A. Sketch | AdventAI

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 23, 1861

A. Sketch.

"Every person exerts some influence, either for good or evil. No one is so poor and lowly, so isolated and friendless, but there is some one either the better or worse for their living. And, oh dear, I'm sure it can't be true, for I, at least, am an exception. Whom do I influence? Alas, I fear, no one," and little Miss Grey sighed.

She lived in a tiny white cottage, and with no companion, save a little "bound girl." Her life was lonely and quiet, in the little village in which her youth was spent, and now she was descending the vale of life. Gray hair was sprinkled in the brown, and her brow showed the marks of approaching age. She had seen the orphan children of a deceased sister arrive at mature age, and leave her sheltering roof for a home in the "wide world," and she felt almost alone. Yet not alone, for Miss Grey was a sincere and humble Christian, and she never doubted the promise, "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee."

As a companion for her loneliness, and an assistant in her household duties, Miss Grey had taken a little girl from the alms-house, a shy, sensitive child of eleven years. Alice Brown was an orphan, quiet and reserved, and yet she often, with natural longings, yearned to join in the childish sports of the village children. But though Miss Grey did not mean to be unkind, still she could not recall her own youthful days, and never thought what an injury she might be doing the child when she denied her only request to play with the little ones, who would have been her friends. And Alice Brown often wept at her tasks, and sometimes longed for the rest which cometh after death.

'I've no influence,' repeated Miss Grey, and she let the paper drop to the floor, and began to think. The morning sun rose higher and higher, and it was almost noon.

"Alice," called Miss Grey, "Alice."

"Yes ma'am," said Alice, quickly appearing at the door, which afforded an entrance way to the kitchen.

"Hurry up your dinner; you can get it alone just as well as to have me help you. I don't think I shall help you so much hereafter; you're altogether too lazy;" and Miss Grey leaned back in her arm chair as Alice disappeared.

But Miss Grey saw the shadow on Alice's face, and the question arose, "Have I no influence over Alice?"

She was troubled a little and called, again:

"Alice!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You may set the table. It's high time."

"Yes ma'am," answered Alice meekly.

The table was drawn out and neatly spread; the plates were laid, and Alice brought in a plate of smoking potatoes; but the carpet being loose near the door, the child's foot caught, and the next second she fell prostrate on the floor, and the potatoes were strewn in every direction.

"Oh, Alice, you careless child! Ain't you ashamed of yourself? You don't deserve a bit of dinner," cried her mistress. "Now pick them all up, every one, and see if you can't be more careful next time. Don't you know better than to put them on the table now, child? Take them in the kitchen, and go on about your dinner."

"Yes ma'am," said Alice, but her eyes flashed, and her bosom heaved with indignation, at being addressed so crossly, when it was only an accident. When she was in the kitchen, she gave vent to her sorrow in wild sobs, but she soon controlled them, and started to get some water, preparatory to taking up the remainder of the dinner.

Miss Grey heard the sobs, and her conscience reproached her; and she exclaimed inwardly, "Yes, I have influence, and it's exerted for evil."

The thought brought sorrow, and shame, and good resolves, and as Alice re-entered, she noticed the look of bitter defiance on the fair little face, and in the tear-blinded eye.

Owing to the fact of her eyes being filled with tears, and she herself aroused to a passionate feeling of hate toward Miss Grey, Alice again tripped, but she did not fall, though the pitcher did, and broke in pieces.

Miss Grey's first impulse was to say something very harsh, but one thought decided her. "Never mind, Alice; you didn't mean it," she said kindly, to the child who stood as if stupefied, awaiting the usual scolding, "never mind, dear, hasten to wipe up the water before the carpet is completely soaked; go quickly, dear!"

The child obeyed, still sobbing, but with far different feeling now; no more hate in it, but sorrow, and a feeling which she could not herself define.

"Dinner already! What a nice little housekeeper you are becoming, Alice! I am getting quite proud of you," and Miss Grey seated herself at one side of the table, while Alice took the other.

"I didn't mean to do it," said Alice, earnestly and sadly.

"I know it, dear," answered her mistress.

"Dear!" How the word thrilled Alice's heart. It made her think of her younger days, when her parents were alive, and lived in a little cottage too; though they were very poor, kindness and affection brightened their daily life. Those memories clung to Alice, and she said, tremblingly:

"My mother used to always call me dear."

"Did she? Do you like it?" asked Miss Grey.

"O! yes, ma'am, more than anything else 'most," answered Alice, for the word dear always signified kindness to her. She couldn't realize any one's saying it crossly and angrily.

After Alice had finished her kitchen-work, she came again to the little sitting room, but the smile was full of childish happiness; poor Alice had found little kindness since her parents' death. Miss Grey noticed it, with a resolve to make the orphan's life brighter, to be a mother to her. "Sit down dear, at your patchwork," she said in the same kind tone, as she left the room and went upstairs. Here Miss Grey began examining the contents of a closet, laying the things out carefully. Here was a large doll, there, some aprons, and here some

dresses. They had once belonged to Ellen, the youngest niece of Miss Grey, and as Ellen died about three years before, her aunt still retained her clothes, though for what purpose she had never thought. She had little of that feeling which prompts us to retain every thing which once belonged to a lost friend; and as her niece was of Alice's size, she selected a pink dress and white apron, and the doll, and went down again to the sitting-room.

"Here, Alice, try these on."

The delighted child was soon arrayed, and looked prettily enough.

"This is your doll, dear, and all those things in the closet of your room, are yours, Alice."

"O, thank you, thank you, dear Miss Grey."

"How much she looks like dear Ellen did," thought the lady; then she added aloud:

"Haven't you any relation in the world, Alice?"

"None but an uncle out West, ma'am, and he's poor."

A new idea struck Miss Grey, and she said:

"Alice, I haven't always been kind; I did wrong. In future I desire to be like a mother to you. Wouldn't you like to call me 'aunt Jenny,' as Ellen and all my neices did?"

"O, yes, ma'am, indeed I should."

"Let me hear you do it now, Alice."

"Aunt Jenny," said Alice slyly.

Miss Grey drew her closer to her, and kissed her, then said:

"I've kept you in a great deal, Alice, and this afternoon you may go and play with those children on the green."

"O, thank you, thank you!" and Alice started for a sun-bonnet.

"Thank you auntie," suggested Miss Grey.

"Thank you, auntie, I love you, O! ever so much;" and she kissed the lady's hand again and again.

That afternoon Miss Grey spent in earnest thought and prayer, and her resolve was strong to use her influence for good. She now knew that she possessed a large share of influence, and when she thought of Alice's quick sensibilities, her large capacities for learning, she did not underrate it. Henceforward, the child preserved a home in her heart and Miss Grey repeated as she heard the feet of Alice bounding merrily toward her own door, "There is no one so poor and lowly, so isolated and friendless, but some one else is either the better or worse for their living."

Every little child exerts an influence, surely then, there is no one can say, "I've no influence." Is there no one either better or worse for your living? Is there no one who loves you? say not then, "I've no influence." Have you talents? Then you possess influence. Are you alone in the world, poor, without talent, without love? still you may influence others.

A kind sentence from you, may so far influence the mourner, that beneath the seeming anger of God, he shall behold a smiling face. So far influence him, that in meekness he shall bow his head, saying, Thy will be done. In life's brightest hours there is at least one, to whom you may tell of the Author of your joys, whom you may influence for good; in life's sorrows there may be some who will listen as you point them to the throne of love and mercy.

A child influences children; and often, O how often, older people. Friend acts on friend; and sister, on sisters and brothers, and no one can say, "I am alone; I influence no one." No one can say this; and of our talents we shall be required to give an account of this, too—how we have used our influence.