day. Your uncle was engaged this morning by a gentleman to carry him round to the Undercliff in his boat; and I suspect that they’ll have ugly weather,” he added, turning his weather-beaten face towards the sea, “so he asked me to wait for you here, and tell you why he could not give you a row over the water; and, as he thought as how you might be a little disappointed, he sends you a shilling a-piece to make all straight.”
Tears burst from the eyes of little Lucy: she turned aside that the sailor might not see them. Delighted as she ever was at the prospect of pleasure, she never could bear to lose it; and every little disappointment appeared to her as a real and serious misfortune. Priscilla showed less vexation at losing her excursion, though she took the shilling with a discontented air; and her first words, as she turned to walk back with her sister, were as unjust as they were ungrateful to that good Providence that gives us so much even upon earth to enjoy.