hat was that noise in the street?” exclaimed mrs. claremont, laying down the pen suddenly. ella sprang to the window.

“o mother, something must have happened! some accident! there is a crowd collecting round a poor little girl!”

“we may be of some use!” cried mrs. claremont, and she and her daughter were at the street door in a few seconds.

“what is the matter? is any one hurt?” inquired the lady of a milk-woman who was standing looking on.

“a child knocked down by a horse, i[77] believe, ma’am. they should take the poor thing to the hospital.”

mrs. claremont waited to hear no more; the crowd made way for her, and she was soon at the side of a young girl who was crying violently, and the state of whose crushed bonnet and soiled dress showed that she had been down on the road.

“i don’t think there’s any bones broken, only she’s frightened,” observed a baker among the spectators; “i saw the horse knock her down as she was crossing the road.”

“come this way, my poor child, out of the crowd,” said mrs. claremont, leading the little girl towards the house; “we will soon see if the injury is severe.”

the weeping child soon stood in the hall; hartshorn and water was brought to her by ella, but on tasting it, the girl pushed it away in disgust, in a peevish and irritable manner. in vain mrs. claremont sought for any trace of injury; the road had been soft after much rain, and not a scratch nor a bruise appeared; yet still the girl cried as if in agony of pain or of passion.

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“where are you hurt?” inquired ella soothingly; the child only answered by a fresh burst of tears.

“i am thankful that no harm seems done,” said mrs. claremont.

“there is harm!” sobbed the girl; “all spoiled, quite, quite spoiled!”

“what is spoiled?”

the spoiled dress.

“my dress, my beautiful new dress!” and the ladies now observed, for the first time, the absurd and unsuitable manner in which[79] the child had been clothed. now, indeed, her finery was half covered with mud; but the pink bonnet, though crushed, the white dress, though stained and torn, the gay blue necklace, and hair in curl-papers, showed too plainly the folly of the wearer.

“what is your name?” inquired ella.

“sophy trimmer.”

“where does your father live?”

“he lives just round the corner.”

“you should be very thankful that your life has been spared,” said mrs. claremont.

sophy did not look at all thankful, she only glanced sadly down on her torn dress, and whimpered, “just new on to-day.”

“you remind me,” said the lady, “of a story which i read in the papers some years ago. a lady was going in a vessel to scotland, and carried with her a quantity of jewels to the value of a thousand pounds. she thought so much of these jewels, that she was heard to say, that she would almost as soon part with life itself as lose them. an accident happened to the vessel on the way to scotland; the water rushed into[80] the cabins, and the poor lady was taken out drowned.”

“that is a shocking story,” said sophy.

“she could not carry her jewels with her to another world. but there is one ornament which even death itself has no power to take away.”

“what can that ornament be?”

“an ornament more precious than the crown of the queen, ‘the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is, in the sight of god, of great price’ (1 pet. iii. 4). the poorest may wear this—the rich are poor without it. o my child, care not to appear fair in the eyes of your fellow-mortals, but in the sight of god; your ‘adorning, let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; but let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible’” (1 pet. iii. 3, 4).

“what do you mean by ‘corruptible?’” said sophy.

“that which time can destroy. nothing in this world lasts for ever: flowers bloom and decay; the fruit which was delicious[81] one week, the next is only fit to be thrown away; the loveliest face grows wrinkled; the finest form must soon turn to dust in the tomb.”

“i don’t like to think of such things,” said sophy; “they make me sad.”

“they would make us sad, indeed, were this world our all. but we look forward, in faith, to a place where there is no corruption, no change, no death, because no sin; we hope to wear white robes in heaven which will never be defiled with a stain. do you know, sophy, what makes them so white?”

sophy shook her head.

“we are all weak and sinful, less fit to appear before a holy god in our own righteousness, than you are to enter the queen’s palace in those soiled garments. it is ‘the blood of jesus christ which cleanseth from all sin;’ through his merits, and his mercy, you may appear spotless before the judgment-seat of god, if you believe in him now, and ‘keep yourself from idols.’”

“i have nothing to do with idols,” said the girl peevishly.

“more perhaps than you think. anything[82] that you love better than the lord is an idol. the miser loves money best; that is his idol.”

“like old levi, who half starves himself to scrape up pence,” interrupted sophy.

“the ambitious man makes power his idol—some make their children their idols.”

“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[83] 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?”

“gay, gaudy clothing always gives me a feeling of pain when i look upon it,” observed ella; “i believe that with so many it has been the first step to misery here and hereafter.”

“it is like the gay bait on the hook,” said her mother, “not in itself deadly, but covering a fatal snare. oh, ‘love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. if any man love the world, the love of the father is not in him. and the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of god abideth for ever’” (1 john ii. 15, 17).

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