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9. CHAPTER IX.
THE MORNING STAR.

Nina continued her visits to Tiff's garden on almost
every pleasant morning or evening. Tiff had always some
little offering, either berries or flowers, to present, or a nice
little luncheon of fish or birds, cooked in some mode of
peculiar delicacy; and which, served up in sylvan style,
seemed to have something of the wild relish of the woods.
In return, she continued to read the story so interesting
to him; and it was astonishing how little explanation it
needed — how plain honesty of heart, and lovingness of
nature, interpreted passages over which theologians have
wrangled in vain. It was not long before Tiff had impersonated
to himself each of the disciples, particularly Peter;
so that, when anything was said by him, Tiff would nod his
head significantly, and say, “Ah, ah! dat ar 's just like him!
He 's allers a puttin' in; but he 's a good man, arter all!”

What impression was made on the sensitive young nature,
through whom, as a medium, Tiff received this fresh revelation,
we may, perhaps, imagine. There are times in life
when the soul, like a half-grown climbing vine, hangs
wavering tremulously, stretching out its tendrils for something
to ascend by. Such are generally the great transition
periods of life, when we are passing from the ideas and
conditions of one stage of existence to those of another.
Such times are most favorable for the presentation of the
higher truths of religion. In the hazy, slumberous stillness
of that midsummer atmosphere, in the long, silent rides
through the pines, Nina half awakened from the thoughtless


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dreams of childhood, yearning for something nobler than
she yet had lived for, thought over, and revolved in her
mind, this beautiful and spotless image of God, revealed in
man, which her daily readings presented; and the world
that he created seemed to whisper to her in every pulsation
of its air, in every breath of its flowers, in the fanning of its
winds, “He still liveth, and he loveth thee.” The voice
of the Good Shepherd fell on the ear of the wandering lamb,
calling her to his arms; and Nina found herself one day
unconsciously repeating, as she returned through the woods,
words which she had often heard read at church:

“When thou saidst unto me, Seek ye my face, my heart
said unto thee, Thy face, Lord, will I seek.”

Nina had often dreaded the idea of becoming a Christian,
as one shrinks from the idea of a cold, dreary passage, which
must be passed to gain a quiet home. But suddenly, as if
by some gentle invisible hand, the veil seemed to be drawn
which hid the face of Almighty Love from her view. She
beheld the earth and the heavens transfigured in the light
of his smile. A strange and unspeakable joy arose within
her, as if some loving presence were always near her. It
was with her when she laid down at night, and when she
awoke in the morning the strange happiness had not
departed. Her feelings may be best expressed by an
extract from a letter which she wrote at this time to
Clayton.

“It seems to me that I have felt a greater change in me
within the last two months than in my whole life before.
When I look back at what I was in New York, three
months ago, actually I hardly know myself. It seems to
me in those old days that life was only a frolic to me, as
it is to the kitten. I don't really think that there was much
harm in me, only the want of good. In those days, sometimes
I used to have a sort of dim longing to be better,
particularly when Livy Ray was at school. It seemed as
if she woke up something that had been asleep in me; but


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she went away, and I fell asleep again, and life went on
like a dream. Then I became acquainted with you, and
you began to rouse me again, and for some time I thought
I did n't like to wake; it was just as it is when one lies
asleep in the morning — it 's so pleasant to sleep and dream,
that one resists any one who tries to bring them back to
life. I used to feel quite pettish when I first knew you, and
sometimes wished you 'd let me alone, because I saw that
you belonged to a different kind of sphere from what I 'd
been living in. And I had a presentiment that, if I let you
go on, life would have to be something more than a joke
with me. But you would, like a very indiscreet man as you
are, you would insist on being in sober earnest.

“I used to think that I had no heart; I begin to think I
have a good deal now. Every day it seems as if I could
love more and more; and a great many things are growing
clear to me that I did n't use to understand, and I 'm growing
happier every day.

“You know my queer old protégé, Uncle Tiff, who lives
in the woods here. For some time past I have been to his
house every day, reading to him in the Testament, and it
has had a very great effect on me. It affected me very
much, in the first place, that he seemed so very earnest
about religion, when I, who ought to know so much more,
was so indifferent to it; and when the old creature, with
tears in his eyes, actually insisted upon it that I should
show his children the road to heaven, then I began to read
to him the Testament, the life of Jesus. I did n't know
myself how beautiful it was — how suited to all our wants.
It seemed to me I never saw so much beauty in anything
before; and it seems as if it had waked a new life in me.
Everything is changed; and it is the beauty of Christ that
has changed it. You know I always loved beauty above
all things, in music, in nature, and in flowers; but it seems
to me that I see something now in Jesus more beautiful
than all. It seems as if all these had been shadows of
beauty, but he is the substance. It is strange, but I have


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a sense of him, his living and presence, that sometimes
almost overpowers me. It seems as if he had been following
me always, but I had not seen him. He has been a
good shepherd, seeking the thoughtless lamb. He has, all
my life, been calling me child; but till lately my heart
has never answered, Father! Is this religion? Is this
what people mean by conversion? I tried to tell Aunt
Nesbit how I felt, because now I feel kinder to everybody;
and really my heart smote me to think how much fun I had
made of her, and now I begin to love her very much. She
was so anxious I should talk with Mr. Titmarsh, because
he is a minister. Well, you know I did n't want to do it,
but I thought I ought to, because poor aunty really seemed
to feel anxious I should. I suppose, if I were as perfect as
I ought to be, a good man's stiff ways would n't trouble
me so. But stiff people, you know, are my particular temptation.

“He came and made a pastoral call, the other day, and
talked to me. I don't think he understood me very well,
and I 'm sure I did n't understand him. He told me how
many kinds of faith there were, and how many kinds of love.
I believe there were three kinds of faith, and two kinds of
love; and he thought it was important to know whether I
had got the right kind. He said we ought not to love God
because he loves us, but because he is holy. He wanted
to know whether I had any just views of sin, as an infinite
evil; and I told him I had n't the least idea of what infinite
was; and that I had n't any views of anything, but the
beauty of Christ; that I did n't understand anything about
the different sorts of faith, but that I felt perfectly sure that
Jesus is so good that he would make me feel right, and
give me right views, and do everything for me that I
need.

“He wanted to know if I loved him because he magnified
the law, and made it honorable; and I told him I did n't
understand what that meant.

“I don't think, on the whole, that the talk did me much


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good. It only confused me, and made me very uncomfortable.
But I went out to Old Tiff's in the evening, and read
how Jesus received the little children. You never saw
anybody so delighted as Old Tiff was. He got me to read
it to him three or four times over; and now he gets me to
read it every time I go there, and he says he likes it better
than any other part of the Testament. Tiff and I get along
very well together. He does n't know any more about faith
than I do, and has n't any better views than I have. Aunt
Nesbit is troubled about me, because I 'm so happy. She
says she 's afraid I have n't any sense of sin. Don't you
remember my telling you how happy I felt the first time I
heard real music? I thought, before that, that I could sing
pretty well; but in one hour all my music became trash in
my eyes. And yet, I would not have missed it for the world.
So it is now. That beautiful life of Jesus — so sweet, so
calm, so pure, so unselfish, so perfectly natural, and yet so
far beyond nature — has shown me what a poor, sinful, low
creature I am; and yet I rejoice. I feel, sometimes, as I
did when I first heard a full orchestra play some of Mozart's
divine harmonies. I forgot that I was alive; I lost all
thought of myself entirely; and I was perfectly happy. So
it is now. This loveliness and beauty that I see makes me
happy without any thought of myself. It seems to me,
sometimes, that while I see it I never can suffer.

“There is another thing that is strange to me; and that
is, that the Bible has grown so beautiful to me. It seems to
me that it has been all my life like the transparent picture,
without any light behind it; and now it is all illuminated,
and its words are full of meaning to me. I am light-hearted
and happy — happier than ever I was. Do you remember,
the first day you came to Canema, that I told you it seemed
so sad that we must die? That feeling is all gone, now. I
feel that Jesus is everywhere, and that there is no such
thing as dying; it is only going out of one room into
another

“Everybody wonders to see how light-hearted I am; and


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poor aunty says, `she trembles for me.' I could n't help
thinking of that, the other morning I was reading to Tiff;
what Jesus said when they asked him why his disciples did
not fast: `Can the children of the bride-chamber mourn
while the bridegroom is with them?'

“Now, my dear friend, you must tell me what you think
of all this, because, you know, I always tell you everything.
I have written to Livy about it, because I know it will make
her so happy. Milly seems to understand it all, and what
she says to me really helps me very much. I always used
to think that Milly had some strange, beautiful kind of inward
life, that I knew nothing of, because she would speak
with so much certainty of God's love, and act as if it was
so real to her; and she would tell me so earnestly, `Chile,
he loves you!' Now I see into it — that mystery of his
love to us, and how he overcomes and subdues all things by
love; and I understand how `perfect love casteth out
fear.'”

To this letter Nina soon received an answer, from which
also we give an extract:

“If I was so happy, my dearest one, as to be able to
awaken that deeper and higher nature which I always knew
was in you, I thank God. But, if I ever was in any respect
your teacher, you have passed beyond my teachings
now. Your childlike simplicity of nature makes you a
better scholar than I in that school where the first step is
to forget all our worldly wisdom, and become a little child.
We men have much more to contend with, in the pride of
our nature, in our habits of worldly reasoning. It takes us
long to learn the lesson that faith is the highest wisdom.
Don't trouble your head, dear Nina, with Aunt Nesbit or
Mr. Titmarsh. What you feel is faith. They define it, and
you feel it. And there 's all the difference between the definition
and the feeling, that there is between the husk and
the corn.


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“As for me, I am less happy than you. Religion seems
to me to have two parts to it. One part is the aspiration
of man's nature, and the other is God's answer to those aspirations.
I have, as yet, only the first; perhaps, because
I am less simple and less true; perhaps, because I am not
yet become a little child. So you must be my guide, instead
of I yours; for I believe it is written of the faithful, that a
little child shall lead them.

“I am a good deal tried now, my dear, because I am
coming to a crisis in my life. I am going to take a step
that will deprive me of many friends, of popularity, and
that will, perhaps, alter all my course for the future. But,
if I should lose friends and popularity, you would love me
still, would you not? It is wronging you to ask such a
question; but yet I should like to have you answer it. It
will make me stronger for what I have to do. On Thursday
of this week, my case will come on again. I am very busy
just now; but the thought of you mingles with every
thought.”