LETTERS ON DAILY LIFE.

BY ELIZABETH M. SEWELL.

LETTER XV.

SELF-CONCENTRATION.

MY DEAR A—,—I have just received your letter, telling me that

you have seen M—————, and talked over with her my advice and opinion about special guidance, and that she has given in return an outburst of complaint. I wish I could have a little conversation with you; I could explain to you then more clearly what I think about M- -'s trials. It is quite true that the position in which she is placed is extremely fretting; her sisters are uncongenial, whilst her mother's constant illness, and consequent fretfulness and depression, combined with a naturally exacting disposition, must tend to make life a trouble to those around her. You will understand that I cannot say this to Min so many words; it would be disrespectful to her mother, and, in a certain degree, treacherous; for Mrs. trusts to me to give good advice to M- and make her more pleasant in her home. But what I want M- to see is, that such a life as hers is really the discipline by means of which saints are made, and which for that reason may be accepted not only submissively but cheerfully. Apart from this, however, to live in a condition of chronic discontent is, in any case, to render ourselves unfit for a sphere of usefulness should such present itself. M's faults would accompany her into a new home, and unfit her for it unless she parted with them beforehand. She is selfconcentrated; she does not see the effect of her depression and morbid discontent upon her sisters, and even upon her mother; for Mrs. Mis fully alive to it, and I know is rendered irritable by it. The greatest kindness which you, who see M so constantly, could do her, would be to keep her from telling her tale of griefs and asking for sympathy from outsiders. Half the little frets of life would vanish if we would only be silent about them, and turn our attention to something else. But M- is always dwelling upon her troubles, and, as a natural consequence, she exaggerates them. You will think me severe if I say that she is soothed by the consciousness (self-created I mean) of domestic martyrdom. This creates my difficulty, and I dare say yours also, in dealing with her. If I hint that she exaggerates her trials, she says, 'You don't live in the house and can't see what the trials are.' And she is right, I do not see the trials, but I can see the

spirit with which M- accepts them. I can see-I cannot help seeing that instead of reckoning up her blessings (which are many) and being thankful for them, she reckons up her worries (which are also many), and is rather displeased than otherwise when any one endeavours to point out how they may be mitigated. I know quite well what such a tone of mind is. I can remember in my young days regarding myself as a disappointed sufferer from the frets of my home life, which was really a very happy one. I was, like M, quite in earnest in wishing to serve God; but I preferred to take a mournful view of my position, rather than that which the outside world took of it; and it was not until life's trials really became grave, and my thoughts were actually forced away from self-contemplation, that I awoke to the consciousness of the grievous mistake I had made in rejecting the comforts and pleasures given me, and choosing mournfulness, if not discontent, in their stead. According to the saying of a dear old friend of mine, who had sunk from the affluence of 4,0007. a year, to a bed-room and sitting-room in a London lodging, and yet never even alluded to the change, I looked at the carriage and four in front of me, and never thought of the donkey coming behind.

You, young people, can, I think, give help to each other in such cases better than older persons. You are supposed to have keener sympathies, and your advice does not come in the form of a lecture; or, at any rate, it is not so considered. And I dare say, too, you do understand more fully what the frets are. They appear to you more as they do to M- When one has lived through a long life, and had the experience of real sorrows and anxieties, one is likely to under-estimate the difficulties of a position like M's; and it seems that with a really loving mother, though irritable and exacting; a kind father to turn to for protection; daily bread, if not luxuries, humanly speaking, secured; and brothers and sisters for cheerful companions, life might be, and ought to be, bright. And I do think so. That I honestly confess. I believe that if my dear M- (whom I am very fond of) could only hide away the self which she is so frequently looking at, pitying and petting, she would find life assume a totally different aspect. It is not that she acts selfishly; her principles are too good to allow of that; but she does her unselfish act, and then contemplates it, and thinks how hard it is that she should be called upon to do it. I mean this sort of thing. She teaches the two little ones, and she does it well; but when the lessons are over she goes to her room and sighs over being so tired, and if you happen to ask her in the course of the day whether she has read such a book, or heard such a piece of news, she answers mournfully, 'Oh, no! I have no time for reading, or visits. My mornings are quite taken up with the children, and there are so many things to attend to afterwards. I never see any one, or hear anything.' Whereas the fact is, that although she is occupied for three or four hours in the course of the day, she has the rest of her

time very much to herself, and does find opportunities for reading, and really reads a great deal. But her view of herself is, that she is a martyr, and so unconsciously she twists every circumstance and every duty to support that view.

It is immensely difficult to deal with such a case.

Before any good

can be done the idea of martyrdom must be knocked on the head, and whoever undertakes the task will receive some hard blows in return. M's disposition is gentle, but her pet grievances are very dear to her, and she will not give them up without a struggle.

I have once or twice tried to put before her what I feel to be the true view of this life, and therefore am always recurring to, namely, that it is a place of education, and that education involves discipline, and that discipline is a thing to be most thankful for. Nothing but the full conviction that we are preparing for a higher existence can, I am persuaded, make us cheerfully acquiesce in our trials. But such an idea is not grasped in a moment; it may not really be grasped for years, by a person who, like M- lives so much in the present. And it is here that you can do more than I can. A little kindly bantering when she sinks down, and a good-natured but steady persistence in the belief that many of her troubles are of her own creation, will do her good, though she may not be willing to own it.

For the person who can honestly say, 'I have been wrong, and you have been right,' is very rarely to be met with. Don't endeavour, therefore, to make M— own anything-she will not do so; but divert her thoughts by bringing before her incidentally the condition of others who have real heavy trials. Then her generous sympathies will be awakened, and in trying, or, at any rate, wishing and longing to help others she will at last forget herself; and when she has ceased to take the martyr view of her home and its surroundings, her eyes will be opened to its blessings. She will become cheerful, and being cheerful she will be pleasant and popular; her really noble qualities will be appreciated by her brothers and sisters, who are now fretted by her frequent murmurs and depression, and she will become what she ought to be,-so much the centre of the family happiness, and so essential to its usefulness, that she will have no dreams of a wider sphere at present, and yet will be well prepared for it if it should present itself in the future.

say

You that M- - would like to have a little talk with me about my letter. I hope it is not unkind to reply that I don't think it would be of much use to her. I could not really help her without speaking a few home truths, which I very much doubt if she is prepared to hear. And if she is not prepared, she will certainly resent them, and I shall do more harm than good. As a rule, I doubt much whether any of us really profit from advice unless we come to receive it in a spirit of self-distrust. Now this is not as yet M-'s spirit. She sees, and sees quite truly, the faults of others, and she sees her

own too; but such mere recognition is not sufficient. How do the faults originate? What brings them, as it were, to the surface? Those are the questions to be asked; and M would at once answer them by saying, as she often does, 'Certain persons irritate me. I am nervous and excitable. My mother, being ill, requires so much attention ; I grow tired, and that makes me feel cross, and I speak out and say what I ought not; and my mother is vexed.' It is all very true, and it would seem terribly hard if I were to answer, 'What you tell me is no excuse'-for it is an excuse, one may trust and hope, in the sight of God-but it ought not to be an excuse to M- herself, and until she can look her faults bravely in the face, and condemn herself without seeking to palliate them by laying the burden of their origin on others, neither I nor any one else can really help her.

She will see this by and by, I feel sure. She is too sincere and earnest to continue in anything like self-delusion, and, I may add, too sensible, for good sense is a great help in the knowledge of oneself. The obstinacy of an idiot is proverbial. He has not the sense to perceive that he is obstinate. M- is very far from an idiot. She is a clear judging, intelligent girl. She can see and understand everything which ordinarily comes within the range of her mental faculties, except the causes and motives of her own shortcomings. Give her time and experience, and through God's help she will grow wiser, and will recognise that there is an actual absurdity in defending ourselves by bringing forward our provocations-for of course if there were no provocations there would be no struggle, and no opportunity of victory.

If you ask me how it happens that a person so benevolent, generous, and sensitive to other's sufferings as M- should be so blind to the faults which make her a trial to her family, I can only account for it by the fact that in the constitution of human nature benevolence and self-love, though in no way necessarily opposed to each other, are distinct principles-and that the perfection of our finite nature requires them to be cultivated in due proportion. But with M——, as with the majority of mankind, self-love is the stronger principle of the two, and therefore when it comes in conflict with benevolence it gains the day. Mwill be delightfully pleasant and thoughtful, and even self-sacrificing, so long as her self-love is not touched; but when it is, it immediately bristles up, as it were, and insists upon its so-called rights. She is, for instance, devoted to the poor, lavish in her gifts, kind both in word and deed. These things do not come in the way of her self-love; in fact they rather gratify it; for they harmonise with the interest in self which forms so marked a feature in her character. But the little home duties which are considered to belong to her, and for which no one thanks her, do not rouse her benevolence. She does them because they are duties, but they attract no observation, and thinking herself injured by neglect she has no pleasure in them, and longing to escape from them, finds her only

relief in complaining about them. It is in fact not so much selfishness as self-concentration, which is M-'s difficulty. I think she would see where she is at fault much more easily indeed if she were what is strictly called selfish.

For we can see what is defective in action easily, but foolish or wrong thoughts and imaginations are not perceived except by the light of a very clear conscience.

To be picturesque to oneself is pleasant. Even real sorrow can be placed in an attitude and dressed up by imagination until the contemplation of it becomes interesting. M- has been called selfish, but that is an unfair accusation. She likes to make self the subject of conversation, but she does not seek self-gratification. Whenever she recognises a real claim she attends to it fully, and there is, in fact, something so exaggerated in this accusation of selfishness, that when it is made she is only irritated, and repels it indignantly. Then a further accusation is made-'She is cross;' but Msays to herself, 'I am cross because the persons about me are unjust. I am sacrificing myself for them constantly, and the moment I look tired or unhappy, everything I have done is forgotten, and I only hear reproaches.' So the trouble gathers as it goes, and at last the family as a whole are thoroughly uncomfortable. The fault is laid at M-'s door, whilst she on her part begins to feel that the best thing she can do is to leave them to take care of themselves, and seek another sphere of duty.

The remedy for this state of things is, I think, on the part of the family, to be found in a true appreciation of the good points of M-'s character. I have often been amused to observe how quickly she is roused by a little approbation, a sense of being valued. This is so natural that no one can blame her for it. She does do a great deal for her mother and her younger brothers and sisters, and if you, in the course of conversation with the family, can insist upon this and lead them to express their sense of her efforts, and then tell her what has been said, you will smooth the way as to anything disagreeable in the way of home truths which may be needed by M― herself, for you will remove the feeling of injustice which now makes her close her eyes to her own shortcomings. When her family give her praise, her conscience will be touched with the sense of not deserving what is said. She will begin to speak of the faults she knows, and in this way you may lead her on to the perception of the failings which at present are hidden from her, and so by degrees you may bring her round to the conviction that self-concentration is at the root of a great deal, if not all, of her unhappiness.

Speaking of M- -'s mistakes and distorted views of her life, brings vividly to my memory much connected with my own early days. I dare say there are many who like myself can recollect making a great effort to put self into a glass case so that it should not come out and do wrong, but at the same time, standing before the glass, and if not