Some of you are tidy here, but at home your temptation is to plaster some neatly folded garment or sash over the recesses of an untidy drawer, or to use anything that comes to hand, any racquet, or croquet-mallet, or oil-can, or thimble; your own cannot be found—you take the nearest and then leave that also lying about.
Do you think these things do not matter? You would think it mattered very much if you grew up an unreliable, unconscientious woman, and yet, I do not know in what lesson-book you can learn to be thorough and reliable and conscientious, except in the daily lesson-book of these trifles.
You each know that daily practise is a duty, if your mother wishes you to learn music. A daily duty neglected, or a daily duty done, means a very considerable difference in the person by the end of two months.
There are one or two further points in your holiday and grown-up life which I should like to talk about to-day.
Visits.—Enrich your life with them, instead of letting them be times when you slip back morally. Take your conscience with you (but do not wear it outside), and be very careful to keep your rules, your prayers, your home standard of right and wrong, your quietness and self-control. Do not "let yourself go," and do silly things for fun. A great many leave their sense of responsibility at home, whereas our visits are part of the regular course of that life for which God will judge us. And keep your mind open, get new ideas, read the books in the house, instead of taking a store with you.
Next consider your duty in the choice of people you live with. First, there are your relations. You say you cannot choose these; no, but you can choose which side of them you will draw out. Every one is a magnet; some attract the worried, irritable side of other people, some the serene, pleasant side. If you try to see the bright side of things and to agree instead of differing, and if you say nice things about people when they are out of the room, your family circle will show themselves very different from what they might be if you were a magnet for unpleasantness!
Secondly, there are your friends. Do not let one person monopolize you, or you her; do not have friends given to secrets, and do not let any one trap you into a promise not to tell. If her secret is all right, she cannot object to your telling your mother, and if it is silly you had better be clear of it. And do not forget that nice people do not deal in secrets, they keep their family affairs to themselves. It is the Rosa Matildas at "Young Ladies' Academies" who have secrets in a corner.
Thirdly, choose your book friends carefully. You live with people in books, so have a conscience about your choice in this just as much as with living friends. Some books are bad for any one; a great many more would do harm to you, but perhaps not touch an older person. When I was your age, many an argumentative book (which seems thin and empty to me now) might have upset my faith. Many an exciting, passionate book (which I now read with a calm and critical mind) would have filled my whole heart and soul! Be thankful if you are kept under direction about books; but if you are not, use common sense and conscience. Manage yourself sensibly, and since you know that you are in a very mouldable, impressionable stage, it stands to reason that you had better steadily read classics now, to form and strengthen your mind.
When a girl reads sentimental and passionate poetry, neglecting Scott,
Milton, and Wordsworth, I call it the same sort of wrong mismanaging of
herself as if she ruined her digestion with a greedy love of pastry.
Poetry and pastry are often the same sort of weak self-indulgence.
I do not say read no novels that are exciting and romantic, or even that are silly, but I do say, sandwich them. Face the fact that a silly or passionate novel is likely to have great power over you at this stage, and therefore read very few of them, and read many of Scott, Thackeray, Dickens, Miss Austen, and Mrs. Gaskell.