Seeing One's Self by Esther Converse

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Apr 16, 1885

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 11, No. 16.

Seeing One's Self.

By Esther Converse

"There's Fan Huntly and her father; do see her new suit, Julia," said Mabel Grant to her friend.

A grave look came over Julia's face as she turned and saw, not the suit at first, but an elderly man whose anxious face, bent form, and plain attire told of a life of hardship, if not of poverty. Without overcoat or gloves, though the morning was chill, his cheerless appearance contrasted painfully with the elegantly-dressed daughter by his side. Then she saw the velvet suit, costly hat, feathers, laces, and gloves that made Fan Huntly the admiration of her companions. She turned away without speaking.

"Isn't she stylish?" continued Mabel. "Why, Julia, there are tears in your eyes; what is it?"

"He will reach the end of his journey before she knows how tired he is; she will never overtake him," said Julia.

"What do you mean? You are so odd," exclaimed Mabel. "What has changed you so? Lately you seem not to care about your dress or anything. I never see the furs and the lovely silk you wore when I met you in the city. I don't wish to be inquisitive, Julia, but why do you not wear them?"

Julia colored and hesitated before she replied, "Because my mother has no furs nor silk."

"Because your mother"—repeated her companion.

"I knew you would not understand. Mabel, were you less sympathetic and appreciative, I could not explain; you would only smile at the trivial incidents that have affected me so seriously. I hope I am changed, and I will tell you if you really wish it. You know I spent Christmas in the city. Uncle Henry gave me those furs; the dress was Aunt Mary's gift. My cloak and hat were new, and more costly than I have usually worn. I have seldom felt more complacent than when I went to church one Sunday morning wearing my entire outfit for the first time. I was not in a frame of mind to engage in worship. My attention was soon drawn to a lady who bore a striking resemblance to my mother. She was dressed in worn, faded garments that heightened the wan, pathetic expression of a refined face. Two daughters were with her, I wish you could have seen those girls. Dressed in the extreme of fashion, with a profusion of laces, silks, velvets, feathers, bracelets, chains, and ear-rings, they seemed intent upon display.

"Do you remember in 'Dombey and Son' the meeting of Edith and her mother with two other figures 'like an exaggerated imitation of their own?' Edith thought one like 'a distorted shadow of her mother,' and in the other she recognized enough that was like herself 'to strike her with unusual feeling.' I thought of that picture, for I saw myself in one of those over-dressed girls. No, the resemblance was not imaginary; Aunt Mary saw it. Like Edith I seemed to feel a 'chill creep over me, as if the day were darkening and the wind were colder.' I thought of mother here at church in the faded cloak, worn cashmere, and old gloves, and I hated my new furs, cloak, and silk. I saw many a significant glance directed towards that group. Aunt Mary told me about them, that the mother had been untiring in her devotion to these daughters, denying herself to provide for their education; that now, though able to repay her care and sacrifice, the home remained unchanged in its poverty, and the mother destitute of comforts necessary to one so delicate.

"My conscience 'wakened many a bitter memory,' and if it was not a parallel case, it was a slight exaggeration. I thought of the bracelets I bought last summer, and of the old shabby carpet in mother's room, of my new velvet basque, and of the overcoat father needed, but did not buy. At Sunday-school I saw that engraving from 'Pilgrim's Progress'—the people journeying to the beautiful gate of the city that stands on a mighty hill; and in my sleep at night, I seemed to be climbing the hill seeking father and mother. I entered a path bright with flowers and sunshine, and wherever I looked I saw girls dressed like those I have described. Wandering on, I soon found another path, bleak and dreary, with nothing to brighten the solitude except a faint gleam of golden light from beyond. Here were the poor, the aged, and feeble, toiling up the steep path, bearing heavy burdens that young, strong arms could have borne so easily. At last, in the distance, I saw my father and mother, nearing the end of the journey and bending under burdens I recognized as my own. I tried to overtake them; I entreated them to wait; but it was too late; they were just passing from my sight when I cried out and awoke. It was only a dream, but to me it seemed only too real. Our parents toil on, leaving us to walk in the pleasant paths. We take everything and do not see that they are left cold and bare.

"I was thoroughly aroused and impressed; I saw how mother had denied herself to gratify my wishes; it was my turn to make sacrifices. I resolved to lay aside my furs and silk until mother was provided with better clothing. A cloak she must have, or I felt that I could not wear my own. I need not explain how I accomplished this. Father helped me a little, saying, 'I wish I could do more, but Johnnie's illness has been expensive.' How grateful I was that he did not remind me of the heavy drafts I made upon his purse before I went to the city. On mother's birthday father asked her to ride over to Aunt Jane's, and as I went for her bonnet and cloak; she said, 'Bring the old shawl, too, Julia, my cloak is thin for such a day.' I came in softly and wrapped the new cloak around her. 'What is it?' she asked, shrinking from it in surprise, as she felt the fur. I put my arms around her and cried. Dozens of silks could not make me so happy as I am when I see her in that nice, warm cloak.

"I have overtaken father and mother before they passed from my sight, and I shall walk with them in shadow and sunlight. I do not intend to make a virtue of plain dress, but I do purpose to wear nothing showy, or nothing more expensive than mother wears. When I see girls dressed like Fan Huntly, I cannot help thinking about the father and the home. I wonder if the walls and floors are bare, or if there is money enough for all.

"I have answered your question. Yes, I am changed. Am I odd to heed the lessons?"

There was no reply, but Julia, looking up, read an answer in the thoughtful face and tearful eyes of her companion.