Gold Dust.

by E. L. E. B.

PREFACE

This little book is a translation from a collection of devotional thoughts published in France under the t.i.tle of "Paillettes d'Or." It is necessarily a selection, since the gold dust which suits French readers requires a fresh sifting for the English; but the value of most of the thoughts seems to me well to deserve the term of gold. There are many who will much enjoy having this little collection on their table, so as to be able to take it up and dwell upon some one of its grains at leisure times throughout the day's business.

C. M. YONGE.

Feb. 12, 1880.

INTRODUCTION

In the south of France, during the summer, little children and old and infirm poor who are incapable of hard work, in order to earn a livelihood, employ themselves in searching the beds of dried up rivers for "Paillettes d'Or," or golden dust, which sparkles in the sun, and which the water carries away as it flows. What is done by these poor people and little children for the gold dust G.o.d has sown in those obscure rivers, we would do with those counsels and teachings which G.o.d has sown almost everywhere, which sparkle, enlighten, and inspire for a moment, then disappear, leaving but regret that the thought did not occur to collect and treasure them.

Who is there that has not experienced at some time in his life those teachings so soft and gentle, yet so forcible, which make the heart thrill, and reveal to it suddenly a world of peace, joy, and devotion?

It may have been but a word read in a book, or a sentence overheard in conversation, which may have had for us a two-fold meaning, and, in pa.s.sing, left us touched with an unknown power.

It was the smile on the lips of a beloved one whom we knew to be sorrowful, that spoke to us of the sweet joy of resignation.

It was the open look of an innocent child that revealed to us all the beauty of frankness and simplicity.

Oh! if we had but treasured all the rays of light that cross our path and sparkle but for a moment; oh! if we had but engraved them on our hearts!

what a guide and comfort they would have been to us in the days of discouragement and sorrow; what counsels to guide our actions, what consolations to soothe the broken heart!

How many new means of doing good!

It is this simple work of gathering a little from every source--from nature, from books, above all, from mankind itself--that is the intention of one of your fellow-creatures, dear souls, you who long so to make your lives more holy and devout!

And in the same way as the gold dust, gathered and acc.u.mulated from the river's bed, was the means of bringing a little profit to the hearth, so would we endeavor to carry a little joy to your hearts, and peace to your souls.

Gather, then, these little counsels; gather them with watchfulness; let them for a moment penetrate deep into your heart; then scatter them abroad again, that they may go with their good words to the help of others.

They will not be importunate, will not even ask to be preserved; they do not desire fame; all that they seek is to convey a transient blessing.

GOLD DUST

I.

"My LORD!" exclaimed once a devout soul, "give me every day a little work to occupy my mind; a little suffering to sanctify my spirit; a little good to do to comfort my heart."

II.

If by our deeds we become saints, true it is, that by our deeds also we shall be condemned.

Yes, it is little by little that we press onward, either towards salvation or eternal ruin; and when at last we reach the gate of glory, or that of perdition, the cry escapes our lips, "Already!"

The first backward step is almost imperceptible; it was those tiny flakes of snow, seeming to melt as they touch the earth, but falling one upon another, that have formed that immense ma.s.s which seems ready to fall and crush us.

Ah! if I tried to trace back to what first led to that act of sin, the thought that produced the desire, the circ.u.mstance that gave rise to the thought, I should find something almost imperceptible; perhaps a word with a _double entendre_ I had heard, and at which I had smiled; a useless explanation, sought out of mere curiosity; a hasty look, cast I knew not wherefore, and which conscience prompted me to check; a prayer neglected, because it wearied me; work left undone, while I indulged in some day-dream that flitted before my fancy....

A week later the same things occur, but this time more prolonged; the stifled voice of conscience is hushed.

Yet another week.... Alas! let us stop there; each can complete the sad story for himself, and it is easy to draw the practical conclusion.

III.

A young girl, in one of those moments when the heart seems to overflow with devotion, wrote thus in her journal: "If I dared, I would ask G.o.d why I am placed in the world; what have I to do? I know not; my days are idly spent, and I do not even regret them.... If I might but do some good to myself or another, if only for the short s.p.a.ce of a minute in each day!"

A few days later, when in a calmer mood she re-read these lines, she added, "Why, nothing is easier! I have but to give a cup of cold water to one of CHRIST'S little ones."

Even _less_ than that: a word of advice; something lent to another; a little vexation patiently borne; a prayer for a friend offered to G.o.d; the fault or thoughtlessness of another repaired without his knowledge--G.o.d will recompense it all a thousand-fold!

IV.

Alms given in secret; that is the charity which brings a blessing.

What sweet enjoyment to be able to shed a little happiness around us!

What an easy and agreeable task is that of trying to render others happy.

FATHER! if I try to please and imitate Thee thus, wilt Thou indeed bless me? Thanks! thanks! be unto Thee.

V.

Is it fair always to forget all the good or kindness shown to us by those with whom we live, for the sake of _one_ little pain they may have caused us, and which, most likely, was quite unintentional on their part?

VI.

When you sometimes find in books advice or example that you think may be of service, you take care to copy and consult it as an oracle. Do as much for the good of your soul. Engrave in your memory, and even write down, the counsels and precepts that you hear or read; ... then, from time to time, study this little collection, which you will not prize the less that you have made it all yourself.

Books written by others in time become wearisome to us, but of those we write ourselves we never tire. And it _will_ be yours, this collection of thoughts chosen because you liked them; counsels you have given yourself; moral receipts you have discovered, and of which, perhaps, you have proved the efficacy.

Happy soul! that each day reaps its harvest.