{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_44769/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_44769","id":"gutenberg_44769","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44769","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian life","Christian life -- Pictorial works"],"text":"Transcriber's note:\n\nText enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\nSmall capital text has been replaced with all capitals.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n[Illustration: J. GODWIN.\n\nW. L. THOMAS\n\nTHE FARM-HOUSE KITCHEN.\n\nVol. ii. page 286.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE SHEEPFOLD AND THE COMMON\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  the\n  Sheepfold\n  &\n  THE COMMON,\n  OR\n  WITHIN & WITHOUT.\n\nBLACKIE & SON \u00b7 GLASGOW EDINBURGH, & LONDON.]\n\n\n\n\n  THE\n\n  SHEEPFOLD AND THE COMMON:\n\n  OR,\n\n  WITHIN AND WITHOUT.\n\n\n  VOL. II.\n\n  \"My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow\n      me.\"--JOHN x. 27.\n\n  \"Them that are without God judgeth.\"--1 COR. v. 19.\n\n\n[Illustration: publisher's mark]\n\n\n  BLACKIE AND SON:\n  GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND LONDON.\n\n  MDCCCLXI.\n\n\n\n\n  GLASGOW:\n  W. G. BLACKIE AND CO., PRINTERS,\n  VILLAFIELD.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nVOL. II.\n\n                                                   _Page_\n\n  Old Rachel, the Blind Woman,                          1\n\n  Diversity of Opinion Very Natural,                   18\n\n  Union Without Compromise,                            37\n\n  The Stage Coach,                                     52\n\n  A Sabbath in London,                                 62\n\n  The Sceptic's Visit,                                 76\n\n  A Renewed Encounter,                                 94\n\n  The Effect of a Word Spoken in Season,              108\n\n  The Family of the Holmes,                           123\n\n  A Misfortune often a Blessing in Disguise,          134\n\n  Christian Experience,                               155\n\n  Doubts and Perplexities,                            166\n\n  Theatrical Amusements, Part I.,                     177\n\n  Theatrical Amusements, Part II.,                    198\n\n  Unitarianism Renounced,                             219\n\n  The Path of Truth Forsaken,                         240\n\n  The Fruits of Apostasy,                             261\n\n  The Farm-House Kitchen,                             284\n\n  A Party at the Elms,                                296\n\n  Family Sketches,                                    311\n\n  Amusements,                                         323\n\n  The Unhappy Attachment,                             342\n\n  A Sequel to the Foregoing,                          365\n\n  The Village Chapel,                                 386\n\n  Village Characters,                                 401\n\n  The Pious Cottager,                                 422\n\n  The Closing Scene of the Young Christian's Career,  431\n\n  The Happy Marriage,                                 449\n\n  An Old Friendship Revived,                          462\n\n  The Wanderer's Return,                              474\n\n  A Struggle for Life,                                493\n\n  The Sceptic Reclaimed,                              504\n\n  The Rector's Death-Bed,                             518\n\n  The Rector's Funeral,                               529\n\n  The New Rectors,                                    540\n\n  A Secession at Broadhurst,                          551\n\n  A Farewell to Old Friends,                          561\n\n  Conclusion,                                         575\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\nVOL. II.\n\n\n                                                                    _Page_\n\n  The Farm-House Kitchen,                                  _Frontispiece._\n\n  A Contrast,                                            _Engraved Title._\n\n  George III. and the Dying Gipsy,                                       7\n\n  Mistaken Charity--Mr. Sykes's Theory Refuted,                         55\n\n  Sabbath Pleasure-Seekers,                                             64\n\n  The Conspiracy Defeated,                                             128\n\n  The Mother's Hopes Blasted,                                          179\n\n  Mr. Beaufoy's Emotion on receiving his Mother's Letter,              261\n\n  Bringing in the Last Load of Corn--The Reapers' Hymn of Praise,      285\n\n  Miss Holmes and Miss Martin taking leave of Mrs. Kent,               299\n\n  First Meeting of Captain Orme and Emma Holmes,                       352\n\n  Mr. Swinson assaulted by the Mob,                                    396\n\n  The Bridal Party welcomed by the Villagers,                          456\n\n  The Wanderer's Return,                                               480\n\n\n\n\nTHE SHEEPFOLD AND THE COMMON.\n\nOLD RACHEL, THE BLIND WOMAN.\n\n\n\"And so I hear,\" said Mrs. Stevens to the Rector, when we were\nspending an evening at his house, \"that poor Old Rachel is dead. I\nreally thought she had died long since, as I have not heard anything\nabout her for a long time.\"\n\n\"Yes, Madam,\" replied Mr. Ingleby, \"she is dead, and was buried\nyesterday; she lies very near some of the finest of my flock.\"\n\n\"She must have lived to a great age, for she was an old woman when I\nwas but a little girl.\"\n\n\"She was, I believe, upwards of ninety, and for several years she\nlived with some relatives in a state of almost entire seclusion.\nI had quite lost sight of her, and it was owing to a very casual\ncircumstance that my acquaintance with her was renewed.\"\n\n\"How did you happen again to meet with her?\"\n\n\"It was in this way. I required some one to weed my garden; and\nhearing that there was an active clever woman residing at Street,\nabout two miles from the rectory, who was a good hand at such\nwork, I took a walk to find her. On reaching her house I knocked\nat the door, but received no answer; and just as I was going away,\nrather disappointed at having made a fruitless journey, a neighbour\nstepped out of the adjoining cottage, and said, 'If, Sir, you\nwant Mrs. Jones, she has just gone out, but I will go and look for\nher, if you will perhaps come in here, and rest yourself for a few\nminutes.' I thanked her, and followed her into the house, where she\nplaced a chair for me, saying, as she left to go in search of Mrs.\nJones--'It's no use, Sir, to say nothing to my mother there; she is\nquite blind, and so deaf, that she can't hear a word which nobody\nsays to her.' The person to whom she pointed sat in an arm-chair,\non the opposite side of the fire, wrapped up in flannel, her face\nnearly concealed by her cap and bonnet, and as motionless as a\nstatue. I sat for a few moments in silence, and then, yielding to\na feeling of curiosity, and I would also hope to a better motive,\nto endeavour to ascertain whether I could impart the soothing\ninfluences of religious consolation to the seemingly inanimate\nobject that sat opposite to me, I arose, and placing my lips as\nnear her ear as possible, without touching her, said, audibly and\ndistinctly, 'You are very old.' No reply. This was followed by\nseveral common-place questions--such as, 'What is your name?' 'Do\nyou want anything?' 'Are you in any pain?' These and other questions\nI continued to repeat; but they produced no more effect on her than\nthey would have done on a log. 'Poor thing,' I exclaimed, 'it's no\nuse to try, as she is living out of my reach. The door of access\nis locked, and the key lost.' I resumed my seat. My anxiety to\ngain access to her mind increased in proportion to the apparent\nimpossibility of succeeding, and I made another effort. '_Do you\never think about dying?_' There was a slight convulsive movement\nof the hand, but this was no satisfactory proof that she heard\nmy question; however, it showed that the inner spirit was awake,\nand might possibly be bringing itself to a listening attitude. I\nthen put the all-important question--'_Do you know anything about\nJesus Christ?_' Never shall I forget the effect of this question.\nHer hands were suddenly raised, her arms extended, and her face\nglowed with more than human radiance, and, in a tone of transport,\nshe exclaimed, 'What! is that my beloved pastor? It was under your\nministry I was brought to know Christ, and feel the preciousness of\nhis love.' This unanticipated exclamation astonished and delighted\nme, especially when I recognized, by the sound of her voice, _Old\nRachel_. To all my questions relating to her secular condition and\nwants, she was as insensible as though actually dead. I stood and\nlooked on her with joyous wonder, never having previously known\na similar case. I repeated question after question, but had no\nresponse, till I asked, '_Is Christ precious to you?_' Her reply\nwas prompt and audible: _He is precious to my soul--my transport\nand my trust._' The reply had an electrical effect on my spirit.\nMarvellous! I never witnessed such a scene as this. I varied my\nquestions again and again; but there was no sign of hearing, or even\nperceptible motion, though I took hold of her hand. It was as though\nsome angelic spirit kept watch, to prevent any thought relating\nto earth or time from obtruding itself on her attention, now she\nwas waiting on the verge of the celestial world. One question\nmore, and all intercourse was over. '_Do you long to see Christ?_'\nShe instantly replied, '_My soul is in haste to be gone._' Again\nshe relapsed into her statue-like appearance, and in that state\ncontinued till the return of her daughter with Mrs. Jones, after\ntransacting my business with whom, I took leave, and walked home,\nmusing on the history of Old Rachel, and resolving that I would soon\nagain pay her a visit.\"\n\n\"I should like,\" said Mrs. John Roscoe, \"to have witnessed this\nscene, and heard the retiring spirit thus appearing to bear\ntestimony to the more than magic power of the Saviour's name, and of\nthe preciousness of his love.\"\n\n\"And so, Madam, should I,\" said the Rev. Mr. Guion; \"it would have\nbeen to me like a voice speaking from another world, in confirmation\nof the genuineness of our faith, which sees the invisible, and holds\nconscious intercourse with Him, though we hear him not. I generally\nfind, that a singular ending is closely connected with a singular\norigin, or a series of eventful occurrences. Can you favour us with\nsome account of her history?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, I can, and it is both interesting and peculiar. I did not\nknow her till she was advanced in age, and had lost her sight; yet,\nbefore I knew her, I had often heard her spoken of as an intelligent\nwoman, very fond of books, and remarkable for the neatness and\ncleanliness of her person, and her regular and punctual attendance\nat her parish church. When her sight failed her, she was compelled\nto relinquish the school by which she had gained her livelihood; but\nshe was so much esteemed, that a good allowance was granted by the\nparish, and this was augmented by weekly subscriptions from some\nof the members of her church. On passing by her cottage one day, I\nlooked in to see her, though she was not one of my parishioners;\nbut as she had imbibed the Tractarian doctrines of her Rector, and\nfelt a strong repugnance to evangelical truth, I at once perceived\nthat my presence was more disagreeable than pleasing. I therefore\nwithdrew, not intending to repeat my visit until I had prepared her\nto desire it. I soon hit upon a plan to accomplish this. The old\nwoman had a little favourite grand-daughter in my Sabbath-school,\nand it occurred to me that I could employ her as the medium of\ncommunication; and I commenced operations by giving her and lending\nher some little books of anecdotes and descriptive stories. After\nthe lapse of several months, I gave her, as a reward for reading to\nher grandmother, the sketch of the Rev. John Newton's conversion;\nand this was followed by a tract on regeneration, with which the old\nwoman was so much pleased, that she requested the loan of another\non the same subject. No great while after reading this tract she\ncame to hear me preach, and soon became a regular attendant on my\nministry; and ere long she sent to say she should be glad if I would\ncall on her. I went; she apologized for her rudeness of manner on\nmy former visit, and excused herself by referring to the influence\nwhich superstitious prejudices had acquired over her. From these\nsuperstitions she hoped she was now rescued by the attractive power\nof the gospel of Jesus Christ.\n\n\"When it was noised abroad that Rachel, the old blind woman, had\nleft the church, where Tractarian doctrines and ceremonies were the\ntheme of the Rector's ministrations, she received a visit from some\nof her lady friends, who were very anxious to get her to return,\nintimating that if she did, they would continue their subscriptions\ntowards her support, otherwise she must not expect to receive any\nmore favours from them. She heard all they chose to say, and thus\nannounced her final decision:--'I have, ladies, attended my parish\nchurch for more than fifty years without getting any benefit to my\nsoul, but where I have been only a few Sabbaths I have heard and\nfelt the truth as it is in Jesus, and there I shall continue to go\nas long as my feeble limbs will carry me. I thank you for all your\nacts of liberality and kindness to me, but I cannot barter away\nmy freedom, and run the risk of losing my soul. I must live free,\nthough in poverty; and my salvation is now the one thing I value\nabove all price.' She continued for several years both regular\nand punctual in her attendance on my ministry, but at length was\ncompelled, by increasing infirmities, to give up her house and go to\nreside with a married daughter. Years rolled on--the grand-daughter\nhad left my school--the cottage where the old woman had resided was\noccupied by another--she gradually faded from my recollection, and\nin process of time I had quite forgot her.\"\n\n\"I used,\" said Mrs. Stevens, \"to see her, with her grand-daughter\nleading her, coming to church and going from it; but she sat in some\npew which concealed her from my sight when in the church.\"\n\n\"She was, Madam, one of the most retiring women I ever knew; she had\na great objection to be seen, as she knew her conversion and her\nleaving the ministry of her former Rector had excited a good deal of\ntalk.\"\n\n\"The circumstances attending her conversion to the faith of\nChrist,\" observed the Rev. Mr. Guion, \"is an evident proof of its\ngenuineness, and of its having been effected by the Holy Spirit;\notherwise it would have been impossible for you to have gained her\nover to the reception of salvation by grace through faith, as she\nwas so self-satisfied with her own Tractarian delusions, and so much\nunder the power of the active agents of the same fatal heresy.\"\n\n\"I must confess that no event in my long pastoral career ever gave\nme more real pleasure, or excited purer emotions of gratitude to my\nDivine Master, than being allowed to witness the termination of her\ncourse--so unexpected, and so novel.\"\n\n\"I have known,\" said the Rev. Mr. Guion, \"some delivered from their\nterrors and misgivings, just prior to their departure, who have been\nin bondage all their life, through fear of death, and then they have\nfelt even a transport of joy in anticipation of the end of their\nfaith, but I have never known a case like this of Old Rachel.\"\n\n\"I recollect,\" said Mr. Roscoe, \"reading in the _Times_, some\nyears ago, the report of a case bearing a strong resemblance to\nit in some of its distinctive peculiarities. Mr. M----, of -----,\nwho had through a very lengthened course distinguished himself by\nhis activity in secular life, and by his practical piety, when\ndrawing near his latter end, appeared quite indifferent, if not\npositively insensible, to everything bearing a relation to earth,\nthough surrounded by its wealth and honours; but even then he gave\nunmistakeable signs to his pious relatives, that he was filled with\nall joy and peace in believing, abounding in hope, through the power\nof the Holy Ghost.\"[1]\n\n  [1] In reply to an application which the author recently made in\n  reference to this case, an intelligent son of this eminent Christian\n  requests that the name of the deceased may be suppressed, saying,\n  at the close of his letter--\"The prayer of my dearest father was,\n  God be merciful to me a sinner! and his last word, the name of that\n  Redeemer on whose merits he relied, and to whose honour he had\n  lived.\"\n\nMr. Lewellin remarked:--\"An intimate friend related to me, some\ntime since, the following circumstances, which belong to the same\nremarkable order with that of Old Rachel and Mr. M----. He knew\na Mr. Griffith, who left Wales when a young man, and settled in\nLondon, where he practised as a surgeon for half a century with very\nconsiderable success; but feeling the infirmities of age coming on,\nhe disposed of his business and withdrew into private life. From\nhis youth up he had maintained a good report amongst his Christian\nbrethren. He lived for years after he had relinquished his practice,\nbut latterly fell into such a state of apathy that he was unable\nto recollect his own children, and had even forgotten the English\nlanguage, which he had spoken for more than fifty years, using,\nin his Scripture quotations and audible prayers, his native Welsh.\nHe would remain for many hours in succession without appearing\nto notice any visible object, asking any question, or replying\nto any observation relating to secular matters. He had withdrawn\nfrom the world, living surrounded with invisible realities, the\nvarying aspect of his countenance indicating some active process of\nthinking and emotion; but when he heard the name of Jesus mentioned,\nor any allusion to his love in dying for sinners, his eyes would\nsparkle with peculiar radiance, his hands would clasp together,\nand he would pour forth expressions of gratitude and joy, which\nbetokened the vital energy of his soul, and the intense interest he\nfelt in anticipation of the grand crisis. On his favourite theme\nof meditation he evinced no dulness, nor lack of mental energy; he\nwould emerge from his seclusion to hold intelligible intercourse\nwith his Christian brethren, when he heard them give utterance\nto the joyful sound, and then drew back, without any distinct\nrecognition of their persons, to dwell alone in the pavilion of the\nDivine presence.\"[2]\n\n  [2] The following anecdote of George III. (from _Legends and\n  Records_, chiefly Historical: by Charles Tayler, M.A.), supplies\n  us with another interesting case of the aptitude of the mind to\n  understand and feel the power of religious truth, after it has\n  become inaccessible to every other mental communication. His majesty\n  had been hunting in Windsor Forest, and after the hunt was over, as\n  he was returning, his attention was arrested by a little girl who\n  sat on the ground weeping. He alighted from his horse, and, having\n  ascertained the cause of her grief, he followed her to a tent, in an\n  unfrequented part of the forest, where lay an old gipsy on her dying\n  bed, with her face towards the inside of the tent. She appeared\n  too far gone to hear any of the sympathetic inquiries which he\n  instituted. However, his eye was attracted by a torn and dirty book,\n  which lay open upon the pillow of the dying woman, and he had the\n  curiosity to see what book it was.\n\n  \"Ah, Sir,\" said an elder girl, \"I believe there's a deal of fine\n  reading in that book; and my grandmother set great store by it, torn\n  and soiled as it is. While she could use her eyes she used to be\n  spelling it over and over again; but now, she says, the letters are\n  all dark and dim before her sight, she cannot see them.\"\n\n  His majesty said nothing, but, taking up the book from the pillow,\n  he sat down on the green turf close to the head of the dying woman.\n  The book was the Bible. He chose some of those beautiful passages\n  which are easy to be understood, and, at the same time, full of\n  hope and comfort to the sinking and fearful heart. He read of the\n  tender compassion of the Father of mercies to his guilty creatures,\n  in giving his own Son Jesus Christ to die for them, that whosoever\n  believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life!\n  Though she heard not what he said when he first spoke to her, she\n  heard and felt the words of the Scriptures, for she turned entirely\n  round and opened her dull eyes with a vacant stare; she endeavoured\n  also to speak, but could only make a faint uncertain sound, in which\n  no word could be distinguished. Then she drew her hands together,\n  and clasped them as if in prayer, taking that way, it seemed, to\n  show that she was quite sensible to hear and understand what was\n  read to her; and the young girls drew near, and kneeled down quietly\n  beside the bed, listening also to the sacred words of life, and\n  feeling a sort of happiness in their sorrow, as they looked upon\n  their beloved parent, now as calm as a sleeping infant, except that\n  tears stole down her hollow cheeks; but any one might see that they\n  were tears of joy, for all the while a smile was on her lips.\n\n\"These are spiritual phenomena,\" said the Rev. Mr. Roscoe, \"which,\nlike the phenomena of nature, are too plain and palpable to be\ndenied, even though it may not be in our power to give all the\nexplanations about the causes of them which our curiosity would like\nto receive.\"\n\n[Illustration: JAMES GODWIN. W. L. THOMAS.\n\nGEORGE III. AND THE DYING GIPSY.\n\nVol. ii. p. 7.]\n\n\"Very true, Sir,\" said Mr. Ingleby; \"but there are certain\nstatements and expressions in the New Testament which throw light\nenough upon such phenomena to demonstrate that they have their\n_natural causes_, and thus they are rescued from the supposition\nthat they are self-originated and self-sustained movements of\nthe human spirit, in some complexed and eccentric condition of\nexistence. Our Lord says to his disciples, 'I am the vine, ye are\nthe branches; he that abideth in me and I in him, the same bringeth\nforth much fruit' (John xv. 5). The life of the branch depends on\nits adhesion to the tree which supplies the sap of nourishment.\nAgain, he says, 'I in them' (John xvii. 23). The apostle says, 'I\nlive, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me' (Gal. ii. 20). Again,\n'Your life is hid with Christ in God' (Col. iii. 3), denoting\nits invulnerable security. From the passages which I have now\nquoted, and there are many others of the same import, we arrive\nat this conclusion, which is an explanation and a defence of the\nspiritual phenomenon, that there is an actual, though inexplicable\ninhabitation of Jesus Christ in the soul of a believer (Rev.\niii. 20), sustaining the spiritual life within him, as the vine\nnourishes the branch which bears its own fruit. And as He has life\nin _himself_, he can do this with perfect ease, not only when the\nbeliever is in vigorous health, and in the full exercise of all his\nmental faculties, but when he is labouring under those physical\ndiseases and mental infirmities which, by a slow progression, lead\nto his decay and death.\"\n\nThe Rev. Mr. Guion observed, \"That to deny the existence of such\nphenomena, and others which bear some affinity to them, simply\nbecause they are extraordinary, would be an act of absurdity which\nno spiritual or even philosophic mind would venture to defend,\nbecause the evidence in proof of their actual occurrence is so clear\nand conclusive. The real question of difficulty to decide is simply\nthis:--Are they supernatural manifestations, or illusions of the\nimagination? but, in either case, they go off into their own element\nof mysteriousness, compelling us to believe what we cannot explain.\nOn a supposition that they are real manifestations of Divine power\nand love, which I fully believe they are, I cannot help thinking\nthat the highly-favoured spirit (Old Rachel, for example), while in\nsuch a state of _lucid and active unconsciousness_, if I may use\nsuch an expression, must exist in something like an intermediate\nposition between the material and immaterial world--dying off from\none by a very slow progression, and getting meet for the other by a\nsimilar process; occasionally stepping back to give unmistakeable\nsigns of the continued possession of the faculties of thought and\nemotion, and then retreating, as into a citadel standing near the\ndark frontier of the invisible world, and into which its celestial\nrays sometimes penetrate.\"\n\n\"In these cases of rare occurrence,\" said Mr. Roscoe, \"it is the\nsoul of the spiritual man retreating from visible and audible\nfellowship with his pious associates; but biography supplies us\n_with another order of moral phenomena_ equally inexplicable, yet\nequally gratifying, tending to confirm the reality of the connection\nbetween the visible and invisible world which the Christian\nrevelation so plainly and positively announces. I received, some\ntime ago, the following statement from an elder of a Scotch church,\non whose testimony I can place implicit dependence:--'About the\nmonth of August, 1838, I went to see my grandfather, a pious old\nman, ninety-two years of age. I sat by his bedside, and others\nalso were with him. He had been silent and motionless for about\nfive hours, when he opened his eyes, his countenance beaming with\njoy, and raising his hands he said, I see heaven open, and Jesus\nChrist at the right hand of God, and the angels of God descending\nto receive me. These were his last words, and when he had given\nutterance to them he expired.'\"\n\n\"This reminds me,\" said Mr. Lewellin, \"of an incident which occurred\nat Stepney College,[3] not long ago. When Ebenezer Birrel, a student\nthere, was dying, he requested all who were in the room with him to\nkeep silence. He also was silent and motionless. At length he looked\nand gazed in rapture on some glorious object, which to him alone was\nvisible, exclaiming, as he gazed, '_Beautiful! beautiful!_' and in\nuttering the word 'GLORY!' his head fell and he expired.\"\n\n  [3] The Baptist College, Stepney.\n\n\"The case of Dr. Gordon, of Hull,\" said the Rev. Mr. Guion,\n\"differing, as it does in some particulars, from all the specimens\nwe have had of these spiritual phenomena, is, I think, deserving of\nour special notice. 'He appeared,' says his biographer, 'just as he\nwas expiring, no longer conscious of what took place around him.\nHe gazed upwards, as in wrapt vision. No film overspread his eyes.\nThey beamed with an unwonted lustre, and the whole countenance,\nlosing the aspect of disease and pain, with which we had been so\nlong familiar, glowed with an expression of indescribable rapture.\nAs we watched, in silent wonder and praise, his features, which had\nbecome motionless, suddenly yielded for a few seconds to a smile\nof ecstasy which no pencil could ever depict, and which none who\nwitnessed it can ever forget. And when it passed away, still the\nwhole countenance continued to beam and brighten, as if reflecting\nthe glory on which the soul was gazing. This glorious spectacle\ncontinued for about a quarter of an hour, increasing in interest to\nthe last.'\"\n\n\"I have heard of other cases,\" remarked Mr. Ingleby, \"bearing a\nstrong resemblance to some which have been mentioned; but I have\nnever made much use of them, except as supplementary proofs in\nconfirmation of my own belief in the inseparable connection of\nthe two worlds. They are not absolutely necessary to establish\nthis great fact; yet we must all admit, that such proofs _can be\nsupplied_, if it should please God to do so; and we know he has done\nit more than once. Not to dwell on the vision of the apostle Paul,\nI would just advert to the case of Stephen. When his enemies were\ngnashing on him with their teeth, expressive of their indignation\nagainst him, for accusing them of having betrayed and murdered the\nJUST ONE--'He, being full of the Holy Ghost, looked up steadfastly\ninto heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on\nthe right hand of God' (Acts vii. 55). He saw clearly what the\nothers saw not, and for reporting what he saw he was denounced a\nblasphemer, and was led out and stoned to death. This case settles\ntwo great facts:--First, that God can, when he pleases, unveil to\nmortal vision the glorious forms and appearances of the invisible\nworld; and secondly, that he has done it.\"\n\n\"I feel unwilling,\" said the Rev. Mr. Roscoe, \"to object to any\nevidence which tends to confirm our belief in the connection\nbetween the visible and invisible world; but I think great caution\nis necessary in employing such cases as have now been reported in\nproof of it. What the old Scotchman and the youthful student saw, or\nthought they saw, may, after all, have been nothing more than the\nillusions of their own disturbed imagination, left at the closing\nscene uncontrolled by the immortal spirit itself, while in the act\nof passing from its material tabernacle, and away from its material\nsenses, into another, a higher, and more congenial economy of\nexistence.\"\n\n\"True, Sir,\" said Mr. Ingleby; \"but then, if we admit that they\nreally are illusions, we must also admit that they are illusive\nonly by a _forestalling process_; the imagination bringing to\nthe senses, yet bounded by the material economy, objects of\nvision belonging to another state of existence--framing types of\ninvisible realities--lifting up, in the living temple of humanity,\nprefigurations of what will be seen when the fulness of time comes\nfor the disembodying of the soul and its glorification. The illusion\nthen relates, not to the UNREALITY of _what is seen_ and _felt_, but\nto the _unreality_ of the _act_ of _vision_, and its _consequent\nexcitement_ and _impression, both mental and physical_.\"\n\n\"We know,\" said. Mr. Roscoe, \"that God very rarely deviates in\nhis providential administration, from the established laws of his\ngovernment; but we also know that he does sometimes, and for the\npurpose of making us know more impressively that he is the LORD,\nwho exercises loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness in the\nearth, for in these things he delights. Hence, there have been\ntwo translations from earth to heaven, without the intervening\ninfliction of death, but only two, since the fall of man. In\nreference to the remarkable cases under consideration, there may be\nsome difficulty in deciding whether the persons actually saw what\nthey are reported to have seen, or were imposed on by the mysterious\naction of their own imagination; but yet I cannot bring my mind to\nthe conclusion, that the visions were positive illusions, and that\nthe happy spirits who saw them, and spake of them, and whose radiant\ncountenances betokened the truthfulness of their testimony, were\ndying under the spell of self-deception. Such cases, we know, but\nvery rarely occur, and when they do occur they make their appearance\nquite unexpectedly; but I think they occur often enough, and with\nsuch varying peculiarities, as to make us hesitate to pronounce them\npositive illusions, even if we cannot admit with confidence that\nthey are positive realities.\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" said Mrs. John Roscoe, \"the spell of self-deception,\nif they were deceived, was soon broken, as in each case death came\nimmediately after they uttered their last joyous exclamation; and\nthen the sublime vision of immortality opened upon them, with all\nits glorious realities.\"\n\nThe Rev. Mr. Guion here remarked that, \"in general, the Lord's\npeople die in hope and with great calmness; and sometimes they rise\nto confidence, and even to joy, and joy unspeakable. Few, indeed,\nrise higher than this; but I have known enough, and heard enough,\nto satisfy me that some do. The case of Dr. Gordon, who uttered\nno exclamation, is to me a decisive proof of this. He is calm,\nmotionless, wrapped in profound thoughts, when his countenance,\nwhich had long been marked by the lines of disease and pain, begins\nto radiate, till at length its lustre was so clear and bright,\nattended by an ecstatic smile so ethereal, that the spectators were\nawe-struck, standing and gazing for the space of a quarter of an\nhour on this more than human vision. At least, they thought it more\nthan human while they were gazing on it.\"\n\n\"Every effect,\" said Mr. Ingleby, \"must have some adequate cause;\nand this extraordinary radiation on the countenance of Dr. Gordon\nwas produced either by the action of his own thoughts, or by\nthe intervention of a supernatural power. If produced by his\nown thoughts, what a hold must his soul have taken of invisible\nrealities when he was dying, to give such a glowing brilliancy\nto his pallid face! If produced by the intervening action of\nsupernatural power, it was a premature shining forth of the glory to\nbe revealed more fully in the disembodied state. In other words, he\ndid what was done by the impulse of his _own_ conceptions, or God\nwas especially with him in his dying chamber, shedding upon him some\neffulgent rays of his own glory.\"\n\n\"But to return,\" said the Rev. Mr. Roscoe, \"to the case of Rachel,\nthe old blind woman, which, because it is capable of a more\npractical bearing, I must confess, interests me more than the\nsplendid case of Dr. Gordon, interesting as it is. But, before\nI touch on this, will you permit me to ask how long she lived\nafter your unexpected interview with her? and whether there was a\nrecurrence of the astonishing responses to your inquiries?\"\n\n\"I sat gazing on her,\" said the Rev. Mr. Ingleby, \"some time after I\nceased speaking; and before I left her, her countenance had resumed\nits statue-like appearance of positive insensibility; and every\nfeature was fixed, as though set by the cold hand of death, and\nthere was not a movement of any part of her body, except the breast\nand the shoulders, from the more powerful action of the lungs. The\nfollowing week I took a friend with me, in expectation of having\nanother interview with her; but I was disappointed. On entering the\ncottage, her daughter informed me, that having awoke in the night,\nand thinking she heard her mother utter some sound, she went with a\nlight to her bedside, when the old woman, after a slight convulsive\nstruggle, raised her hands, and said, '_Dear Saviour, I come to\nthee_,' and died.\"\n\n\"What a splendid transition!\" said Mrs. Stevens; \"the cottage\nexchanged for a mansion! What a glorious sequel to all her\nprivations and sufferings! Her happy spirit, long confined in total\ndarkness, is at last liberated, and is now beholding the glory\nof Christ, and living and moving amidst the celestial beings and\nsublime grandeur of immortality.\"\n\n\"And yet we are told,\" said Mr. Roscoe, \"that the faith of Christ,\nwhich unveils such grand prospects of a future state of existence,\nis a mere delusion, and that we who indulge them are self-deceived.\nIf we admit this, we must also admit that it is a very remarkable\ndelusion, as it usually comes in its most vivid forms, and with its\nmost attractive influences, just at that period of human existence\nwhen all things of earth and of time are vanishing away. At that\nawful crisis, when the pomp of distinction, the fascination of\nsensible objects, and the grandeur of wealth, are all losing their\nhold on us--and nothing is left to man but the shroud, the coffin,\nand the grave --at that very time the Christian faith opens up\na scene of grandeur which no words can adequately describe; and\nyet the dying man, who feels his departing spirit embracing these\nrevelations as sublime realities, is told by the cold-hearted\nsceptic that all is a delusion, and he is self-deceived. But he\nheeds not such random assertions. He moves forward, repeating the\nsoul-inspiring words, 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the\nshadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod\nand thy staff they comfort me' (Psal. xxiii. 4).\"\n\n\"But this case of poor Old Rachel,\" said the Rev. Mr. Roscoe, \"does\nsomething more than exhibit the efficacy of the Christian faith, in\nsustaining the human soul when the _dread hour comes_--it supplies\na proof of the immateriality, and, by a fair inference, of the\nimmortality of the soul itself. We are told, by some sagacious\nsceptics, that the mind of man, like his body, is material, only\nthat it has passed through a more refined process, and is endowed\n_by nature_ with certain faculties analogous to the senses; and as\nthey came into existence together at the time of his birth, and live\ntogether through life, so they will go out of existence together\nwhen they pay the debt of nature, and, at last, perish together.\nAnd I must confess that humanity has, in some instances, seemed\nto give a confirmation to this opinion, as the body and the mind\nhave appeared to wither and decay together, as age and infirmities\nhave come upon them. Hence there has been a loss of memory with\nthe loss of animal vivacity--a loss of intellectual vigour with\nthe loss of physical strength--a loss of imaginative power with\nthe loss of sensitive acuteness--the mind and the body undergoing\nthis reciprocal decay before the change comes which, according\nto the sceptic's theory, is to end in their extinction. But,\nthen, I have met with another class of cases bearing some analogy\nto this reciprocal decay, but, at the same time, putting forth\nindications in confirmation of a reversed issue, as in the history\nof Old Rachel. In her we see the memory losing the impression of\nearthly objects, but retaining the impression of heavenly ones. Her\nintellect lies prostrate and powerless in the presence of sensuous\nand secular inquiries, but it springs into vigorous activity\nwhen spiritual ones are addressed to her. The affections of her\nheart have died off from the relationships of life; but they are\nconcentrated on the perfection of moral beauty, and cleave to Jesus\nChrist with an intensity and ardour surpassing that of a youthful\npassion. Here we have a living exponent, and a confirmation of the\ntruthfulness of the apostolic expression, 'Though our outward man\nperish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.' (See John xi. 25,\n26).\"\n\n\"And there is another practical lesson,\" Mr. Ingleby remarked,\n\"which this case of Old Rachel teaches us, and it is this:--When a\nman is enlightened by the Spirit, and is brought into fellowship\nwith Jesus Christ, and has felt the power of the world to come,\nhe never outlives his knowledge of these wondrous realities which\nstand out in bold relief when his remembrance of all other\nthings is blotted out. He may forget the wife of his bosom, and\nthe children who revered and loved him--he may forget his mother\ntongue, and not recognize the hand which feeds and clothes him--and\nhe may live till almost every sense has become extinct, and the\navenues of communication between the imprisoned spirit and the\nliving world are blocked up--but he will never forget by whose\nblood he has been redeemed--he will never become insensible to the\ncharm of His name or the preciousness of His love--nor will he\never lose sight of the bright and unfading inheritance of which he\nhas received the earnest. Old Rachel was living at ease, conscious\nof her possessions, even when, in the estimation of others, she\nwas unconscious of her own existence; and indulging the sublimest\nanticipations of faith and hope, while in the dark cell of her\nconfinement.\"\n\n\"Without giving any opinion,\" said the Rev. Mr. Roscoe, \"as to\nwhich of the cases reported this evening is the most remarkable,\nor presuming to decide, whether they are to be referred to some\nmysterious action of the imagination, or to a real, yet marvellous\nmanifestation of the Divine presence--leaving each case to stand for\nyour decision on the ground of its own merits--I think we may make\na good practical use of the whole of them, as, when we see lights\nburning, though of varying degrees of brightness, we may avail\nourselves of their radiance even if we cannot tell by whom they are\nenkindled. We believe that the evidence which the Bible supplies,\nin confirmation of the existence of another world, is sufficiently\nample and decisive to satisfy us of its reality; but still it is\nnot so ample and decisive as to preclude the desirableness of some\nadditional evidence. This is often given in the death-chamber of\nthe Christian believer; and not only to him, when dying, but to\nthose who are eye-witnesses of the mode of his departure. When,\nfor example, we see a man of intelligence, of taste, of great\nsobriety of thinking, and of courteous speech, quite calm on his\ndeath-bed, and alternately strongly excited--when we hear him\nspeak of the hope he entertains of a glorious immortality--when we\nsee him rising above hope into full assurance, eager to depart,\nthough surrounded by many of the attractions of earth--when every\nlook, and aspiration, and utterance, beats in harmony with his\nlong-settled expectation of a grand issue to his faith--we may very\nnaturally take his experience, not only as a safe guide, but as\na valid testimony to the certainty of what we believe in common.\nBut now suppose, if, in addition to this tranquil state of mind,\nwe should see a bright radiance beaming on the countenance of our\ndying friend, previously pallid and careworn by disease--and suppose\nwe should see him raise himself up in bed, looking intently, as\nif seeing some beautiful object concealed from us, and, after a\nprofound silence and stillness of some minutes, we should hear him\nspeak of actually seeing, while in the body, what we believe he\nwill see the moment he is out of the body--would not this tend to\nstrengthen our faith, even though we are unable to decide whether\nhe actually saw, or merely thought he saw, the scenes he described?\nI think it would; and that even the most dubious on the question of\nillusion or reality would retire from such a hallowed spectacle,\nfilled with emotions of deep solemnity and joyous delight, similar\nto what a primitive believer must have felt when looking on the face\nof Stephen, shining with angelic brilliancy, a visible attestation\nof the reality of his miraculous vision.\"\n\n\"I think so too,\" said the Rev. Mr. Guion. \"I should like to witness\nsuch a sight and hear such an exclamation; and though I will admit\nthat such things may be nothing more than the illusive action of\nthe imagination, yet how comes the imagination, when performing its\nvery last operations, to act with so much power, as to imprint such\na visible radiance on a death-struck countenance? I cannot resist\nthe impression that such cases as Old Rachel's and Dr. Gordon's,\nbelonging certainly to a diverse order of spiritual phenomena, are\nreal manifestations of the glory and love of God, and are intended\nby him, like the translation of Enoch and Elijah, as supplementary\nevidence to confirm the faith, and animate the hope of his redeemed\nand beloved children. At any rate, such is the effect they have on\nme.\"\n\n\"They have the same effect on my mind,\" said Mr. Ingleby;\n\"especially this case of poor Old Rachel, which will retain its\npower of impression as long as I exist. I shall never forget the\nlast interview I had with her, nor her death-like appearance when\nI left her; but when I see her again--and I trust to see her ere\nlong--she will appear in a beauteous form, arrayed in the spotless\nrobe of celestial glory. We know that our latter end is coming, but\nwe know not _when_ it will come, or who of the living will be with\nus when it does come; nor do we know whether we shall pass away,\nlike Dr. Gordon, while beams of glory are radiating our countenance,\nor steal out of life like poor Old Rachel, as from under a pile of\nmaterial ruins; but, for our consolation, we know that our dear\nRedeemer has promised that _He_ will come to receive us to himself\nwhen we depart hence, and that where he is we shall be also, and for\never: 'Wherefore, comfort one another with these words' (1 Thess.\niv. 18).\"\n\n\n\n\nDIVERSITY OF OPINION VERY NATURAL.\n\n\nOne morning, while Mrs. Stevens was conversing with Mrs. John\nRoscoe, a girl who had been attending Mrs. Stevens' Sabbath-school,\nand who was going into service, called at Fairmount for a Bible\nwhich had been awarded to her for her diligence and propriety of\nbehaviour. After expressing her thanks on receiving it, she added,\nin a very modest tone, \"I shall value it for your sake, Ma'am, and I\nhope I shall love it for its own sake.\"\n\n\"I was very much pleased,\" said Mrs. John Roscoe, \"with the\nappearance and manners of your young proteg\u00e9. The reason she gave\nfor loving the Bible is a proof of superior intelligence, and, I\nshould hope, of decided piety.\"\n\n\"Yes, she is an amiable girl, and I hope she is pious. She is\na _rescue_ from a godless family. Her parents are very profane\npersons, and their other children are following their example. I\nhave no doubt of her attachment to the Bible, for she has made\nherself very conversant with it.\"\n\nIn the evening, when a few friends were assembled, Mrs. John Roscoe\nmentioned how much pleased she had been with the Sabbath-school\ngirl, and repeated the remark she made on receiving the Bible from\nMrs. Stevens.\n\n\"FOR ITS OWN SAKE,\" said the Rev. Mr. Guion; \"that is a\nsubstantially good reason for loving the Bible. It is a somewhat\nsingular fact that no book, on any subject or in any language,\nhas so completely divided public belief and sympathy, both on the\nquestion of its origin and its practical utility.\"\n\n\"It certainly,\" Mr. Roscoe replied, \"is a very singular, and a very\nwonderful book: wonderful, if true; more so, if false. If true, we\ncan account for its origin; but how can its origin be accounted for\nif it be false? If false, it is an invention; and not the invention\nof one man, but of an organized conspiracy, and a conspiracy of good\nmen, for the Bible is too good a book for bad men to write.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"I admit that a bad man may write a good book;\nbut to suppose that a number of bad men would conspire to write such\na good book as the Bible, is to admit as great a moral impossibility\nas to imagine that a number of good men would form a confederacy\nin fraud and duplicity, and then palm off their lying inventions\nas positive realities. Now, let us look at the case fairly, and I\nthink we may make some logical progress in settling the question\nof its origin. Here is a Bible, and it consists of two parts--the\nOld and the New Testament; and we must recollect that the Old\nTestament would be incomplete without the New, and the New Testament\nwould be incomplete without the Old. Each of these parts consists\nof different books, or distinct writings, variously designated,\noccupying the space of nearly 2000 years in the composition of\nthem. If the Bible had been written by any one man in any one age,\nor if it had been written by contemporary writers living in the\nsame city or country, its integrity might be open to very strong\nsuspicion. But the writers of the Bible lived in different ages and\nin different countries, spoke different languages, belonged to very\ndifferent ranks in social life, and most of them were unknown to\neach other; and yet there is, on all the facts and doctrines, and\ninstitutes of these records, an exact concurrence[4] of testimony\nrunning through the whole of their writings. Amongst the writers\nwe find legislators, kings, poets, herdsmen, fishermen; one was\na publican, and another a tent-maker, who, at one period of his\nlife, denounced as false some of the facts of its record, which, on\ninvestigation, he found to be true, and attested the integrity of\nhis new-formed belief by yielding to a martyr's death. And it will\nbe at once perceived by the intelligent reader, that these men were\nno common-place writers; they moved in no beaten pathway of general\nknowledge; they are no copyists--they are originals; what they tell\nus no other men had ever thought of, or, if they had, their thoughts\ndied with them, as they never gave publicity to them. The writers of\nthe Bible appear amongst us as scribes coming from another world,\nwell instructed in the mysteries of a unique faith, admirably\nadapted to the peculiar exigencies of disordered and perplexed\nhumanity. In addition to the origin of the world and of evil--the\nmediatorial work and government of the Son of God, the moral\ncharacter and condition, and responsibilities, and final destiny\nof the soul of man--and a future economy of existence to last for\never--are the momentous truths which they make known to us, through\nthe media of their multifarious and diversified compositions; of\nhistory, prophecy, parable, poetic songs, and plain didactic prose.\"\n\n  [4] The sceptic will sometimes endeavour to perplex and entangle the\n  faith of an unlearned believer, by insinuating that, as he has never\n  traced, through the medium of exact evidence, the origin of the\n  different books of the Bible to their source, he cannot be assured\n  that his belief is substantially a true belief--it may be, after\n  all, nothing but the belief of a fiction. The following quotation\n  from a distinguished writer, will, I think, prove as a shield of\n  defence to the faith of the unlearned, and convince the sceptic\n  himself, that his objection, plausible in appearance, is wanting\n  in logical force:--\"It is manifest that the concurrent testimony,\n  positive or negative, of several witnesses, when there can have been\n  no concert, carries with it a weight independent of that which may\n  belong to each of them, considered separately. For though, in such\n  a case, each of the witnesses should be even considered as wholly\n  undeserving of credit, still the chances might be incalculable\n  against all agreeing in the _same_ falsehood. It is on this kind of\n  testimony that the generality of mankind believe in the motions of\n  the earth, and of the heavenly bodies, &c. Their belief is not the\n  result of their own observations and calculations, nor yet again of\n  their implicit reliance on the skill and good faith of any one or\n  more astronomers; but it rests on the agreement of many independent\n  and rival astronomers, who want neither the ability nor the will\n  to detect and expose each other's errors. It is on similar grounds\n  that the generality of men believe in the existence and in the\n  genuineness of manuscripts of ancient books. It is not that they\n  have themselves examined these, or that they rely implicitly on\n  the good faith of those who profess to have done so; but they rely\n  on the _concurrent_ and _uncontradicted_ testimony of all who have\n  made, or who _might make_, the examination--both unbelievers and\n  believers of various hostile sects, any one of whom would be sure\n  to seize any opportunity to expose the forgeries or errors of his\n  opponents.\"--_Whately._\n\n  This observation is the more important because many persons are\n  liable to be startled and dismayed, on its being pointed out to them\n  that they have been believing something, as they are led to suppose,\n  on very insufficient reasons, when the truth is, perhaps, that they\n  have been merely mis-stating their reasons.\n\n_Rev. Mr. Roscoe._--\"And what is especially deserving of our\nattention, is the perfect ease and harmony with which they write\non these new and sublime discoveries of moral truth, while they\nall write independently of each other. They admit that they are\nsubordinates, unworthy of the honour of their appointment; yet each\none speaks and writes, and without any appearance of dogmatism or\nostentation, in the same dignified tone of absolute authority; the\nvoice which speaks and the hand which writes, is human, but what is\nsaid or written, comes from some other source.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Yes, Sir, I think the correctness of your\nremark can be demonstrated; at least, it comes as much within the\nrange of demonstration, as any moral or historic truth, or fact,\ncan be brought. The Old Testament is incomplete, and comparatively\nvalueless, without the New; and yet it is written under the obvious\nimpression and belief, that it would be completed; but on what data\ncould its writers base their calculation, that they should have\nsuccessors who would carry on and perfect what they had begun and\nadvanced through several stages of its progress. Now, I readily\nbelieve, that a person of a very acute and comprehensive mind,\nwho has carefully watched and studied the facts and philosophy of\nhistory, may, on some special occasions, give some general outline\nof what will be the state of things within a very _near_ futurity,\nif he cautiously avoid going into specific and minute details. But\nthe writers of the Old Testament have opened up the roll of a _very\nremote_ futurity,[5] and have recorded extraordinary events, with\ntheir dates and localities, long before their actual occurrence,\nportraying the likeness of MESSIAH the PRINCE, ages before his\nappearance on earth, and doing it with so much exactness, that it is\na perfect resemblance of the wonderful original. How could they have\ndone this, unless they had been guided by a prescient Spirit, to\nwhose eye all the future is as visible as all the past?\"\n\n  [5] Deut. xviii. 15; Psal. xlv. 1, 2; lxxii.; Isa. liii.; Dan. ix.\n  22, 27; Zech. ix. 9; Mal. iii. 1.\n\n\"Foretelling at the same time,\" said Mrs. John Roscoe, \"his tragical\ndeath; which no one would have expected as the termination of his\nbenevolent career.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"It is, I believe, a law in the republic of\nletters, which no one has attempted to repeal, that all writers\nshall have the right of giving, if they please, their authorities\nfor what they say; and of letting us know from what source they\nderive the information which they supply to us. Hence, no one\ncan reasonably object to let the writers of the Bible have the\nprotection of this law, which is of universal application. And\nwhat do they say on the question relating to the source of their\nknowledge? We will take their answer, and then form our own\njudgment of its integrity from the facts and evidences of the\ncase. \"All Scripture is given by inspiration of God:[6] holy men\nof God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.\"[7] This is\na concise statement of their testimony on this great question;\nand its integrity is fairly sustained by positive and incidental\nevidence. We see that they have given proofs of foreknowledge which\nfar surpasses the capabilities of the most acute and comprehensive\nhuman mind; while, at the same time, they have made known to us a\nconnected series of moral and spiritual truths, to which no other\nwriters make any allusion, and of which they could have formed no\nconception, unless they had been under superhuman tuition. What\nthey have done, is its own defence against the imputation of fraud\nand dishonesty--standing as an imperishable memorial of the love\nof God to man; and of the fidelity of his servants, in disclaiming\nthe honour of inventing a theory of faith and morals which justly\nclaims a Divine origin. This view of the case, which is their\nown explanation, settles the question, without requiring us to\nbelieve physical impossibilities, or compelling us to reject the\nunrepealable law of moral evidence.\"\n\n  [6] 2 Tim. iii. 16.\n\n  [7] 2 Pet. i. 21.\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"And we may, I think, very properly regard the great\n_moral power_ of the Bible as a very telling collateral argument\nin favour of its Divine origin. You may take any other book, on\nany other subject, and put it into circulation amongst a mass of\npeople, either semi-barbarians or highly-polished citizens, but it\nwill work no beneficial changes in the general aspect of their moral\ncharacter. It will leave them, as it finds them. If it finds them,\nas in India, bowing down and doing homage to stocks and stones, it\nleaves them worshipping the workmanship of their own hands--still\nrevelling in their cruel and obscene abominations. If it finds them,\nas in Rome, kissing the crucifix--offering up their adorations\nand orisons to the Virgin Mary--or visiting the tomb of a real or\nlegendary saint, in expectation of some miraculous healing, it\nleaves them practising these puerile and senseless exercises. If\nit finds them, as in Russia, crouching in terror before the great\nTyrant, doing his biddings like beasts of burden, it leaves them in\nthis prostrate state of degradation and misery. But put the Bible\ninto circulation amongst the same class of people, and, after a\nwhile, you will perceive that it is taking effect upon them. One\nreads it, and feels its moral power on his conscience and his heart;\nanother reads it, and he is subdued by its authority; others read\nit and the same result follows: they are drawn together by the\nattractive power which emanates from it, and become the nucleus of a\nnew order of human beings springing up in the midst of the unchanged\nnatives of the place. They are of the same ancestral origin, and\nfollow the same civil and social avocations and professions; but\nthey are a peculiar people, resembling the primitive believers of\nthe New Testament in intelligence and daring courage. They are new\ncreatures in Christ Jesus; and, in process of time, as they increase\nin number and consequent activity, they give a new tone and energy\nto the moral, the political, and the religious sentiments and\nfeelings of an entire community. It is to the Bible that Scotland\nis indebted for her moral greatness; and England never would have\nrisen to her present eminence had it not been for the old Puritans,\nwho were animated and sustained by the examples, and principles,\nand spirit of the Bible, in their passive sufferings and active\nexertions in resisting the encroachments and the cruelties of\ntyranny and oppression.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Your argument, Sir, is a legitimate one, and\nit is as logical, as it is historically true. The book which effects\nthe changes which are essential to the happiness and well-being of\nmen as individuals, or men living in a community, but which cannot\nbe effected by the wit or eloquence of man, may fairly put in a\nclaim to a higher and a purer origin than mere humanity.\"\n\n_Mr. Stevens._--\"Unbelievers, in general, do not trouble themselves\nto account for the origin of the Bible; they take for granted that\nit is a book of mysticism and fraud, and at once direct their\nvirulence against it, and hold it up to scorn and contempt.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"And yet, notwithstanding all these attacks on\nthe Bible, it still lives and commands attention. In the estimation\nof wise and good men, it takes precedence of all other books: they\nnot only admire, but revere and love it. I have in my parish a\ngood old man who has a large library, and has been a great reader\nfor upwards of twenty years, but now he very rarely reads any book\nexcept his Bible. On referring, one day, to his devoted attachment\nto the Bible, he said--'I feel, when reading it, in the presence\nof God, and what I read comes with authority and power. The more I\nread it the more is my attention fixed on another world, and the\nmore intensely do I desire to depart hence. This is a mean and\ncomfortless place of residence when compared with the mansion our\nLord is preparing for us in his Father's house.'\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Pious people are very fond of the Bible, and\ntheir attachment to it increases as they advance in years; their\npassion for it is often very strong in death.\"\n\n_Mr. Stevens._--\"Your remark, Sir, recalls to my remembrance\nwhat passed, the other day, in a casual conversation between an\nintelligent, yet very candid sceptic, and myself. 'There is,' he\nsaid, 'one phenomenon connected with the Bible which has long\npuzzled me to account for; if you can solve it, I shall feel\nobliged. I have noticed wherever I have been--and I have travelled\nthrough Europe and America--I have visited India and some of the\nislands of the South Seas, and resided for awhile amongst the black\npopulation of the West Indies--and whenever I have met with any\npersons who believe in the truth of the Bible, whether they were\nrefined and intelligent or the reverse, they uniformly evinced\nfor it the same profound reverence and supreme attachment.' 'The\nsolution,' I replied, 'is easily given. They revere it as their\nstatute-book, containing the code of laws which their Divine\nLegislator has issued to test their obedience to his authority; and\nthey love it, as bringing life and immortality to light; making\nknown to them a Saviour who is able and willing to save them from\nthe wrath to come, and to give them peace of soul as an earnest and\na pledge of future and eternal happiness; and they value it for\nits exceeding great and precious promises, which have a soothing\nand sustaining influence over their hearts in the times of their\nsorrows and afflictions.' 'But how is it,' he added, 'that while\nthey cherish such a profound reverence for the Bible, they differ\nso widely in the interpretation they put on its meaning? How will\nyou account for this rather puzzling fact?' The sudden entrance of\nseveral strangers into the room prevented me from making a reply.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"This difference of interpretation, which\nsceptics often bring forward as a plausible argument against the\nDivine origin of the Bible, very frequently perplexes conscientious\nbelievers. I recently received a letter from a gentleman who\nsays--'When I think of the sentiments which are held by different\nbodies of Christians--sentiments which are directly opposed to each\nother, and which appear to me to admit of no adjustment; and when I\nrecollect that they all profess to derive them from the same source,\nand are in the habit of appealing to the same authority in support\nof them--I feel myself approaching a difficulty which I know not\nhow to solve. Is the Bible really such a mysterious book that it is\nincapable of being understood? Is it an oracle which utters truth\nand falsehood? If so, it cannot be a safe guide; and if it be not\nso, how do you account for the very different interpretations which\nit receives?'\"\n\n_Mr. Stevens._--\"How did you meet the difficulties of the case?\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"I did not go fully into the question, because\nI knew, from the cast of his mind, that he would work himself right.\nI merely stated that conflicting opinions do not, of themselves,\npossess sufficient weight to set aside any law, or destroy the truth\nof any proposition which comes attested by its own proper evidence.\nAnd to give force to this very obvious truism, I reminded him of our\njudges, who sometimes give different interpretations of a statute\nlaw, without impairing its authority; and of our philosophers,\nwhose different opinions on the primary cause of motion, do not\ndisturb popular belief in the diurnal revolution of our earth. But,\nafter all, we do not differ in our interpretations of the Bible so\nmuch as many imagine. It is true there are separate and distinct\ndenominations of Christians, who are regarded by the ignorant and\nbigoted as the disciples and abettors of very opposite religious\ncreeds; yet if we inquire into the actual state of the case, we\nshall find that most of them agree in all that is essential and\nvitally important in the Christian scheme, and that they differ only\non what is subordinate, and comparatively unimportant.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Roscoe._--\"It is supposed by many that this diversity\nof interpretation which is given to some parts of the Bible would\nhave been prevented if a logical or systematic order had been\nscrupulously observed. If, for example, the sacred writers had\narranged the facts, the doctrines, the precepts, the institutions,\nthe sanctions, the evidences, and the final recompense of the\nChristian faith, systematically--presenting the whole in a\ncompendious form--there would be, in that case, so much compactness,\nsuch symmetrical order--one part of the theory would hang so\nnaturally on another--that it would be extremely difficult, if not\nimpossible, for any division of opinion to spring up amongst us\non the question of its import or design. We should then think and\nbelieve alike. This is what I have heard some speculatists say; but\nI have no confidence in the integrity of their opinion.\"[8]\n\n  [8] \"No such a thing,\" says Archbishop Whately, \"is to be found in\n  our Scriptures as a catechism, or regular _elementary introduction_\n  to the _Christian religion_; nor do they furnish us with anything\n  of the nature of a systematic creed, set of articles, confession\n  of faith, or by whatever other name one may designate a regular,\n  complete compendium of Christian doctrines; nor, again, do they\n  supply us with a liturgy for ordinary public worship, or with forms\n  for administering the sacraments, or for conferring holy orders;\n  nor do they even give any precise _directions_ as to these and\n  other ecclesiastical matters--anything that at all corresponds to\n  a rubric, or set of canons.\" Why these omissions? A great defect\n  in our Scriptures, say some; but, in my opinion, it amounts to a\n  self-evident confirmation, that the writers of the New Testament\n  were under the special dictation of the Divine Spirit, as to what\n  they _should_, and what they _should not_ record. If they were\n  carrying out a fraudulent design, conceived by their predecessors,\n  who wrote the Old Testament, they would, from their educational\n  training and desire to act in character with their confederates,\n  have imitated their example, and been very specific and minute in\n  all their ecclesiastic arrangements. They would have inserted the\n  law of dictation and prescription, which was so absolute under the\n  Jewish theocracy, in the Christian code, and thus have rendered\n  division of opinion and freedom of action impossible. The question\n  then turns upon us: Why did they not do what it was very natural\n  they should do, and what the necessity of the case would seem to\n  require to be done, according to the judgment of every intelligent\n  and reflective mind, who looked at it through the medium of the\n  existing ecclesiastical regulations of the age and country? Their\n  _not doing_ what was thus natural _they should do_, and what the\n  necessity of the case, according to human judgment, _required them\n  to do_, is of itself a proof that they were not left to the guidance\n  of their own understanding, but were held in subjection, according\n  to their own confession, by the controlling power and wisdom of the\n  Holy Ghost, under whose inspiration all Scripture is given. \"The\n  Jewish ritual, designed for one nation and country, and intended to\n  be of temporary duration, was fixed and accurately prescribed. The\n  same Divine wisdom, from which both dispensations proceeded, having\n  designed Christianity for all nations and ages, left Christians\n  at large in respect of those points in which variation might be\n  desirable. But I think no _human_ wisdom would have foreseen and\n  provided for this. That a number of _Jews_, accustomed from their\n  infancy to so strict a ritual, should, in introducing Christianity\n  as the second part of the same dispensation, have abstained not only\n  from accurately prescribing for the use of all Christian churches\n  for ever the mode of Divine worship, but even from recording\n  what was actually in use under their own directions, does seem\n  to me utterly incredible, unless we suppose them to have been\n  restrained from doing this by a special admonition of the Divine\n  Spirit.\"--_Whately._\n\n  At any rate, whether these omissions are to be attributed to the\n  controlling power of the Holy Ghost, or the extraordinary policy of\n  the writers of the New Testament, we arrive at the same conclusion,\n  that, while we are required to believe, and to contend earnestly for\n  the essential facts and doctrines of the Christian faith, which are\n  set out with great precision and explicitness, a freedom of action\n  is allowed on what may be deemed the subordinate and non-essential\n  parts of the same faith. Hence we may differ on some things, without\n  any valid impeachment of our Christian wisdom and integrity,\n  unless we allow our difference of opinion to produce alienation\n  of brotherly affection. When it does this, we make a sacrifice of\n  our honour, and give a sanction to the accusation of the common\n  adversary, that our hostile divisions are a proof that our religion\n  does not come from a wise and benevolent Being--that it is of the\n  earth, earthy.\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"The objections against an inspired compendium\nof Christian doctrine and practice, are, in my judgment, more\npowerful than the arguments in favour of it. If we had it, we\nshould revere it, and learn it; it would perpetually recur to our\nrecollection in our reflective moments, and by rendering a studious\nexamination of the other parts of the Scripture unnecessary, we\nshould be liable to sink into 'a _contented apathy_' of spirit,\nunder this conviction, that as we can repeat all, we know all that\nis necessary for us to know.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"Archbishop Whately, when alluding to this\nsubject, says, 'that if we had this compendium, both it and the\nother parts of the Scriptures would be regarded as of Divine\nauthority; but the compendium itself would be looked upon by most as\nthe fused and purified metal; the other, as the mine containing the\ncrude ore. And the compendium itself, being, not like the existing\nScriptures, that _from which_ the faith is to be learned, but _the\nvery thing to be learned_, would come to be regarded by most with an\nindolent, unthinking veneration, which would exercise little or no\ninfluence over them.'\"\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"Universal experience proves, that facility in\nobtaining a supply to our physical necessities, is not so beneficial\nto the energy and vigour of the human constitution, as difficulty,\nwhich stimulates to labour and invention. Compare, for example,\nthe natives of the South Sea Islands, whose bread-fruit ripens of\nitself, with the hardy Highlanders of Scotland, who have to toil\nfor their living through frost and snow, as well as sunshine--what\na difference in their muscular and masculine conformation and\nappearance. And the same remark is equally applicable to the mind of\nman, whose knowledge on any subject, in any department of science,\nand especially the science of Biblical theology, is accurate and\nprofound, in proportion to the efforts he is obliged to make in its\nacquisition. A compendium would be the bread-fruit, within reach,\nand easily plucked. We should, if we had it, become dwarfs in\nBiblical theology. It is only when our energies are roused by a love\nof the truth, and stimulated by the difficulties connected with its\nattainment, that our knowledge in the mystery of Christianity gets\nperfected, and becomes practically powerful in its influence over\nthe heart and the character.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"And in addition to the relaxing influence\nwhich a compendium would exert over the mind--indisposing it to any\nlabour in searching the Scriptures, except the labour of the memory,\nand that to a very superficial extent--I have another objection to\nsuch a projected scheme, which is this:--I do not think it possible\nfor the Christian faith to be reduced to such a compact, or what\nyou term compendious form, as shall secure amongst its advocates\nand defenders a perfect unity of belief on all points, without the\nperpetual exercise of a supernatural agency in the illumination and\nguidance of the mind, which would amount to something like a plenary\ninspiration to every believer. Now what can be more logically\nexplicit than the articles of our church; and yet what a very\ndifferent construction do different men put upon them!\"\n\n_Mrs. John Roscoe._--\"That is true. If I were in a church on a\nSabbath morning listening to a Tractarian; if I returned in the\nafternoon, and heard a Moderate; and if, in the evening, I occupied\nthe same pew, while an Evangelical was doing duty in the pulpit, I\nshould find myself in a modern Babel, witnessing, on a small scale,\na new specimen of the confusion of tongues.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"But this difference of opinion and diversity\nof interpretation on the same theory of belief, prevails amongst\nothers as well as amongst us. Even amongst unbelievers, who almost\ndeify reason--asserting and maintaining, that it is fully equal to\nall the exigencies of humanity, without being under any obligation\nto a Divine inspiration--there is almost an endless diversity of\nbelief and opinion on all questions relating to God, to human\nresponsibility, and the final destiny of man. They are obliged to\npass a toleration act to live in peace.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"I like a toleration act; it is essential to\nour peace. The period is coming when we shall _'see eye to eye_;'\nbut that will be under a dispensation very different to the present;\nwe must now agree to differ, and while contending earnestly for\nthe faith once delivered to the saints, we must live together as\nbrethren.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"Jesus Christ said to his disciples--'These\nthings I command you, that ye love one another' (John xv. 17); and\nhe says the same things to us. And if we love one another, we shall\nnever vote for a repeal of our toleration act, which admits of some\nshades of difference in our religious belief and opinions.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"It was doubted, a few years since, whether\neven the spiritual members of our various denominations cherished\nany fraternal esteem and affection for each other--they often acted\nmore like gladiators than brethren; but now they are cultivating a\nspirit of union and peace.\"\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"This change in their spirit and conduct is a very\ngratifying and auspicious event; but some good men maintain that the\nentire abolition of the distinctive denominations and their union\nin one undivided body, would be more conducive to the honour of\nChristianity, and more favourable to its progressive triumphs.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"This I conceive to be impracticable during the\npartial obscurity of the present dispensation; and I must confess\nthat I do not think it advisable. I have no objection to those\ndivisions of opinion which separate us into different denominations,\nthough I deplore the spirit which they sometimes engender. I think\nthat a variation in belief, on some of the minor questions of\nreligion, by keeping our attention awake and active, tends to\npreserve the more important truths in a purer state; and the action\nand re-action of one Christian denomination on another, prevents\nthat stagnation of feeling, and that inertness of principle, which\nan unbroken and undisturbed uniformity admits of.\"\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"But, would not the church assume a more imposing\naspect, and put forth a more powerful energy, if she could unite all\nher members in one undivided body, under the immediate authority\nof one Head, than she does now, broken as she is, into so many\nsubdivisions?\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Yes, Sir, if she could preserve her purity\nuncontaminated; but we ought never to forget, that while the\nreligion we profess is Divine in its origin, and indestructible in\nits nature, it is human in its forms and administrations. Hence it\nalternately displays resistless power and exhausted weakness--the\nsanctity and grandeur of its Author, along with the infirmities\nand imperfections of the agents to whom it is intrusted--sometimes\nexciting the profound veneration of the multitude, and at other\ntimes their contempt or indifference. And it is this admixture of\nwhat is human with what is Divine, that renders it expedient that\nthere should be some exposure to the influence of that re-action of\ndistinctive opinions, and of social attachments, which, by keeping\nus alive to _the purity and extension of our separate communions_,\ntends to promote the purity and extension of the faith which we hold\nin common.\"\n\n_Mr. Stevens._--\"Your opinion exactly accords with my own. Hence,\ninstead of regarding the Established Church, and the various\ndenominations of orthodox Dissenters, as hostile foes, aiming at\neach other's humiliation and destruction, we should look on them as\nsubjects of the same monarch, each bearing the distinctive insignia\nof his own order; yet mutually supporting each other without the\nformality of a visible contact, and, as his sovereign will directs,\nadvancing, each in his own way, the work of reclaiming to a state of\nallegiance the people who have revolted from his authority.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Or, to vary the figure, we may view them as\nso many servants belonging to the same master, who are employed in\ncultivating the great moral vineyard, whose reward at last will be\nin proportion to their fidelity to him, and their affection for each\nother. If this comparison be just, then, if we cherish a complacent\nfeeling exclusively for those who belong to our own class, and\nattempt to lord it over our fellow-servants who may belong to\nanother, or treat them discourteously, we dishonour ourselves, and\noffend against the law of our Lord, who has commanded us to love\neach other as brethren.\"\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"When I consider the fallibility of the human\nmind--the prejudices of education--the influence of accidental\nreading and associations--and the extensive prevalence of erroneous\nopinions, instead of being astonished by the shades of difference\nwhich prevail amongst us, I am surprised that we think so nearly\nalike. We agree on the substantial facts, and doctrines, and\ninstitutes, and precepts of revelation, while we differ on some of\nits forms and ceremonial enactments. But these trifling differences,\nwhich do not endanger the safety, nor add to the stability of\nour faith, ought not to excite jealousy and suspicion, and cause\nalienation of affection, as though we were avowed enemies. No. When\nthis is the case we give a decisive proof that we do not possess the\nspirit of the gospel; or, if we possess it, we do not display it,\nwhich aggravates rather than extenuates our sin.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"In the last prayer our Saviour uttered, just\nbefore he presented himself the expiatory sacrifice for human guilt,\nhe earnestly entreated that all his disciples, in every future age,\nmight be one, even as he and his Father are one; and he assigns the\nreason--_That the world may know that thou hast sent me._ For some\nages, the object of that prayer was realized in the harmony which\nprevailed amongst Christians whose religion was a bond of union\nmore strict and tender than the ties of consanguinity; and with\nthe appellation of brethren they associated all the sentiments of\nendearment that relation implied. To see men of the most contrary\ncharacters and habits--the learned and the rude--the most polished,\nand the most uncultivated--the inhabitants of countries alienated\nfrom each other by institutions the most repugnant, and by contests\nthe most violent--forgetting their ancient animosity, and blending\ninto one mass, at the command of a person whom they had never\nseen, and who had ceased to be an inhabitant of this world, must\nhave been an astonishing spectacle. Such a sudden assimilation of\nthe most discordant materials; such love issuing from hearts the\nmost selfish, and giving birth to a new race and progeny, could\nbe ascribed to nothing but a Divine interposition; it was an\nexperimental proof of the commencement of that kingdom of God--that\ncelestial economy, by which the powers of the future world are\nimparted to the present.\"\n\n_Mr. Stevens._--\"It must have been a spectacle no less delightful to\nthe eye of the Christian than astonishing to the unbeliever; and had\nthe visible church always exhibited such a spectacle of union and\naffection, her history would have been the records of her spiritual\ntriumphs, rather than of her persecutions and her miseries. But\nher bonds of union have been broken asunder, and her love of the\nbrethren has been quenched in the bitter waters of strife. We\nare the descendants of the holy men who first caught, and first\ndisplayed the spirit of the Prince of Peace, but how little do we\nresemble them! We imbibe the same faith, plead the same promises,\nclaim the same privileges, participate in the same spiritual\nenjoyments, bear the same distinctive and relative character, and\nanticipate the same high destiny; but we too often act as though\nwe were released from the obligations which they admitted and\ndischarged; and instead of attempting to convince sceptics and\nunbelievers of the divinity of our Lord's mission, and the moral\nefficacy of his death, by our union and our reciprocal affection, we\nstrengthen them in their infidelity by our anti-Christian spirit.\nCan no remedy be devised to correct this noxious evil, which, like a\nwithering blight, tarnishes the moral lustre of all our distinctive\ndenominations, and does more to embitter the spirit, and extend the\ntriumphs of infidelity, than the most virulent works which issue\nfrom her corrupt and hostile press?\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Why, Sir, I hope the evil is in some small\ndegree abated by the influence of our public institutions. Those\nwho, a few years since, were envious and jealous of each other, now\nassociate together on the most friendly terms. If the Bible Society\nhas not terminated the contest, it has been the means of concluding\na truce between them; and I flatter myself that there will be\nno renewal of hostilities, even though some of the more bigoted\nbelonging to the different denominations should feel disposed to\nrevive them.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"I fear, Sir, you are rather too sanguine in\nyour expectations. In the little circle in which we move, in this\nisolated spot of the religious world, the spirit of fraternal love\nand union is cherished; but what commotion and strife prevail just\nnow between both the clerical and lay members of our own church!\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Yes, Sir, I know it and deplore it. It is the\nspirit of dry formalism setting itself in array against the spirit\nof vital Christianity; and the contest will be severe, but the issue\nis certain--the Word of the Lord will prove more powerful than the\ntraditions of man.\"\n\n_Mr. Stevens._--\"I must confess that I am rather sanguine in my\ncalculations of the moral influence of the Bible Society on the best\nand most active men of our age. Dr. Mason, of New York, says, in\nthe preface to a work which he has published--'Within a few years\nthere has been a manifest relaxation of sectarian rigour among\nthe different denominations in America, so that the spirit of the\ngospel, in the culture of fraternal charity, has gained a visible\nand growing ascendency. This happy alteration,' he adds, 'may be\nattributed, in a great degree, to the influence of missionary and\nBible societies.'\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"And it is so amongst us to some extent. Till\nthe Bible Society arose, and gained a settlement in our land, we\nhad not an inch of neutral ground on which we could assemble, and\nunite with each other in any religious enterprise; but now we have\nthe province of Goshen assigned us; and the air of that place is\nso salubrious, the light so clear and brilliant, the atmosphere\nso temperate and serene, and the harmony of its inhabitants so\nprofound, that we venerate it as the mystic inclosure in which we\nhave an emblematical representation of the celestial inheritance--in\nwhich the spirits of the just live in closest union and sweetest\nconcord. May the catholicism of grace and truth wax stronger and\nstronger, till Ephraim shall not envy Judah, nor Judah vex Ephraim;\nthe strife of sect being overcome and banished by the all-subduing\nlove of God our Saviour!\"\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"And what is it but prejudice, arising from ignorance\nand misconception, which prevents this cordial union and fraternal\nattachment? No one, I am conscious, who understands the genius of\nChristianity, or who has ever felt his bosom glow with supreme\nlove to the Redeemer, can for a single moment presume to recommend\ndisunion amongst the members of the household of faith, though they\nmay occupy different compartments, and commune at separate tables.\nIt is prejudice that kept me aloof from Dissenters, and made me\nunwilling to associate with them; because I understood that the\ngenerality of them rejected the essential doctrines of Christianity;\nbut now my error is corrected, I esteem them as my brethren in\nChrist; and as I hope to meet them in heaven, and unite with them\nin the sublime exercises of that holy place, I feel a pleasure in\nmingling with them on earth.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"I have lived on terms of intimacy with many\nwho do not belong to the church of which I am a minister, and some\nof the happiest moments of my life have been spent in social and\nspiritual intercourse with them. Our conversation, when we have\nbeen together, has not turned on the questions on which we differ,\nbut on those on which we agree; and I have often retired from these\ninterviews with my mind relieved from its cares, and both animated\nand enriched by the interchange of devout sentiment and feeling.\nAnd in looking forward to the final consummation, I indulge a hope\nof partaking of much holy delight in associating with Luther and\nCalvin, with Fenelon and Claude, with Whitfield and Wesley, with\nHall, Foster and Chalmers, and other illustrious men, of the same\nand other denominations, who have entered into rest. I have lived in\nstormy times, but I have never increased the fury of the tempest. I\nhave seen the spirit of party raging with desolating violence, and\nhave known some of those, who have borne the image of the heavenly,\nstand in opposing columns to each other in the field of fierce and\nangry debate; but I have been enabled, through the grace of our\nLord Jesus Christ, to hold on my way unconnected with their unhappy\nhostilities; and now it is with no common feelings of gratitude\nand delight that I indulge the hope of leaving the church and the\nworld at a period when, if the temple of war is not actually closed,\nyet our denominations are forming a more correct estimate of each\nother's relative strength and importance, in the conflict which\nwe have to sustain against the combined powers of superstition\nand infidelity; and this will necessarily tend to increase our\nreciprocal esteem and confidence.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"If, in our intercourse with each other, we\nalways acted on your prudential maxim, of conversing on questions\nof general agreement, rather than on controversial ones, the spirit\nof discord would be exorcised from amongst us, and then we might, I\nthink, justly calculate on a more copious measure of the influences\nof the Spirit poured down from on high, when we should intuitively\nfeel, by a force of evidence too powerful to be withstood, that\n_God is love_, and that we never please him more than when we\nembrace, with cordiality and esteem, all who bear his image, without\ndistinction of sect or party.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Roscoe._--\"In these sentiments of Christian liberality and\ncharity I now concur most heartily.\"\n\n\n\n\nUNION WITHOUT COMPROMISE\n\n\nThe Rev. Mr. Ingleby, on resuming the discussion of the question\nof union amongst the various denominations of believers in the\nDivine origin of the faith of Christianity, made the following\nvery pertinent remarks:--\"If it were the will of God that the\nvarious denominations of Christians should all think and act alike,\nas the tribes of Israel were required to do under the Levitical\ndispensation, we should have laws laid down for our guidance with\nthe same minuteness and explicitness as was done for them. But such\nis not the case. We have certain general principles laid down,\nand the motives by which all our actions should be governed set\nbefore us with clearness and precision, but we have no particular\ndirections as to the external form of church government. We are\ntherefore left free to adopt that ecclesiastical system which, after\ncareful examination, we find most in conformity with the spirit of\nthe New Testament.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"You mean, Sir, I presume, that we are left free\nto choose either the Episcopal, or Presbyterian, or Congregational\nform of church government?\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Yes, Sir; and though I do not profess to\nbe deeply read in casuistry, yet I believe that very much may be\ncollected from the facts and incidents recorded in Scripture, and\nfrom the casual expressions of the sacred writers in favour of each\nof these forms of church government.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"And so I think. We are not living under a law\nlaid down with minute exactness, like the ancient tribes of Israel,\nbut have the right of exercising our choice on these matters of\nchurch polity, and our choice is determined by preference or\nexpediency, or both. That is, I may deem it expedient to be an\nEpiscopalian in one country, or a Presbyterian in another, or a\nCongregationalist in a third; and I may, at the same time, most\ndecidedly prefer one of these modes of church government to either\nof the other, as being, in my opinion, the nearest approach to\nthe teachings of the New Testament. To adopt such a principle as\nthis is, appears to me more in harmony with the spirit of the New\nTestament dispensation, than putting in a claim for the Divine\nright of Episcopacy, or Presbyterianism, or Congregationalism;\nit is an equitable concession to others of the liberty we claim\nfor ourselves; and hence, without being guilty of any degree of\ninconsistency, we can cultivate Christian fellowship with our\nbrethren of other denominations, without compromising our own\nprinciples.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Roscoe._--\"You will still leave, I presume, as a question\nopen for discussion, the relative conformity of each mode of church\ngovernment to the New Testament model?\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"Most certainly; and when discussions go on,\nuntainted by the dogmatism and acrimony of party predilections and\nantipathies, and are conducted in a liberal and loving spirit, they\ntend to give solidity to the foundation on which our relative union\nis based; and show, at the same time, that it can be cemented and\nperpetuated without any dishonourable compromise.\"\n\n_Mr. Lewellin._--\"I was present in a company some time since, when\nan ingenious Scotchman made out, as he thought, a very strong claim\nfor the superiority of Presbyterianism to the other forms of church\ngovernment. Episcopacy, he remarked, has the monarchical element\ntoo dominant in her constitution--_the clergy are everything;_ in\nCongregationalism, the democratic element is too dominant--_the\npeople are everything_; but Presbyterianism unites the two elements,\nand in about equal proportions _the clergy and the people act\ntogether_--they are a combined power.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Ingenious, if not just. However, without\npausing to discuss this question, I think it is very plain that the\nwriters of the New Testament evince a much stronger predilection\nfor the facts and doctrines of the gospel than they do for its\nrites and ceremonies--deeming the one essential to the integrity\nof the faith, while the other is subordinate and non-essential;\nand I think we cannot do better than imitate them; for after\nall, the forms and ceremonies of church government are but as the\nchaff to the wheat--the mere attire of a living personage, not\nthe person himself. I prefer Episcopacy to either of the other\nforms, though I will not take upon myself the task of defending\nevery appendage which has been affixed to it; yet, with all my\npredilections in its favour, if the pure faith of Christianity\nwere ejected from an Episcopal pulpit, _as it often is_, I would\ngo and worship in a Congregational chapel; and I have no doubt but\na spiritually-enlightened Presbyterian would rather listen to the\nglad tidings of salvation in one of our churches, than to a merely\nmoral sermon in one of his own. In my opinion, the three distinct\norders of churches may be planted on the same soil, may grow in\nharmony side by side; and without any compromise of principle, may\nco-operate with each other, in combined movements, against either\ntheir Papal or sceptical opponents, and feel also a high degree\nof joyous satisfaction in witnessing each other's prosperity and\nhonour.\"\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"Yet I still prefer fellowship with our own church,\nwhile cherishing fraternal esteem and fellowship with our Christian\nbrethren of other churches.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Certainly. When we say that the members of\nour church, and the various orders of Dissenters who have seceded\nfrom it, ought, in obedience to the authority of the Lord Jesus\nChrist, to cherish reciprocal esteem, and live in peaceful harmony,\nwe do not mean that they are to separate themselves from their own\ncommunions, or cease to give them a decided preference.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"In that view of the case I heartily concur;\nfor if the spirit of a comprehensive brotherly love and fellowship\nwere to lead to alienation from our distinctive denominations, it\nwould want one of the evidences of being a peace-maker--healing\nthe breaches which party spirit has unhappily made amongst us. As\na member of a family ought to feel a stronger regard, and take a\ndeeper interest in its prosperity and happiness, than he is expected\nto cultivate towards the community at large, so I think the member\nof any individual Christian church, may and ought to cherish a\ngreater affection for his brethren with whom he lives on more\nintimate terms of fellowship than he does for his fellow-disciples\nin general.\"\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"You have, Sir, very clearly expressed the view\nI now entertain of our relative obligations. We are to do good\nto all when we have an opportunity, but more especially to those\nof the household of faith with whom we are united in church\nfellowship--uniformly endeavouring, by our prayers, our influence,\nour wealth, and our sympathy, to promote their individual and\ncollective prosperity and happiness.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Roscoe._--\"You are now leading us from the sentimental and\nceremonial to the practical department of Christian obligation, in\nwhich I think, from motives of gratitude to our Divine Master, we\nought all to be increasingly active, provoking one another unto love\nand good works. This will be acting more in harmony with our faith,\nand prove more beneficial to ourselves and others than a rigid\nadherence to any sectarian form. When returning home the other day\nfrom one of my pastoral visitations, I met a very poor man, who had\na severe affliction in his family, and he said rather abruptly, 'I\nwish, Sir, you would give us a sermon from the words of the apostle\nJohn, 'But whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother\nhave need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how\ndwelleth the love of God in him?' (1 John iii. 17).' I was not\nsurprised at this application, when I found that he had just been to\nthe Hall, the residence of a very wealthy professor of religion, to\nask some assistance for his distressed family, but had received only\na few words of vague sympathy and regret for his misfortunes.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Well may the apostle say--how dwelleth the\nlove of God in such a heart! But, alas, wealth too often proves a\ncurse to its possessor. How kindly and tenderly does the apostle\naddress us: 'My little children, let us not love in word, neither in\ntongue, but in deed and in truth.'\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"Our Divine Master exhibits himself as the model\nfor our imitation; making, at the same time, our love for each other\nthe test of the genuineness of our Christian character: 'A new\ncommandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have\nloved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know\nthat ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another' (John\nxiii. 34, 35).\"\n\n_Mrs. John Roscoe._--\"_As I have loved you!_--emphatic words,\nexpressive of the spirit we ought to cultivate towards all our\nChristian brethren, especially the afflicted, and prescribing the\nrule for our conduct towards them. If we imbibe this spirit and act\nupon it, we shall then endeavour to cheer them with our sympathy in\nthe hours of their grief and mourning, and cheerfully draw from our\nworldly resources to afford them relief when in want. I remember now\nan anecdote told by the Rev. Mr. Jay:--A pious, but poor member of\nhis church being visited by one of the deacons, and presented with\nfive shillings as a church gift, with the remark, 'Here is a trifle\nfor your necessities,' replied, 'What you call a trifle, I call an\nestate.'\"\n\n_Miss Roscoe._--\"I believe, dear uncle, that you now have in your\ncongregation an organized society, labouring to promote the physical\nas well as the spiritual good of the needy and destitute.\"\n\n_Mrs. John Roscoe._--\"O yes, we are working the principle of\npractical benevolence, and on the basis of a comprehensive union;\nand I am happy to say it works well in spite of the grumblers who\nwould rather sleep on and take their rest than be roused to action.\nThe gentlemen take the management of the domiciliary society, going\nfrom house to house with tracts, &c., &c., and the ladies manage\nthe Dorcas society, which is in a very flourishing condition. In\naddition to a pretty large number of subscribers, we have twenty\nworking members who meet once a fortnight for the purpose of making\nclothes for the poor. Some of these are persons of wealth, others\nare in moderate circumstances; and, as in the gentlemen's society,\nsome are church people, and some are Dissenters, you may there see\nsitting in peaceful harmony, members of the various denominations,\nall busily engaged in the same sort of labour, and heartily\nprosecuting the same work.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"Then you have grumblers amongst you!\"\n\n_Mrs. Roscoe._--\"Indeed, we have. They are a very prolific\nfamily--they may be found everywhere, and the whole fraternity is\ndistinguished by a strong family likeness.\"\n\n_Miss Roscoe._--\"Do you give the clothes to the poor, or do you sell\nthem?\"\n\n_Mrs. John Roscoe._--\"In general we sell what we make, yet very much\nbelow the cost price; but in extreme cases we give clothing, and, in\naddition to this, when any of those who require relief are ill, we\nvisit them, and we often find that a kind visit is esteemed as much,\nif not more than our gratuities.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"I can easily believe that, because there is\ngreat power in sympathy to alleviate the sorrows of the heart. We\ncannot explain the action of moral power, nor conceive the mode\nof its operation, however sensible we may be of its effects. What\npower, for example, in a frown to depress! and in a smile to elevate\nand tranquillize! What power in words both to cheer and sadden the\nheart! _As I have loved you_--these expressive words should guide\nour fraternal intercourse with our Christian brethren, who, when\nthey feel our sympathy to be real, will often attach a much greater\nvalue to it than to any amount of pecuniary assistance.\"\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"We are too apt to forget that our Christian\nbrethren, in common with ourselves, are children of one Father,\nand that we are all now passing through a preparatory discipline\nto fit us for a higher and purer condition of existence in another\nworld. If these great facts were more powerfully impressed on our\nhearts, there would be more sympathy and more charity; the rich\nwould cheerfully administer to the wants of their poor brethren, and\nthose who have but little worldly substance to bestow, would more\noften soothe and enliven them by their sympathy and good wishes.\nChristian fellowship would then be more than a mere term--it would\nbe a reality.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Your remarks, Sir, are quite correct. And\nhere we see the wisdom as well as the love of our Redeemer in\ngrafting our obligations to the most intimate Christian fellowship\non the very constitution of our nature, which inclines us to live\nin social intercourse; guarding us at the same time from the danger\nof contracting a sectarian spirit by enjoining on us the duty of\ndoing good _unto all men_, as well as to those who belong to the\n_household of faith_.\"\n\n_Mr. Lewellin._--\"It is to be lamented, Sir, that there are many\nwho do not keep pace in liberality of sentiment and feeling, and\ngenerosity of disposition, with the denomination or church to\nwhich they belong--they will not labour in the field of practical\nbenevolence, and they do not like to see others exerting themselves;\nin fact, they will do nothing but find fault with the active\nlabourers, either impeaching the purity of their motives, or\npredicting the failure, if not the pernicious results of their\nefforts. And when these morbid grumblers happen to be imbued, as\nis often the case, with a sectarian spirit, and take rank with\nhigh churchmen or with bigoted Dissenters, the moment they see a\nconjunction of the different orders, they tremble for the safety of\nthe ark of _their_ covenant, and raise a hue and cry against the\nunion of the sects--become bitter in their spirit and censorious\nin their speech--and appear in a light very unbecoming the genuine\ndisciples of our Lord.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Such professors do essential injury, not only\nto the honour of the church and denomination to which they belong,\nbut to the cause of religion in general. The evil which results\nfrom the anti-Christian temper and spirit of these arrogant and\ncensorious professors, who usually contrive to attract more notice\nthan the rest of their fellow-members, is incalculable. It supplies\ninfidels with their most plausible topics of invective; it hardens\nthe conscience of the irreligious, weakens the hands of the good,\nand is probably the principal obstruction to that ample effusion of\nthe Holy Spirit which is essential to the renovation of the world.\nIf, then, we wish to make any deep and permanent impression on the\nsceptical and irreligious--to silence their objections and convince\nthem of the Divine origin of the faith which we profess--we must\ncorrect our tempers--we must live in peace amongst ourselves,\ndiscover no disposition to injure or annoy each other, and give\nunequivocal proof that the questions on which we differ are the\nsubordinate tenets of revelation, which may be received or rejected\nwithout affecting its truth, or impairing its strength; and, by a\nunion of affection and concentration of our talents, we must advance\nin the beautiful development of our Christian life, remembering\nthat the wisdom which is from above is 'first pure, then peaceable,\ngentle, and easy to be intreated; full of mercy and good fruits,\nwithout partiality, and without hypocrisy.' When the pious members\nof the Establishment and the various denominations of evangelical\nDissenters are brought to merge their speculative and ceremonial\ndifferences in the cultivation and display of this Christian temper,\nthe eulogium pronounced on the primitive disciples may then with\ntruth be applied to us--'See how these Christians love one another!'\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"The novelty of the sight would certainly command\nattention; and though I am fully persuaded that nothing but a\nsupernatural power can renovate the human heart, yet such a display\nof united affection might have a wondrous effect, almost approaching\nthat of a miracle, in the conversion of the world.\"\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"If it be true that our personal happiness bears\na proportion to our conformity to the spirit and temper of Jesus\nChrist, it is evident that a liberal-minded Christian must partake\nof a much larger share of enjoyment than one who lives under the\ninfluence of that sectarian bigotry which keeps him in a state of\nalienation from his brethren of other communions.\"\n\n_Mr. Stevens._--\"Most certainly, Sir; and by your permission I will\nnow read you a paragraph with which I was very forcibly struck when\nI first lighted upon it. The author is speaking of bigotry, and he\nsays, 'This sectarian and intolerant spirit can view no excellence\nout of its own pale, and deems every opinion heresy that does not\nbow to its authority. Its plans of doing good always betray the\nselfishness of their origin; and unable from its very nature to\nform designs commensurate with the grandeur of religion and the\nnecessities of the world, it not only refuses to co-operate with\nChristians of another party in promoting the well-being of society\nand the advancement of religion, but contemplates with jealousy and\noften with abhorrence, the noblest efforts of benevolence, when not\nperformed under its exclusive auspices. Persons governed by such a\nspirit cannot view with complacency the separate divisions of the\nuniversal church, though there is nothing in their constitution\nthat necessarily militates against _the unity of the spirit_ and\n_the bond of peace_. This unlovely bigotry narrows the range of\nthe intellect--perverts and contracts the best affections--and,\nunder its influence, even good men forget the charities of their\nrenewed nature, and sometimes prostitute their talents to bear\nfalse witness against each other. To this bigotry, that religion,\nwhose very essence is love, is directly opposed. Christians who\nimbibe the spirit of the New Testament, and who suffer that holy\nbook to operate with full force upon their minds, are distinguished\nby a noble freedom from sectarian antipathies. They can say from\nthe heart, 'Grace be with all who love our Lord Jesus Christ in\nsincerity.' Without verging to the extreme of latitudinarian\nindifference, they can rejoice in the success of parties different\nfrom their own, and they do not complain because 'devils are cast\nout by those who follow not with them.' Every man is a friend and a\nbrother who consecrates his being to the glory of the Saviour, and\nevery society a church in whose temple Jesus evidently records his\nname.'\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Roscoe._--\"Yes, Sir, I am conscious that a pious man,\nwho possesses the pure spirit of his religion, is at once the most\nuseful and the most happy man. As his happiness arises from sources\nmore refined than those to which the men of the world have access,\nhis usefulness is of a more important and more durable nature.\nI remember an observation which was once made on a friend of my\nown, when he withdrew from a select company to which he had been\ncommunicating some benevolent scheme--'When he visits us he always\nleaves something behind that is worth thinking of and worth talking\nabout.'\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Yes, Sir; as the spirit of the gospel is a\nliberal so it is an active spirit. It does not wish to monopolize\nthe immunities of religion, but to diffuse them; and such is the\nintensity and ardour of its benevolence that the meanest, the most\nabject child of sorrow, the poor outcast from the common sympathies\nof humanity, the forlorn object of woe whom few men would pity, whom\nno man could save, are the partakers of its bounties.\"\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"As the general well-being of society is essentially\nbenefited by the active benevolence of Christianity, may we not,\nSir, indulge a hope that the prosperity of vital religion in our\ndifferent communions, would be promoted by the cultivation of a\nreciprocal affection?\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"There may be, I grant, external prosperity in\nour churches, even while the vital spirit of religion is languishing\nin the hearts of the people; as the oak may send forth its spreading\nbranches and luxuriant foliage, when at the heart the tree is hollow\nand rotten. And perhaps the vital spirit of religion is exposed to\nmore danger in the season of external prosperity than in the season\nof external adversity. When the congregation is large, and the\nspirit of unanimity and liberality is generally displayed--when a\ncordial attachment subsists between the pastors and their people;\nand the lookers-on are heard to exclaim, _they are of one heart\nand of one soul_, some may be tempted to forget from whom these\ninvaluable blessings proceed, and cherish a self-complacent, if not\nan independent spirit. But I never knew vital religion flourish\namongst any people _who were not united_. The Spirit of the Holy\nOne never comes to breathe on the dry bones of the slain when the\nvalley echoes with the neighing of the horses, and the rattling of\nthe chariots of war. Wars must be made to cease, the bow must be\nbroken, and the spear cut in sunder--the chariots must be burned in\nthe fire, and the tranquillity of unruffled peace must reign over\nthe whole scene, ere he descends to unite the disjointed parts,\nand animate the lifeless body. It is to the influence of the Holy\nSpirit over the mind that we are to ascribe that portion of vital\nreligion which we enjoy. He still dwells amongst us, yet not in\nthe plenitude of his power. _Occasionally_ he descends in the\nministry of reconciliation, and effects a moral transformation on\nthe character of a large proportion of the people, as in the islands\nof the Pacific Ocean; but in general, the exercise of his power\nis restricted to a small number in our congregations, who are, at\ndistinct and distant intervals, made alive from the dead. But as\nthis is emphatically termed the dispensation of the Spirit, and as\nthe honour of glorifying Christ, in giving efficacy to the truth\nwhich he has revealed and attested, is reserved for _Him_, to what\nsecondary cause shall we attribute his very partial communications,\nexcept to the offence which our discords and alienation of\nattachment have given him? If He require peace and affection in an\nindividual church, as the precursors of his gracious visitations,\ndoes He not require the same amongst the separate divisions of his\nuniversal church?\"\n\n_Mr. Lewellin._--\"Most unquestionably, Sir, though the fact has\nnot produced that deep impression on the popular mind which its\nimportance demands. But the day of peace, I hope, is dawning upon\nus, and the union of Christians of various denominations will, I\ntrust, be drawn closer as time moves on in its course. The voice\nof prayer is more frequently and more generally heard for the\noutpouring of Divine influence on the external means of grace, and\nalready we see here and there some verdant spots of spiritual beauty\nand of life, amidst the surrounding desolations of evil and of\ndeath; thus exhibiting to us, as in miniature, the future state of\nthe whole moral world, 'when judgment shall dwell in the wilderness,\nand righteousness remain in the fruitful field; and when the work\nof righteousness shall be peace, and the effect of righteousness,\nquietness and assurance for ever.'\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"The miraculous gifts with which the apostles\nwere endowed, while they had to contend 'against principalities,\nagainst powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world,\nagainst spiritual wickedness in the high places' of pagan idolatry,\nand social profligacy, have long since ceased, with the exigency\nwhich called them forth; but the renewing and sanctifying agency\nof the Spirit remains, and will continue to the end of time--the\nexpress declaration of our Saviour not admitting of a doubt of its\nperpetuity:--'And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you\nanother Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever.' And if,\nas we have reason to believe, his extraordinary outpouring on our\nchurches will not take place till we are united in the bonds of\npeace, it behoves each individual Christian to cultivate the spirit\nof concord, with the utmost degree of vigilance and caution. To our\nprayers for his concurring testimony with the word of life, we must\nadd a watchfulness over our own tempers, lest we should be involved\nin the charge of preventing the bestowal of the blessing which we\nsolicit, by grieving the Agent on whose will it depends.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Your remarks, Sir, are just, and I wish they\nwere deeply engraven on the heart of every Christian, by the Spirit\nof the living God; and then the ministration of righteousness,\nintrusted to us, would display a glory surpassing the brightest\nemanation of the Divine presence which the annals of the church\nrecord. Then we should see the prejudices of the people, which now\nobstruct the progress of pure evangelical religion, giving way; and\nthe result would bear a spiritual resemblance to the blessed effects\nproduced by the descent of the angel of Bethesda.\"\n\n_Mr. Lewellin._--\"May we not suppose, Sir, that the general\nimpression which is produced amongst the pious of all denominations\nof the absolute necessity of the outpouring of the Spirit on the\nlabours of ministers at home, and of missionaries in foreign parts,\nviewed in connection with the growing liberality and esteem we\ncherish towards each other, is one of the spiritual signs which\nindicate the bestowal of the blessing so earnestly implored?\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"I think we may. It is the beginning of\nthat great work which the Divine Spirit will complete when the\nfulness of the time comes, and the effects of which being of a\nmoral and spiritual nature, will continue to bless the world after\nthe subordinate agents of its production have entered into rest.\n'Nevertheless, we, according to his promise, look for new heavens\nand a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness.'\"\n\n_Mr. Lewellin._--\"And as this union and affection will form one of\nthe most powerful evidences of the divinity of our Lord's mission,\nit will, at the same time, be a practical refutation of some of the\ncharges which have been brought against Christianity, as though it\nhad an anti-social and repulsive tendency; and it will also exhibit\nthe finest representation of the internal economy of the heavenly\nworld which can be given. _There_ is diversity of rank but unity of\nthought; and though the various orders of beings may occupy superior\nand subordinate stations under the government of the Eternal\nKing, yet no one is envious of another's elevation, or jealous of\nanother's influence.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"There is one circumstance connected with our\nentrance into heaven, which I think ought not to be overlooked.\nIt is this. When we enter, or when we are anticipating that\ngreat event, we shall place no dependence on our distinctive\npeculiarities; nor advert to them, except to express our regret\non account of the evil effects which they too often produce. At\nthat period in the history of our being, the mind will be too\ndeeply absorbed in the contemplation of its specific character\nand condition--will be too solemnly affected by the anticipation\nof its final destiny, and will feel too deeply abased, under a\nconsciousness of its utter unworthiness of the Divine favour, to\ndwell even for a moment on any other subject than its redemption\nfrom all evil and from all misery by the death of the Lord Jesus\nChrist. In comparison with this, every other subject that has\nengrossed our attention, or interested our feelings, will vanish\naway, as a thing of nought; and after having thus disengaged\nourselves from all association with the minor questions, which now\nagitate, and divide, and dishonour us, we shall be free to enter the\njoy of our Lord, as sinners redeemed by his blood, rather than as\nsaints belonging to any one denomination of Christians.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"I have just had, Sir, a practical illustration\nof the truthfulness of your observations. I was sent for early,\na few mornings ago, to visit a pious member of my own church,\nand in the evening of the same day, at the request of a friend,\nI went to see a member of a Dissenting church, a very godly man;\nand, to the rejoicing of my heart, I found them breathing the same\nspirit--avowing the same belief--deriving consolation from the same\nsource--and giving utterance to the joyful anticipations of mingling\ntheir grateful feelings together in the same heavenly temple, where\nthey hope to serve the Lord day and night in harmony and peace.\"\n\n_Mr. Lewellin._--\"And, as we shall mingle together in heaven,\nI presume, Sir, we shall _know_ each other _there_. Some pious\nChristians entertain doubts on this subject, but as it is one which\nhas such a tendency to reconcile our minds to the departure of our\nfriends, I cannot avoid cherishing it with fond attachment.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"Yes, Sir, some good people have their doubts\non the subject; but I wonder how they can entertain them. Even\nthough on such a subject we receive no light from the testimony of\nScripture, still it is so congenial with the dictates of enlightened\nreason, and the warm attachments of pure friendship, that I am at a\nloss to conceive how any one can disbelieve it.\n\n    'Deep, deep the love we bear unto the dead!\n    Th' adoring reverence that we humbly pay\n    To one who is a spirit, still partakes\n    Of that affectionate tenderness we own'd\n    Towards a being, once, perhaps, as frail\n    And human as ourselves.'\"\n\n_Mr. Roscoe._--\"Nothing, in my opinion, is more calculated to dispel\nthe fear of death, than a firm belief that we are going home to\ndwell in our Father's house along with our departed brethren in\nChrist, whom we shall meet and recognize. This thought, which is so\ngratifying to our feelings, is supported, I think, by the language\nof the New Testament.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--\"I think so too. The apostle, when writing\nto the Colossians, says, 'That we may present every man perfect\nin Christ Jesus;' by which, says Dr. Paley, I understand St. Paul\nto express his hope and prayer, that at the general judgment of\nthe world, he might present the fruits of his ministry perfect\nin every good work; and if this be rightly interpreted, then it\naffords a manifest and necessary inference that the saints in a\nfuture life will meet and be known again to one another; for how,\nwithout knowing again his converts in their new and glorified state,\ncould St. Paul desire or expect to present them at the last day?\nThe celebrated Baxter says, and I think there is much force in the\nstatement, 'I must confess as the experience of my own soul, that\nthe expectation of loving my friends in heaven, principally kindles\nmy love to them on earth. If I thought I should never know them,\nand consequently never love them after this life is ended, I should\nin reason number them with temporal things, and love them as such;\nbut I now delightfully converse with my pious friends, in a firm\npersuasion that I shall converse with them for ever; and I take\ncomfort in those of them that are dead, or absent, as believing I\nshall shortly meet them in heaven, and love them with a heavenly\nlove that shall there be perfected.'\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Miss Roscoe, \"death will merely suspend our intercourse\nwith our friends for a little while--it will not break it off for\never. This is a thrilling subject of thought and meditation. We\npart, but shall meet again in a purer and happier world, and in a\nmore glorious form, and then we part no more. We may then hail Death\nas a herald of mercy, instead of shrinking from his approach as the\nKing of Terrors.\"\n\n_Rev. Mr. Guion._--\"Then, when mingling together, if we ever advert\nto the scenes of our earthly existence, as we probably shall often\ndo, we shall rejoice that our union is now complete, unbroken by any\ndiscordant opinion; and, while exulting amidst the unfading glories\nof the celestial world, we shall gratefully ascribe our salvation to\nthe free and discriminating grace of God, our Father and Redeemer.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE STAGE COACH.\n\n\nThe time had now come for my departure from Fairmount, which I\nquitted with much regret, Mr. Lewellin accompanying me as far as\nLondon, where it was arranged that I should stay a few days with\nhim previous to returning home. Our kind friends were very urgent\nin pressing us to remain a little longer; but business required Mr.\nLewellin's immediate attention, and I was getting anxious to resume\nmy pastoral duties. We left Fairmount in the carriage early in the\nmorning, and reached the turnpike gate about a quarter of an hour\nbefore the mail came up. There was one outside passenger, and two\ninside. Having bidden adieu to Mr. Stevens, who had accompanied\nus thus far, we stepped in, heard the well-known signal from\nthe guard, _All's right!_ and felt ourselves moving towards the\nimperial city at a rapid pace. Though I have not, like Lavater,\nstudied physiognomy, and have often experienced the fallacy of its\nconclusions, yet on this occasion, as on most others, I began to\nexamine and note carefully the features of the two strangers who\nsat opposite me. The one was a Friend, who had long since passed\nthe meridian of life. He was dressed in the neat garb of his order,\nhad a fine Roman nose, keen blue eyes rather deeply set, and a\ncountenance whose expression of intelligence and benignity strongly\nprepossessed me in his favour. But had his general appearance\nbeen less attractive, I should have felt a profound respect, as\nI once had a mother who spoke the plain language, and taught me\nto speak it in my younger days; and though in riper years, I left\nthe denomination of my youth, yet I still revere that interesting\nSociety of professing Christians. The other was a lusty gentleman,\nabout the age of fifty, but there was no feature in his face that\ngave me any pleasure.\n\nWe rode on in silence, till we came to D----s, where we changed\nhorses; and while we were waiting for the guard, who was detained\nat the post office, we amused ourselves in looking at a group of\nboys who were playing at trap-ball, in the market-place. The stout\ngentleman (whom I shall call Mr. Sykes) said, pointing to the\nboys, \"There is perfect happiness.\" As no one offered to make any\nreply to this remark, Mr. Lewellin observed, \"Perhaps, Sir, their\nhappiness is not perfect. In the midst of their gambols, and while\nfeeling elated with the high honour of winning the game, the sudden\nrecollection of a lesson yet unlearned, that must be said to-morrow,\nmay perchance give them a pang.\" This natural remark, expressed\nin the most good-natured manner, gave offence to Mr. Sykes, who,\nassuming that demeanour of defiance which appeared most natural to\nhim, said, \"And pray, Sir, do you not suppose that the happiness of\nchildhood is the most perfect happiness which mortals ever enjoy!\"\n\"It ought not to be, Sir,\" replied my friend in a very modest tone.\n\"Ought not to be, Sir!\" Mr. Sykes returned, with some degree of\nsarcastic warmth; \"then, Sir, how must you have spent those days\nof innocent mirth, not to be able to look back on them with envy!\"\nThis sarcasm roused the spirit of my friend Lewellin, who, though\nmild, was not disposed to be run down by unprovoked insolence; and\nhe said, in a tone somewhat elevated, \"Then I presume, Sir, you look\nback to the days of your childhood, and sigh over joys departed,\nnever to return; but permit me to ask, how have you spent the years\nof manhood, not to have yet attained the possession of a much more\nrational and exalted happiness than you enjoyed when you were flying\na kite or spinning a top? If you think, Sir, that I misimproved\nmy boyish days, by not acquiring that perfection of happiness\nwhich they generally bring, you force me to conclude that you have\nmisimproved the years of manhood, if in the decline of life you are\ncompelled to look back to your childish days, as the happiest you\nhave ever known.\"\n\nMr. Sykes, perceiving, from the smartness of this reply, that he\nstood no chance of carrying his point, without assistance, turned\nround, and appealed to the Friend, who did not appear to have taken\nany interest in the question. \"Why, truly,\" said the Friend, \"I\nthink with my neighbour opposite, that if thou wert more happy when\na boy, than thou art now, thou canst not have improved thy time as\nthou oughtest to have done.\" \"Well,\" said Mr. Sykes, \"as this is\nthe first company in which I have ever heard the sentiment called\nin question, I suppose I am along with a class of human beings of\na new order.\" \"Perhaps thou art,\" rejoined the Friend, \"and at any\nrate thou must confess, that this new order of human beings, as thou\nart pleased to term us, excel all thy former associates in one very\nimportant point.\" \"In what point, Sir?\" inquired Mr. Sykes, in his\nnative tone. \"Why in this: while thou and thy friends have outlived\nyour happiest days, we are now enjoying ours. Hence, while it is to\nour advantage to live in a state of manhood, it would have been to\nyours, to have continued in a state of childhood.\"\n\nThis remark re-established the reign of silence, which continued\nundisturbed, till some children ran out from a few miserable-looking\nhuts, which stood near the roadside, and followed the coach for a\nconsiderable distance, attempting to excite our generosity, by their\npiteous moans, and antic gestures. \"There, Sir,\" said Mr. Sykes,\n\"If you look out, you will see the picture of perfect happiness.\"\nOur sagacious Friend, who appeared to have high purposes revolving\nin his breast when not engaged in conversation, was rather startled\nby this observation, as he had not seen the group of juvenile\nbeggars, by which we were annoyed; but on looking out, as requested,\nhe shrewdly replied, \"I was not aware that perfect happiness was\nreduced so low in life, as to become a common beggar.\" \"Poverty,\nSir,\" said Mr. Sykes, \"is no disgrace, and poor people are happy\nas well as rich.\" \"Very true,\" replied the Friend; \"but it is a\ndisgrace to any parents, to train up their children to the practice\nof begging. These children certainly look healthy and sprightly, but\nif thou wert to be present when they return from an unsuccessful\nrace, thou wouldest see a picture of perfect sorrow.\" \"Well,\"\nsaid Mr. Sykes, \"they shall have one happy day,\" and immediately\ntossed out a few halfpence. \"Now,\" said the Friend, \"if thou wilt\nlook back, probably thou wilt see a violent contention between\nthem; some crying because unable to get the prize, and some\nfighting over the division of the spoil.\" \"I suppose, Sir,\" Mr.\nSykes remarked sarcastically, \"no one ever fought over any of your\nscattered gifts.\" \"I never saw any,\" the Friend replied, \"as I am\nnot in the habit of scattering my gifts with an indiscriminate\nhand; nor do I approve of those acts, misnamed charitable, which\nhave an evil tendency.\" \"But, Sir,\" said Mr. Sykes, \"what evil can\nresult from giving a few pence to some poor miserable-looking boys\nand girls?\" \"Why,\" replied the Friend, \"thou hast seen one evil\nin the contention which immediately followed, but this is not the\ngreatest; these children who are initiated into the begging system\nat such an early period of life, are taught the art of deception;\nthey are thrown off from the resources of industry and frugality,\non the precarious supplies of charity; and if from the influence of\nvagrancy, they are not led to thieving, they will never feel any\nreluctance to receive support from the parish rate. Charity is a\nvirtue which we all admire, and which we ought to cultivate; but\nI have long thought, that where its bounties are not administered\nwith discretion, society sustains more injury, than it derives\nadvantage.\" \"Discretion! O yes, discretion!\" said Mr. Sykes, \"is\na great virtue; with Sir John Falstaff it is the better part of\nvalour, with you of charity; but in my opinion it is more frequently\nan apology for cowardice, or for covetousness.\"\n\n[Illustration: JAMES GODWIN. W. L. THOMAS.\n\nMISTAKEN CHARITY.--MR. SYKES' THEORY REFUTED.\n\nVol. ii. p. 55.]\n\nWe soon after parted with Mr. Sykes, when our sage Friend addressing\nhimself to Mr. Lewellin, said, \"I have no doubt but the passenger\nwho has just left us has some excellencies, but he does not excel\nin the art of rendering himself agreeable, an art which few learn,\nand fewer practise; but it is one of great importance to personal\ndignity and relative comfort.\"\n\nHis place in the coach was soon occupied by a young man in a\nred coat, who was going to a fox-hunt near M----. He was very\nloquacious, but his conversation turned principally on horses, and\ndogs, and game, and the various qualifications of a good shot.\nMr. Lewellin made several efforts to introduce other topics, but\nhe could not succeed, as no pointer ever stood truer to his bird,\nthan he did to his favourite theme. He told us of his hair-breadth\nescapes, of the fatigues which he had endured, and the feats which\nhe had achieved, with as much glee as the huntsman throws off at\na chase; and dwelt with peculiar delight on his good fortune the\npreceding day, when out of twenty-five who started, he was the\nonly one _in at the death_, and exhibited the _brush_ as the proud\nmemorial of his honour. After he had told and re-told his tales,\nwhich gave no one pleasure but himself, he fell into a dead silence,\nhummed \"Old Towler,\" and commenced beating a sort of tattoo with\nhis fingers on the coach window. At length, turning himself to\nthe Friend who sat by his side, and whose patriarchal simplicity\nappeared to amuse him, he said, with an air of low satire, \"I\nbelieve, Sir, your sect are not much given to such sports?\" \"Why,\nno,\" replied the Friend, \"we have too much humanity, to attempt\nto extract pleasure from the sports which inflict torture on dumb\nanimals.\" \"I have read,\" said the sportsman, \"all your objections;\nbut, Sir, they have no point--they don't hit the mark--nature\npoints to game, and we are to follow. I love the sound of the horn,\nmore than the silence of meditation.\" \"I have no doubt,\" said the\nFriend, \"that thou dost, but thou shouldst remember, that some\nprefer silence, to noise.\" \"I take you, Sir; you intend to say,\nthat you would rather have silence, than my conversation.\" \"I have\nno objection,\" the Friend replied, \"to conversation, when it is\ninteresting or profitable, but thou must be aware, that the present\ncompany take no interest in the detail of thy field achievements.\"\n\"Well, Sir,\" said the sportsman, \"I have no objection to turn the\nconversation to a graver subject; and as I am a young man, just\nbeginning to turn my attention to religion, you will permit me to\nask you one question, which puzzles me. It is this, Sir: As we have\nso many religions in this kingdom, which is the best?\" \"Why,\" said\nthe Friend, \"that which makes the simple wise, and teaches young men\nto cultivate the grace of modesty.\" \"Very smart, Sir: then you think\nsuch a religion would do me good?\" \"I think it would.\"\n\nWhen the sportsman left us, his place was immediately occupied by\na gentleman who, as I afterwards learned, had lately returned to\nEngland, after an absence of many years. He was an interesting and\nintelligent looking man; and I flattered myself from his general\nappearance, that we should have agreeable society during the rest\nof our journey. Nor was I disappointed. He was rather reserved\nat first, but after Mr. Lewellin and I had engaged for some time\nin a desultory conversation, he fell in with us, and willingly\ncontributed his share. There is a strong propensity in some minds\nto sacrifice truth, in narration and description, especially when\nrelating their own adventures. They will not utter direct and\npalpable falsehood, but they are so accustomed to exaggeration\nand high colouring, that a man who respects his own reputation\nwill never venture to repeat their statements. Their design is to\nproduce _effect_, and hence they often leave the beaten path of\nsober truth to amuse or astonish their hearers with the fanciful\nor the extravagant. But nothing of this kind was visible in our\ncompanion; as he gave us no description of persons, of places, or of\nthings, which staggered our belief. He had sailed on the boisterous\nsea, without having just escaped the horrors of shipwreck; he had\npassed through woods and mountains, without encountering brigands\nor assassins; he had resided in crowded cities, and had traversed\nlonely wastes, where he met with no flattering attentions from the\ngreat, or rude insults from the vulgar. He had travelled through the\ngreater part of Europe, had visited the East and West Indies, and\nhad spent the last two years in America: but intended now to fix his\nabode in his native country, where he said he hoped to rest in the\nsame grave with his fathers.\n\n\"You have seen, Sir,\" I remarked, \"a great part of the world; but as\nyou intend to fix your final residence in Old England, I take for\ngranted that you have not discovered any country which rivals her in\nyour estimation.\"\n\n\"No, Sir,\" he replied, \"I have not. I love England--I love her\nchanging seasons, and her fruitful soil--her fine national\ncharacter--her political constitution, and that spirit of liberty,\nboth civil and religious, which she cherishes and which she\ndiffuses--I love everything that is English; and I disown the\nBriton who is not enthusiastic in the praise of his country.\"\n\n\"The love of liberty,\" I remarked, \"is a passion which gives a\npeculiar and powerful energy to our national character; but you must\nconfess, Sir, that this passion is not exclusively ours. America\ncherishes it with an equal degree of ardour.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir,\" he replied, \"she does, but her love of liberty is a\nselfish passion. She has fought for her own freedom, and she has\nwon the laurels, but she continues to enslave others. When the\nfoot of a poor captive touches the soil of Britain, his chains\nburst from around him; his life is taken under the protection of\nthe law; no one can insult him with impunity; he is as safe in his\nhut, as the lordly baron is within the walls of his castle. But in\nthe United States of America, there are upwards of three millions\nof human beings, now living in a state of slavery, bought and sold\nlike cattle--subjected to the cruelty of men, in whose bosoms\nevery atom of humanity has long since been annihilated. What, Sir,\nis freedom, where all are not free--where the greatest of God's\nblessings is limited with impious caprice to the colour of the skin?\nHaving bled at every pore, rather than submit to wear the yoke of\na foreign authority, why does she not, amid all her prosperity\nand improvement, act a just and generous part towards her black\npopulation? She is worse than the chief butler of Pharaoh, who, when\nhe had gained his freedom, merely forgot his fellow-prisoner: but\nshe remembers those who were once in bondage with her, and rivets\nthe chains of slavery still closer upon them. She may vaunt herself\non the love of liberty, and on her rising greatness in the scale of\nnations; but as long as the groans of three millions of human beings\nresound through her land without obtaining redress, she will have\na badge of infamy affixed to her national character, from which no\nvirtues will ever redeem her. We did a noble deed when we abolished\nthe slave-trade, but we did a still nobler deed when we abolished\nslavery. We have thus set America a good example, which, in spite of\nall opposition, she will some day follow.\"\n\nWe were very much pleased with the polite manners and the\ninteresting conversation of this gentleman, who formed a striking\ncontrast to our other coach companions. On taking leave of him at\nthe Swan with two Necks, we exchanged cards, when we found that the\nstranger's name was Wilcox, and he exacted a promise from me that I\nwould call and see him before I left London.\n\nA few days after this, as I sat in Mr. Lewellin's front parlour\nlistening to the strange cries of London, and observing the\ncountenances of the numerous pedestrians, who, with hurried steps,\npassed to and fro, as though each was intent on some great purpose,\nI saw the postman at the door, who brought me a letter, which\non opening I found to be from our interesting fellow-traveller,\nrequesting that we would dine with him on the following day. We\naccepted the invitation, and spent a very pleasant evening together.\n\nOn this occasion Mr. Wilcox informed us that he had been pressed\nto sign a petition for the repeal of the Maynooth grant; but had\ndeclined doing so, because he knew nothing about its origin, or the\nreasons which induced the government to make it; adding that, as a\ngeneral rule, he thought America acted more wisely than we do on all\nsuch questions; she repudiates a _state religion_, and therefore\nleaves every religious sect to act and provide for itself. I then\ngave him a brief history of the matter as follows:--On the 14th of\nJanuary, 1794, the Roman Catholics of Ireland presented a memorial\nto the government, praying for permission to erect a college for\nthe education of their priests, who, up to this time, had been\ncompelled to get their education in foreign countries; stating in\ntheir memorial, that they were both able and willing to build the\ncollege, and defray its current expenditure at their own expense.\nTheir prayer was granted: and to their astonishment the Irish\nParliament voted a grant of \u00a38000 per annum towards its support,\nwhich in the year 1807 was increased to \u00a313,000. No pledge was given\nthat it should be a permanent grant, and as a proof of this, in the\nyear 1799 it was withheld altogether, and during that year they\nwere compelled to do what they said, when they declared that they\nwere able and willing to defray its expenses by their own voluntary\ncontributions.[9]\n\n  [9] In 1845 Sir Robert Peel introduced a measure, and carried it, to\n  increase this grant to nearly \u00a330,000 a-year.\n\n\"It seems somewhat strange,\" said Mr. Wilcox, \"that the government\nshould vote a large sum of money, when they are told that it\nis neither expected nor needed. To account for such an act of\nprofligate expenditure, we must suppose there was a strong\nundercurrent of political influence forcing them to do so.\"\n\n\"Why, Sir, the fact is, that Ireland was at this time, and for\na long time after, in a strongly excited state; one outburst\nof popular tumult succeeded another, with so much rapidity and\nviolence, that our leading statesmen, both Whigs and Tories,\nbecame alarmed, and they hit upon the expedient of attempting to\nconciliate the priests, by proposing to take their church into union\nwith the state, and thus render them independent of the voluntary\ncontributions of their people; and this munificent generosity in\nbehalf of the Maynooth College, was the gilded bait of allurement.\nHowever, that projected union is now abandoned as a Utopian vagary;\nfor the Roman Catholics disdain to come into ecclesiastical\nfellowship with Protestants, and therefore common sense requires,\nthat as they are resolved to stand by themselves, they should be\nleft to do what they said they were able and willing to do--educate\nand support their clergy by their own contributions.\"\n\n\"I think the principle is bad,\" said Mr. Wilcox, \"both politically\nand morally, which compels one sect to educate and support the\nclergy of another sect. There is an outrage committed on the\nconscience of an enlightened Protestant, if he be compelled to\ncontribute to the education and support of the Roman Catholic\nclergy, not simply because they are the ministers of another church,\nbut because they are ministers who, in his estimation, reject the\nessential doctrines of Christianity, and substitute in their place,\ndangerous and fatal heresies; and not only so, but he believes, and\ntheir past history confirms him in the belief, that they constitute\nthe vital, the most active, and the most unscrupulous part of an\norganized conspiracy, whose object is to extinguish both civil and\nreligious liberty throughout the world.\"\n\n\"Toleration,\" said Mr. Lewellin, \"is all that such a dangerous set\nof men ought to receive under a Protestant government, and to that I\nshould not object; but it is an act of legalized injustice to compel\nme to pay for the training and comfortable support of Roman Catholic\npriests.\"\n\nMr. Wilcox remarked, \"We don't punish the footpad till he has\ncommitted his crime; but we should deem the wealthy traveller\na maniac at large, who would voluntarily contribute towards\nthe training of such desperadoes. I will certainly, now that I\nunderstand the matter, sign for the repeal of the grant, and do\nall in my power to hasten it. Indeed, I would not give my vote to\nany parliamentary candidate, unless he pledged himself against the\ncontinuance of this very obnoxious grant.\"\n\n\"My attachment to Christianity,\" said Mr. Lewellin, \"makes me revolt\nagainst this offensive grant, as my loyalty to our queen would make\nme abhor a proposition to contribute to the training of traitors, to\nsubvert her throne and bring her to the block.\"[10]\n\n  [10] When Lord John Russell was speaking in favour of the measure\n  brought before the house by Sir Robert Peel in 1845, to increase\n  the grant to nearly \u00a330,000 per annum, he said--\"But if you found\n  you were doing that which was mischievous to the community, and\n  that the religious scruples of the community would not allow of the\n  continuance of the grant, or, with reference to civil and political\n  reasons, you found that those you meant to be teachers of religion\n  had become the teachers and conductors of rebellion; if I say,\" his\n  lordship added, \"you found from any of these causes that there was\n  ground sufficient to refuse this grant, then I can see no valid\n  reasons why any compact should restrain you, or why, upon strong\n  grounds of this kind, the house would not be justified in declaring\n  that it would give no further allowance.\" (See Hansard's _Debates_,\n  v. 3, p. 92, session 1845.) The Right Hon. William Gladstone, M.P.,\n  recorded his opinion of this grant, before Sir Robert Peel brought\n  forward his measure in 1845. \"In principle the grant is wholly\n  vicious, and it will be a thorn in the side of these countries as\n  long as it is continued.\" There are several reasons, which, in the\n  judgment of Lord John Russell, would justify the discontinuance\n  of this grant, without subjecting our government to the charge of\n  violating any existing compact; but I merely mention the following,\n  which I give from the speech of his lordship: if \"_the religious\n  scruples of the community would not allow of the continuance of\n  it_.\" Now let us see how the case actually stands, and then we shall\n  be able to form a correct judgment of what the British government\n  and we ourselves ought to do. It is an undisputed fact, that the\n  measure of 1845 was forced through parliament in direct opposition\n  to the most unequivocal expression of hostility on the part of the\n  religious community, of all denominations; and their hostility to\n  its continuance is increasing in inveteracy and strength as time\n  moves on in its course. I am at a loss to conceive how any one\n  except a Roman Catholic who has a beneficial interest in this money\n  grant, or a lukewarm Protestant, who cares no more for the spiritual\n  religion of the New Testament than he does for the legendary\n  tales of Popery, can come forward as its advocate and supporter.\n  The Catholics say they are able and willing to support their own\n  religion and its institutions. Let them do so; but do not compel us\n  to work with them, when we believe that their religion, with its\n  institutions, is the greatest curse that ever has been inflicted on\n  man since the Fall; and when we believe that its clergy, if they had\n  the power, would immediately establish the Inquisition amongst us,\n  and at once consign us to torture and to death, if we refused to bow\n  down and to do homage to their pontiff and his myrmidons.\n\n\n\n\nA SABBATH IN LONDON.\n\n\nIn the institution of the Christian ministry, we have one of the\nmost salutary provisions ever made to promote the improvement and\nhappiness of man. If we suppose, with the enemies of Christianity,\nthat it is of human origin, and that its functions are discharged by\nhuman agents, who are actuated and governed by selfish or ambitious\nmotives, still it will occupy, in the estimation of every wise man,\na high station, as a powerful ally to the cause of patriotism and\nof virtue. It enjoins on the various ranks and orders of society\nsubmission to the powers that be, and reverence for God; and it\nexplains and enforces, with the utmost precision, our relative\nduties towards each other; while the veneration in which it is\ngenerally held in this kingdom is favourable to its influence. To\nsay that every one is strictly virtuous who listens to its maxims\nof wisdom, would be to advance an assertion which facts would\ncontradict; but if we judge from the present state of society, we\nshall be compelled to admit that there is a larger portion of virtue\namongst those who attend upon a stated ministry, than among those\nwho treat it with neglect and scorn. Hence its abolition would be a\nnational evil, as disastrous to our moral improvement and happiness,\nas the triumphs of political anarchy would be to the well-balanced\nconstitution of the British Empire.\n\nBut even this institution, with all its advantages, would prove\ncomparatively useless were it not for the appointment of the\nChristian Sabbath; for such is the ascendency which the cares,\nthe pleasures, the fascinations, and the commerce of the world\nhave acquired over the public mind, that very few would have an\nopportunity to benefit by it, unless some specific portion of time\nwas set apart for this express purpose. If the husbandman were\ncompelled to toil in the field, and the mechanic to labour in the\nshop--if the tradesman, the merchant, and the other members of the\ncommunity had to devote themselves to their respective avocations\nwithout any intermission, except what caprice or indolence might\ndictate, the minister of the gospel might faithfully proclaim all\nthe words which relate to the life to come, but he would not be\nsurrounded by a large and an attentive audience. The temple would\nbe forsaken, and the powers of _this_ world would so engross the\nattention of men, that those of the next would be generally, if not\nuniversally disregarded. To prevent this fatal evil, one day in\nseven is set apart, by the immediate authority of God, which we are\ncommanded to devote to the exercises of private and public worship;\nbut alas! how many treat this sacred injunction with contempt. Some\nin the higher ranks of life, who disdain to be thought religious,\nemploy it as a day for travelling or for feasting; and multitudes\nof the lower orders, regard it as a day either for pleasure or for\ndissipation.\n\nOn the Sabbath after my arrival in London, as I was walking down\nBridge Street on my way to Surrey Chapel, I saw a party of young\npeople whose gaiety of manner ill accorded with the sanctity of\nthe day, and just as I was passing them I heard one say, \"Indeed I\nthink we shall do wrong; my conscience condemns me; I must return.\"\n\"There can be no harm,\" replied another, \"in taking an excursion on\nthe water, especially as we intend to go to chapel in the evening.\"\n\"I must return,\" rejoined a female voice; \"my conscience condemns\nme. What will father say if he hears of it?\" By this time they had\nreached the bridge, and the foremost of the party was busily engaged\nwith a waterman, while the rest stood in close debate for some\nminutes, when they all moved forward towards the water.\n\nI watched the party as they went down the stairs to the river.\nTwo of the gentlemen stepped into the boat, two more stood at the\nwater's edge, and the females were handed in one after another; but\nI could perceive great reluctance on the part of the one who had\npreviously objected, till at length she yielded to the importunities\nof her companions, and the boat was pushed off. It was a fine\nmorning, though rather cold. Many, like myself, were gazing on\nthem, when a naval officer called to them through the balustrades\nand said, \"A pleasant voyage to you.\" One of the gentlemen arose\nto return the compliment, but, from some cause which I could not\nperceive, he missed his footing and fell into the water. This\ndisaster threw the whole party into the utmost consternation; and\neach one, instead of retaining his seat, rushed to the side of the\nboat over which their companion had fallen, by which the boat was\nupset, and all were instantaneously plunged into the river. The\nscene which followed, when the spectators beheld this calamity,\nexceeded any I had ever witnessed. Some females screamed, the\npassers-by crowded together to the parapet of the bridge, and\neverything was bustle and excitement; boats immediately put off;\nand in a few minutes I had the satisfaction of seeing the watermen\nrescue one, and another, and another from a premature grave. Having\npicked up every one they could find, the different boats were rowed\nto shore, where some medical gentlemen were in waiting. But when the\nparty met together, no language can describe the horror depicted on\nevery countenance when they found that two were still missing.\n\n\"Where's my sister?\" said the voice which had said, only a few\nminutes before, \"There can be no harm in taking an excursion on the\nwater, especially as we intend to go to chapel in the evening.\"\n\n\"Where's Charles?\" said a female, who had appeared the most gay and\nsprightly when I first saw them.\n\nAt length two boats, which had gone a considerable distance up\nthe river, were seen returning; and on being asked if they had\npicked up any one, they replied, \"Yes; two.\" This reply electrified\nthe whole party, and some wept for joy.\n\n[Illustration: SABBATH PLEASURE SEEKERS.\n\nVol. ii. page 64.]\n\n\"Here's a gentleman,\" said a waterman as he was coming up to the\nfoot of the stairs, \"but I suspect he's dead.\"\n\n\"Where's the lady?\" said her brother, \"Is she safe?\"\n\n\"She is in the other boat, Sir.\"\n\n\"Is she alive?--Has she spoken?\"\n\n\"No, Sir, she has not spoken, I believe.\"\n\n\"Is she dead; O tell me!\"\n\n\"I fear she is, Sir.\"\n\nThe bodies were immediately removed from the boats to a house in\nthe vicinity, and every effort was employed to restore animation.\nIn little more than ten minutes it was announced that the gentleman\nbegan to breathe, but there was no allusion made to the lady. Her\nbrother sat motionless, absorbed in the deepest melancholy, till the\nactual decease of his sister was announced, when he started up and\nbecame almost frantic with grief; and though his companions tried to\ncomfort him, yet he refused to hear the words of consolation.\n\n\"O my sister! my sister! Would to God I had died for her!\"\n\nThey were all overwhelmed in trouble, and knew not what to do. \"Who\nwill bear the heavy tidings to our father?\" said the brother, who\npaced the room backwards and forwards. \"O! who will bear the heavy\ntidings to our father?\" He paused; a death-like silence pervaded the\nwhole apartment. He again burst forth in the agonies of despair--\"I\nforced her to go against the dictates of her conscience; I am her\nmurderer; I ought to have perished, and not my sister. Who will bear\nthe heavy tidings to our father?\"\n\n\"I will,\" said a gentleman, who had been unremitting in his\nattentions to the sufferers.\n\n\"Do you know him, Sir?\"\n\n\"Yes, I know him.\"\n\n\"O! how can I ever appear in his presence! I enticed my only sister\nto an act of disobedience, which has destroyed her!\"\n\nHow the father received the intelligence, or what moral effect\nresulted from the disaster, I never heard, but it suggests a few\nreflections which I wish to press upon the attention of my readers.\nAs the Sabbath is instituted for the purpose of promoting your moral\nimprovement and happiness, never devote its sacred hours to pleasure\nand recreations. He who has commanded you to keep it holy, will not\nsuffer you to profane it with impunity. He may not bring down upon\nyou the awful expressions of his displeasure while you are in the\nact of setting his authority at open defiance, but there is a day\napproaching when you must stand before him as your judge. And can\nyou anticipate the solemnities of that day, while continuing in a\ncourse of sin, with any other than the most fearful apprehensions?\nYou may, like many, suppose that that day is very far off; but you\nmay be undeceived by a sudden visitation of Providence; and in a\nmoment may be removed from amongst your gay companions, to appear in\nhis presence. And should this be the case, with what terror-struck\namazement will you look on the awful scene around you; with what\nfearful and agonizing emotions will you listen to the final\nsentence--_Depart!_\n\nResist the _first_ temptation to evil, or your ruin may be the\ninevitable consequence. \"Indeed I think we shall do wrong; my\nconscience condemns me; I must return,\" said the unfortunate girl,\nwhen she got near the river; but having yielded to the first\ntemptation, she was induced to overcome her scruples, and within\nless than half an hour from that time she was hurried into the\neternal world. Had she refused when her brother solicited her to\nleave home, she might have lived to comfort her father in his old\nage; but by complying, she first lost her strength to withstand\ntemptation, and then her life. What a warning! And is this the only\none which the history of crime has given you? Alas, no! Have not\nmany, who have ended their days on the scaffold, traced their ruin\nto the profanation of the Sabbath? This is the day in which the\nspirits of evil are abroad, enticing the young and the thoughtless\nto vice and impiety; and if you wish to avoid the misery and\ndegradation in which others have been involved, devote its sacred\nhours to the purpose for which they were appointed. Attend some\nplace of worship, where the truths of the Bible are preached with\nearnestness and power, and attend regularly; and though some of your\nassociates may ridicule you for your habits of devotion, yet will\nyou suffer yourself to be conquered by such weapons? The youth who\nregularly attends a place of worship on the Sabbath, and receives\nthe truth under a deep conviction of its excellence and importance,\noften enjoys a high mental feast, and becomes imperceptibly\nfortified to resist the fascinations of the world; but he who spends\nthe sacred hours in the society of the thoughtless, amidst scenes\nof gaiety and dissipation, becomes an easy prey to the worst of\ntemptations, often retires to rest reproaching himself for his folly\nand impiety, and is gradually led from one crime to another till\niniquity proves his ruin.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs I wished to hear a celebrated preacher in the evening, I\nasked Mr. Lewellin to accompany me, but he declined, for reasons\nwhich raised him in my estimation as a young man of prudence and\nconsistency. \"I am, Sir,\" he observed, \"decidedly of opinion that\nLondon offers many temptations to professors of religion which\nrequire, on their part, constant vigilance to withstand; and one of\nthe most specious is, the celebrity of popular preachers.\"\n\n\"But,\" I replied, \"do you think it wrong to go and hear these\nministers?\"\n\n\"I would be cautious how I censured any one; but I certainly think\nthat the love of novelty in religion often proves pernicious, not\nonly to those who are enslaved by it, but to their families. Let me\nsuppose a case. Here is a religious family who professedly attend\nthe ministry of the Rev. Mr. Watkins, but the father is in the\nhabit of hearing every celebrated preacher. Will not this roving\ndisposition prevent his forming that attachment towards a pastor and\nhis flock in which the essence of Christian fellowship consists? And\nwill not the influence of his example have an injurious effect on\nhis children? If he take them with him, he imperceptibly teaches\nthem to believe that he is not so much delighted with the truth\nas with the agent who conveys it. And what is this but sinking\nthe importance and value of the truth in the estimation of those\nwhose hearts are naturally averse to it. If he refuse to take them\nwith him, and compel them to go, while they are young, to their\nregular place of worship, yet, as he does not go with them, they\nare left without the controlling influence of his presence, and\nare exposed to the temptation of absenting themselves for some\nscene of amusement. If he leave his more stated minister to go\nafter these popular preachers, unless he has a greater measure of\nprudence than such roving professors generally possess, he will\ninstitute comparisons in the presence of his children between them\nand the settled pastor. And will not this excite prejudice in their\nminds against the clergyman whose ministry they are _forced_ to\nattend? Will not this prove injurious to them? Will not this tend\nto alienate their minds from the love of the truth, and to make\nthem regard its accidental associations as the main thing; and by\nteaching them disrespect for their stated minister, they may, in\ntime, turn away contemptuously from the message he delivers. And\nthese are not the only evils which result from the indulgence of\nthis roving disposition; it is invariably found no less injurious to\nthe private reputation of a Christian, than to his domestic piety.\"\n\n\"But how so?\" I replied. \"What injury can it do the private\nreputation of a Christian?\"\n\n\"Why, he will be regarded as an unstable man; and though he may have\nmany virtues, yet if this imperfection be associated with them it\nwill materially injure him. For what influence can an unstable man\never acquire, unless it be the power of doing evil? Who can respect\nhim? Who can place any dependence on him?\"\n\n\"But,\" I asked, \"may not a Christian leave the ministry of one\npreacher, to attend that of another, without sustaining or producing\nany moral injury?\"\n\n\"Most certainly,\" said Mr. Lewellin; \"we are at perfect liberty to\ngo where we please, and to hear whom we please; but we should avoid\nthat fickleness of disposition, which is ever moving from one place\nto another. Some admire the last preacher they have heard more than\nany preceding one, and have the censer always ready to throw the\nincense of flattery around the _next_ who may make his appearance.\nInstead of examining themselves, to see what progress they make in\nknowledge and in grace, and attending to the religious instruction\nof their children and their servants on the Sabbath, they are ever\nasking, Who is in town? or, Who is expected? But though I condemn\nmost decidedly such a volatile spirit amongst professors, yet I\nthink we _ought_ to attend that ministry which we find the most\nprofitable. _The truth which we hear is Divine, but the agent\nwho preaches it is human_; and though the tone and the manner of\nproclaiming it will not add to its importance, yet it may tend to\ngive it a more commanding power of impression; and hence, it is both\nour duty and our privilege to attend the ministry of that man, whose\nstyle of preaching is the most calculated to profit us. The poet in\nspeaking of government, has said,\n\n  'Whate'er is best administered is best.'\n\nThe same may be nearly said with regard to sermons. There is not\nsuch a great difference between the thoughts and arrangements of\none preacher and another as some imagine. But who has not been\nstruck with the difference of the impression and effect? One man\nshall speak, and how dry, and sapless, and uninteresting is he! Let\nanother deliver the very same things, and there is a savour that\ngives them freshness--the things seem perfectly new. One preacher,\nby his monotonous tones and manner, soon lulls us to sleep; while\nanother, by his earnestness, his pathos, and his impassioned\nappeals--by the aptness of his illustrations, the chasteness of his\nstyle, and the unction of his spirit--not only fixes our attention,\nbut penetrates the inner man of the heart; we feel ourselves\nsubdued, enlightened, and powerfully excited by the Word of God.\nWhen a man of this attractive order appears in the pulpit, by the\nmysterious action of the sympathetic faculty, his presence is felt\nby the people, even before his voice is heard; and in the lines of\nCowper we see a great moral fact, clothed in the vestments of poetic\nbeauty:--\n\n    'When one that holds communion with the skies\n    Has filled his urn where these pure waters rise,\n    And once more mingles with us meaner things,\n    'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings--\n    Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide,\n    That tells us whence _his_ treasures are supplied.\n    So when a ship well freighted with the stores\n    The sun matures on India's spicy shores,\n    Has dropp'd her anchor and her canvas furl'd\n    In some safe haven of our western world,\n    'Twere vain inquiring to what port she _went_--\n    The _gale_ informs us, laden with the scent.'\"\n\n\"But, Sir,\" I remarked, \"if we do not derive improvement and\nconsolation from the ministry on which we generally attend, we ought\nto attribute it to some fault in ourselves. I remember being very\nmuch struck with a remark which I heard a venerable clergyman make\nwhen addressing his congregation--'If, my brethren,' he said, 'you\ncome to hear _me preach_, instead of hearing _the truth_ which I\ndeliver, be not surprised if you are permitted to go away without\nhaving felt its purifying and consoling influence. I can do no more\nthan give utterance to the sublime doctrines and promises of the\ngospel; it is the province of my Master to make them effectual to\nyour salvation; and if you neglect by strong and ardent prayer to\nimplore his blessing, he will withhold it.'\"\n\n\"A very just and important remark,\" replied Mr. Lewellin, \"and one\nwhich I hope we shall never forget. We ought at all times to go into\nthe temple in a devotional spirit, and to remember that as every\ngood gift, and every perfect gift, is from above, and cometh down\nfrom the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither\nshadow of turning, we should, in the most humble manner, invoke his\npresence; and then we shall feel less disposed to rove and less\noccasion to complain of the want of spiritual enjoyment.\"\n\nWe were now interrupted in our conversation, by the servant, who\ninformed Mr. Lewellin that there were two gentlemen below who\nwished to see him. \"Desire them to walk up. I am not aware,\" said\nMr. Lewellin, \"who they are; and I regret their call, as I am not\nin the habit of receiving company on the Sabbath.\" They entered the\nroom, and after offering an apology for this act of intrusion, one\nsaid, \"I know, Sir, you will excuse it, as I have made up my mind\nto go with you to chapel this evening, along with our friend Mr.\nNewton.\"\n\nI did not immediately recollect this gentleman, though his manners\nand voice seemed familiar to me; but on hearing his name, I\ninstantaneously recognized Mr. Gordon, whom I once met in the\ncountry[11] when enjoying an evening's ramble. \"I am happy to see\nyou, Sir\" (addressing him), \"as it gives me an opportunity of\nreminding you of a promise which you have not yet redeemed.\"\n\n  [11] See vol. i. page 94.\n\n\"Indeed, Sir! You have the advantage of me. Did I ever make you a\npromise, which I have not redeemed?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, indeed you have done so.\"\n\n\"Where, and when, Sir, may I ask?\"\n\n\"Were you never in a thunder-storm?\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon. I hope you are well. I am happy to see you in\nLondon. I hope you will do me the honour of a call.--Why, no. I have\nnot been able to inform you of the result of my inquiry; for, to be\nvery candid, I have been too much engaged to turn my attention to\nit; but I have not forgotten it.--What a storm! How did you escape\nit? I took shelter in a cow-shed.\"\n\n\"I ran to a cottage, where I was kindly received, and in which I\nwitnessed a deeply interesting sight. I regretted you were not\nwith me, as I there saw an evidence in favour of the truth and the\nexcellence of the gospel, which I think you would have admired.\"\n\n\"Indeed! what visible evidence do you refer to? A miracle?\"\n\n\"If we define a miracle to be something above the production of\nhuman power, I should not hesitate to call what I saw a moral\nmiracle.\" I then gave an account of the decease of the woodman's\nchild, which he called a very interesting tale; but said he was\nnot sufficiently enlightened to perceive how such a fact tended\nin any way to establish the truth or display the excellence of\nChristianity. \"We may,\" he remarked, \"have an opportunity to debate\nover it before you leave our great city; but, as we propose going\nto chapel this evening, perhaps we had better not begin, lest\nwe should be obliged to break off the thread of our argument at\nan unfavourable point. But, though I have not investigated the\nimportant question which we discussed when we accidentally met,\nyet I will do it. You see the company which I keep (pointing to\nMr. Lewellin and Mr. Newton) is a proof that I am _religiously\ninclined_; and, if a few doubts should still darken my powers of\nmental vision, yet the light which emanates from their chaste\nreasoning may ultimately disperse them, and we all _may_ become\nbelievers together.\"\n\n\"A consummation I should hail with delight.\"\n\n\"I believe you, Sir; and I honour the motive which prompts such a\ndevout exclamation.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn passing along Cheapside on our way to the chapel which Mr.\nLewellin usually attended, we were astonished at seeing a placard,\nannouncing that the Rev. Mr. Guion was to preach that evening at\nBow Church, in behalf of the Church Missionary Society; and at my\nearnest entreaty, we decided on hearing him. By a statement he made\nat the commencement of his discourse, we found his appearance in\nthe pulpit was in consequence of the sudden illness of a brother\nclergyman who stood engaged to preach on the occasion; and this\naccounted for our not hearing of this London visit when we were with\nhim at Fairmount. Having my note-book in my pocket, and my pencils\nin good working order, I took down his sermon, and will transcribe\nfrom my manuscript a few passages, which, when delivered, made a\ndeep impression on the whole congregation. His text was taken from\n1 Tim. iii. 16, \"And without controversy great is the mystery of\ngodliness: God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit,\nseen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the\nworld, received up into glory.\" His arguments in confirmation of\nthe divinity of Jesus Christ were few, but popular and conclusive,\nyet not common-place.\n\n\"HE WAS SEEN OF ANGELS.\"--\"Our knowledge,\" said the eloquent\npreacher, \"of angels is very superficial; yet we know, they are\nbeings of a superior order--holy, intelligent, powerful, and\nbenevolent. Jesus Christ was seen of them, at his birth, during\nhis temptation in the wilderness, when enduring the agonizing\nconflict in the garden of Gethsemane, and on the morning of his\nresurrection; and they came to witness, and to take a ministering\npart in his ascension, when he went to resume the glory which he\nhad with the Father before the world was. This SEEING him, denotes\nthe intense interest they felt in his personal honour, and in the\ndesign of his mission to earth. 'Which things,' says the apostle\nPeter--that is the sufferings of Christ and the glory that should\nfollow--'the angels desire to look into.' They pry into and labour\nto comprehend the grand theory of human redemption; and watch\nwith intense solicitude its practical working in the soul of man.\nHence, our Lord says, 'There is joy in the presence of the angels\nof God over one sinner that repenteth.' Yes, brethren, these pure\nand exalted spirits become comparatively insensible to the glories\nof the celestial world, when in the act of seeing a sinner who is\nready to perish, rescued from the fearful peril of his condition,\nas we should become comparatively, if not absolutely insensible\nto the grandest and most picturesque scenery of nature, if we\nstood on some eminence, gazing on the heroine coming out of her\nfather's cottage, hastening to the frothy beach, springing into the\nfishing-boat, braving the fury of the tempest and the wild uproar\nof the storm, to rescue the shipwrecked mariners from a vessel\nsinking in the deep waters. For it is a law of their nature, no\nless than of ours, that gratification shall yield to sympathy, and\nthat the sight of deliverance from fatal danger, shall have a more\ngratifying effect on a sensitive and benevolent heart, than the\nmost brilliant and exciting scenes which can be presented to the\nimagination, or to the senses;--thus demonstrating by a process\nas certain as any undeviating law of the material economy, that\nevery order of being, except infernal spirits, have an instinctive\nabhorrence of the disastrous crisis in the progress of suffering;\nand that they feel an ecstasy of emotion which no sights of grandeur\nor of beauty, and which no sounds of melody can excite, when they\nbehold an unanticipated deliverance from some horrifying and fatal\ntermination. There stands the poor criminal on the fatal platform,\nand the minister of death is near him, making the necessary\narrangements for his execution; deep sympathy is expressed in every\ncountenance, many sighs are heaved, and many weep; the silent prayer\nis offered up, and all are breathless, expecting the drop to fall\nwhich is to hurl him with convulsive agonies into the other world.\nBut there is a momentary pause, as an act of homage to a stranger,\nwho very unexpectedly makes his appearance. This stranger, to whom\nall the officials and the doomed man pay marked attention, is\nalso an official armed with power, not the power of death, but of\nlife; he is the herald of mercy; and with a loud voice proclaims\nhis pardon. The multitude, long absorbed in sympathetic grief, now\nraise the shout of gladsome triumph, as they gaze on the once doomed\nman, as he passes from the death of agony and infamy, to newness\nof life; they revel in the excess of ecstatic bliss; and feel more\njoyful in spirit over this one criminal saved from the horrors of an\nignominious death, than over a whole community of righteous persons\nwho were never involved in a sentence of condemnation.\n\n\"HE WAS BELIEVED ON IN THE WORLD.\"--\"The testimony of the Bible,\nand the records of ecclesiastical history, attest this fact,\nRev. vii. 9, 10; _and he is still believed on in the world_. I\nknow, brethren, that many persons of refined taste, and exquisite\ndelicacy of feeling, greatly admire the character of Jesus of\nNazareth, the Son of Joseph and of Mary; and they feel a deep\ninterest in the perusal of his history. Their imagination expands\nin reflecting on that magnificent scene beheld by the shepherds\nof Bethlehem, when his birth was announced by the angel of the\nLord. His healing the sick in the temple--his opening the eyes\nof blind Bartimeus--and his raising the only son of the widow\nas the procession was moving to the grave, has a fine effect on\ntheir sensibilities. The Transfiguration of Tabor sheds a halo of\nglory around his Divine form, which attracts and gratifies their\nlove of the marvellous. They catch the inspiration of a powerful\nsympathy on seeing him bathed in tears, as he stands beholding in\nthe distant vision the desolations coming on the city of Jerusalem.\nAnd when they gather around his cross, they feel intense regret,\nintermingled with no slight degree of astonishment, that one so\nkind, so humane, and withal such a friend to suffering humanity,\nshould be so rudely and so cruelly treated, and the falling tear\nbespeaks the sorrow of their heart. Now go amongst these refined,\nthese poetic, these sentimental believers in the Divine origin\nof the Christian faith, with the blood of atonement, and what\nconsternation will you produce! They will soon evince a strange\nrevulsion of feeling; the term itself is harsh and unintelligible;\nit is the jargon of the uncouth and the vulgar; the crucifix\ncharms their sentimentalism--they abhor the cross. Go and talk to\nthem about the necessity of believing in the Son of God to save\nthem from perishing; go and talk to them about joy and peace in\nbelieving, and about the good hope through grace, and you will\nsoon lose caste, and be sent adrift amongst the wild fanatics of\nthe age. They will bow down and do homage to the Divine origin of\nChristianity--that ideal Christianity, which takes its nature,\nshape, and hue from the creations of their fancy; but let the\nChristianity of the New Testament come before them in her simple\nform--pure and spiritual, breathing her own spirit, speaking her\nown language, delivering her own precepts and her own promises,\nadvancing her own claims, and offering her own celestial gifts, on\nher own humiliating and changeless conditions, and they will treat\nher, as the Jews did her illustrious Author, with contemptuous\nscorn; and would rather have her driven from the face of the earth,\nthan be enrolled as her devotees, or retained as her advocates. Be\nit so. But this you regret, on _their account_, as you know that\nthey who believe not, will die in their sins and perish for ever,\neven though superior intelligence be blended with the fascination\nof the most distinguished accomplishments. And you also regret this\nterrible calamity on your _own account_, as the pardoned criminal\nnecessarily feels an abatement of his joy when set free, by knowing\nthat others are left for execution. But you, Christian brethren,\nbelieve on Him, and have the witness within. You believe on Him, and\nlove Him; and to you he is precious. You believe on Him, and know\nthat all is safe for time, safe in death, and safe for eternity.\"\n\n\"Really,\" said Mr. Gordon, as we were walking away, \"I am almost\ntempted to believe in the truth of the Christian theory, on two\naccounts--it brings us into such close contact with beings of a\nsuperior order, so that in passing into the invisible world, we\nshall find that we are known there; and then it gives such security\nto the mind against the horrors of death.\" A sudden storm of heavy\nrain prevented any reply to these half-serious, half-ironical\nremarks; but on taking leave, as we were getting into our separate\nhackney coaches, he added, \"I will call to-morrow evening, after\nbusiness hours, and chat over those grave questions; and perhaps I\ncan prevail on Newton to accompany me. Have patience; I may become a\nbeliever in the course of time.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCEPTIC'S VISIT.\n\n\nJust after Mr. Lewellin had left home, to meet a friend on a matter\nof business, Mr. Gordon called, agreeably to his promise on the\nprevious day, and we spent the evening together.\n\n\"I had a lucky escape yesterday,\" said Mr. Gordon, \"but I did not\nknow of it till I took up the _Times_ this morning.\"\n\n\"From what did you escape, Sir?\"\n\n\"I had an engagement, for yesterday morning, to go with a pleasure\nparty on an excursion up the river, but I over-slept myself; and it\nwas well for me that I did so, for the boat upset, and I regret\nto say that a very excellent and accomplished lady, whom I much\nadmired, was drowned.\"\n\n\"As I was passing Blackfriars' Bridge, in going to Surrey Chapel, I\nwitnessed an accident such as that to which you refer.\"\n\n\"Indeed! It no doubt was the same, for it was just as they were\nsetting out from Blackfriars' stairs that the disaster happened; it\nmust have been an appalling sight!\"\n\n\"It was, indeed, a harrowing sight; and I trust I shall never\nwitness the like again. I heard that the lady who was drowned was a\nvery interesting creature, and the only daughter of a pious father.\nThe tidings of her loss must have been a sad blow to him.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, her father is one of your way of thinking, and I believe\nhim to be a very worthy man.\"\n\n\"Have you seen him since the fatal accident?\"\n\n\"No, no! I have no heart to visit such a house of mourning. The\nfact is, I shall never be able to see him again, for I planned the\nexcursion, and induced his son and daughter to join it. This I now\nregret; but regrets are useless things.\"\n\n\"Regrets do sometimes produce happy results, and I should think that\nyours, just now, must be very keen.\"\n\n\"Indeed, they are intensely keen. It will be a long time before I\nget over the impression this fatal accident has made on me.\"\n\n\"You should take it as a warning.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know how it is, but I never feel quite myself when\ntaking a Sunday excursion; I feel a little qualm of conscience,\neven though I do not hold the Sunday in such reverence as you do. I\nthought some time[12] ago that I had got over these qualms, but they\nwill come back at times in spite of me.\"\n\n  [12] Vol. i. page 17.\n\n\"I am glad to hear you say that your conscience does reprove you\nwhen you profane the Sabbath, and I hope its reproofs will be more\nsevere than they ever have been. They may be your protection against\nsome fatal danger.\"\n\n\"Then, Sir, if I do not mistake your meaning, you wish me to be\nfrightened into the adoption of religious habits. Is this a fair\nspecimen of your Christian charity?\"\n\n\"The storm sometimes saves the vessel which might become a wreck in\nthe calm, as we heard in the sermon last evening; and I assure you I\nshould be highly gratified to see you agitated by a salutary feeling\nof dread and perplexity regarding the state of your soul, as I then\nshould indulge a hope that you would 'flee from the wrath to come,'\nand take refuge in the promises of the gospel.\"\n\n\"Well, I must confess that Mr. Guion is one of the most eloquent\npreachers I ever heard. The conclusion of his sermon was truly\nsublime; the congregation appeared to quail under its terror--a\nfeeling which by no means surprised me. There is, indeed, a fearful\nterror in the words the _wrath to come_; and there was almost an\nirresistible impressiveness in the look and tones of the preacher\nwhen urging his audience to flee from it. I felt, just before he\nfinished, that I must take refuge in the promises of the gospel; but\nthe internal commotion soon subsided when I found myself beyond the\nreach of his voice, though still I cannot forget it.\"\n\n\"Now, Sir, to be candid; is not the terror you felt, when listening\nto the sermon we heard, and the abiding recollection of it,\nsomething like an unconscious homage instinctively paid to the\npositive reality of the Christian faith? for we can hardly suppose\nthat you would invest a mere fiction with such power of impression.\"\n\n\"Why, no; I can scarcely admit that. My idea is, that my present\nfeelings are merely the lingering influences of early religious\ntraining, with its accompanying associations; and we all know that\nsuch influences may subsist long after we have been led to form\ndifferent opinions in our maturer years.\"\n\n\"They live to admonish and to warn, as well as to chastise. There\n_may_ be a _wrath to come_. This you must admit, simply because you\ndo not know there is not; nor can you know, unless God is pleased\nto tell you so. _Hence your scepticism needs a Divine revelation\nto sustain it_--mere disbelief goes for nothing in settling such a\nquestion.\"\n\n\"Well, I know there is great difficulty, and sometimes an\nimpossibility, in proving a negative; but one thing is absolutely\ncertain--I cannot compel myself to believe what you believe, any\nmore than you can compel yourself to disbelieve what I disbelieve.\"\n\n\"My belief has evidence to sustain it; but your disbelief has none.\nAnd while your disbelief is accompanied by a feeling of uneasiness\nand perplexity, my faith exerts a soothing influence, which keeps my\nmind in perfect peace.\"\n\n\"Well, I admit that your faith does more for you than my disbelief\ndoes for me; but I cannot believe what you do without impeaching\nboth the wisdom and the beneficence of the Deity. In other words,\nthe Deity must sink in my admiration before I can admit the Divine\norigin of Christianity.\"\n\n\"But how so?\"\n\n\"The eloquent preacher whom we heard last evening, when discoursing\non the expression in his text, _he was believed on in the world_,\nadvanced two distinct propositions, which he endeavoured to sustain\nby arguments taken from your Scriptures. The first was, that _there\nis salvation for the chief of sinners if they believe in Christ and\ntrust in him_. You believe and are safe, and are happy because you\nexpect to be saved. Now, I have no objection to advance against\nthis; because I know that faith, or trust in Him, does produce these\nmoral effects on true believers. But my nature revolts against his\nsecond proposition, which was, _that none can be saved who do not\nbelieve in Christ, and trust in him for salvation_.\"\n\n\"In sustaining those propositions the preacher said--and there is\ngreat force in the remark--that we can have no assurance that any\nwill be saved but by a Divine testimony in proof of it; and that\nif it please God to limit the exercise of his saving power to one\nprescribed method, our objections against it will be altogether\nunavailing.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, you quote correctly. Now, in my opinion, it would be a\nreflection on the wisdom and beneficence of the Deity to suppose\nthat he has bound himself under such a forced law of restriction\nas compels him to exclude all from a state of future happiness but\nthe few who do believe and do trust in Christ. Why, have we not\namongst us many men of unsullied honour, of princely generosity,\nand of the most amiable dispositions--men who take the lead in\nbenevolent enterprises and social improvements--poets, philosophers,\nhistorians, and statesmen, who are applauded in public, and admired\nand esteemed in private life, but who cannot bow down and do homage\nto Jesus Christ, by reposing an absolute dependence on him for a\nhope of future blessedness, even though they unwillingly pay an\nexternal homage to the regulations and institutions of Christianity?\nAre men of such a high order of mind--of such brilliant virtues--men\nwho are the very life and soul of society--to be cast off and left\nto perish along with the dissipated and the worthless? It cannot be.\"\n\n\"Your objection, then, does not lie so much against the salvation\nof the great sinners, who repent and believe in Christ, as it does\nagainst the law of restriction, which excludes all who do not repent\nand believe from the hope of salvation.\"\n\n\"I can admit your first proposition, without much difficulty,\neven though I do not say that I actually believe it; but I cannot\nentertain a belief that the Deity has enacted a law which restricts\nthe exercise of his beneficence to a select few, some of whom, on\nyour own admission, are more distinguished for their vices than for\ntheir virtues.\"\n\n\"But is not the law of restriction, even now, a fundamental law\nof God's administrative government? For example, are superior\nintelligence, genius, or wealth, made common property--to be\npossessed by men share and share alike? Do we not see that the few\nsurpass the many--that some are brilliant stars while others are\nmere glowworms; and while some occupy stations of affluence and\ngrandeur, others are left without a settled home, or any of the\ncomforts of life?\"\n\n\"Why, if we really do believe that we are living under the\nadministrative government of the Deity, then there is no denying\nthe existence of this restrictive law. Facts are stubborn things;\nthose you mention are strongly corroborative of your views. But it\ndoes not necessarily follow that this law of restriction applies to\nour final destiny, even though it may be applicable to our present\ncondition of existence.\"\n\n\"But this admission deprives you of the basis on which you rest your\nargument, that a law of restriction would be a direct impeachment of\nthe wisdom and the beneficence of the Deity.\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps it does.\"\n\n\"If, then, facts compel us to admit that this law of restriction is\nin full operation _now_, while we are on earth, surely we must admit\nthe possibility of its continuance in a future state of existence,\nwithout impugning the wisdom or justice of the Deity?\"\n\n\"I never enter on a discussion on the questions at issue between us,\nwithout feeling compelled to do one of two things; and yet I cannot\nbring my mind to do either. I must admit the truth of revelation and\nits explanations, and this I cannot do; or I must abandon myself\nto _universal_ scepticism, and this I feel unwilling to do. But I\ndo confess that I feel it more easy to disbelieve than to believe.\nHowever, waiving further reference to this difficulty, allow me to\ncall your attention to another point, which, if not more difficult\nthan the one we have just been discussing, assumes, at least in my\nestimation, an aspect of great perplexity. Assuming then, for the\nsake of the argument, that the Deity does restrict the bestowal\nof future happiness to those who do believe and trust in Christ,\ncould he not have devised some other scheme for this purpose, and\none equally perfect and effective--one, in fact, less open to\nobjections?\"\n\n\"I will reply to your question by asking another. Could not God\nhave made a world different to the one in which we live--one more\ncongenial to our taste, and less exposed to those privations and\nhardships to which we are often subjected, and which we sometimes\nso much dread?--A world, for example, in which every convenience\nand necessary should be placed within reach; the earth producing\nspontaneously the supplies of corn and fruits necessary for our\nsubsistence--a sufficient supply of dew as a substitute for rain\nwith its discomforts--the purification of the air effected by gentle\nbreezes instead of by tempests and hurricanes--no diseases to rack\nthe body nor cares to harass the mind; a world, in fine, in which\nuniversal happiness should prevail, and sorrow and toil be unknown?\"\n\n\"Yes, there is no denying that the Deity could have done this.\"\n\n\"But God has not done it; and therefore to object to what he has\ndone, because we can imagine he could have done something better,\nis as useless, as it would be childish. Now, suppose for a moment\nsome other plan of salvation had been devised, it would have been\nto accomplish what is effected by the present scheme--namely, the\nfinal happiness of man. The present scheme, then, answers the\nbeneficent purpose of its Author--another plan could do no more\nthan this; but it would be romantic to suppose that it could be\nso arranged, in its various parts and modes of application, as to\npreclude the possibility of any objections to it, when we well\nknow it is next to impossible to find any twenty men who all think\nalike even on the most obvious facts. Christianity places before us\ntwo great practical facts, in which our present safety and final\nhappiness are involved: first, there is a way to heaven or to a\nstate of future blessedness--this should excite our gratitude;\nthere is only one way--this should make us cautious, lest, through\nignorance, prejudice, or carelessness, we come short of so glorious\na consummation.\"\n\n\"Your explanations, Sir, may be satisfactory to yourself, but they\nare not so to me. Indeed, the more I think of it, the more I feel\ndisinclined to bow down and do homage to the Christian faith. Now,\nfor example, it is an indisputable historic fact that many ages\nelapsed before Christianity was promulgated; and, during this long\nperiod, what countless millions of human beings must, on your\nhypothesis, have perished, without ever having had a chance of being\nsaved! Would the Deity have remained silent so long if he had bound\nhimself to your law of restriction--to save none but the few who\nbelieve and trust in Christ for salvation?\"\n\n\"If Christianity, which is the completion of the original scheme\nof salvation, was not promulgated till a comparatively late period\nin the history of our world, yet the essential substance of it was\nknown from the earliest period of time. The apostle says, that\nAbel, the first man who tasted the bitterness of death, offered his\nprefigurative sacrifice in faith, which is a proof that he knew\nthe way of salvation, to be perfected by the death of the promised\nSaviour; and we may fairly presume that what he knew, would be\nmade known to his descendants, from one generation to another. And\nthe same apostle says, when speaking of his Jewish ancestors--'For\nunto us was the gospel preached as well as unto them; but the word\npreached did not profit them, not being mixed with faith in them\nthat heard it' (Heb. iv. 2). And Jesus Christ himself says--'Your\nfather Abraham rejoiced to see my day; and he saw it, and was glad'\n(John viii. 56). From the time of Abraham to the actual coming of\nChrist, the clearest and fullest revelations of this scheme of\nsalvation were limited to Abraham's descendants; but we can collect\nfrom the records of ancient history, scanty as its materials are,\nsufficient evidence to prove, that amongst the people of other\nnations it descended by traditional report and testimony, from one\ngeneration to another, so as to leave them without excuse, if they\nperished in their disbelief, or from their own neglect of giving it\ndue attention. At length they became so corrupt and debased that\nthey were left, as a judicial visitation from God, to suffer the\nconsequences of their depravity and impenitence (Rom. i. 21-25).\"\n\n\"But what immense numbers of human beings must, on your hypothesis,\nhave perished during this long reign of ignorance and moral\ncorruption; and I do not see that the state of things is much\nimproved at the present time. Now, let us look at the case just as\nit is. Christianity has been in existence and in active operation,\nso you say, for nearly two thousand years; and yet how small is the\nspace on the surface of our globe which is illumined by what you\ncall her celestial light, in comparison with the vast regions which\nare enveloped in moral darkness!\"\n\n\"I admit it,\" I replied.\n\n\"But how will you reconcile such a tremendous state of things, with\nthe acknowledged wisdom and beneficence of the Deity?\"\n\n\"You are aware, Sir, that we are often compelled to admit as\nindisputable facts, what we cannot reconcile with the wisdom and\nbenevolence of God--as the slave-trade, for example, slavery as it\nnow exists in America, and the perpetration of murders, and other\nsocial crimes.\"\n\n\"Very true, Sir; these are confounding facts. They often stagger me.\"\n\n\"Permit me to say, that the arguments you adduce to disprove, if\npossible, the truth of the Christian faith, and its practical\nutility, are precisely those I would employ in proof of its Divine\norigin and beneficial tendency. Going back to an early period of\ntime, let us consider some of the indisputable facts of history. The\ntribes of Israel, we know, had been held for centuries as slaves\nin the land of Egypt; and after their emancipation they went to\nreside in Palestine. In most of those qualities which command the\nrespect and admiration of mankind, the Jewish nation was remarkably\ndeficient. With the exception of their sacred writings, their\nliterature appears to have been meagre in the extreme; no eminent\nphilosophers, historians, or orators adorn their annals, and the\nfine arts seem scarcely to have had any existence among them.\nCompared with the Greeks and Romans, and other nations of antiquity,\nthey were barbarians; and were spoken of in the language of scorn\nand contempt by their more accomplished and renowned contemporaries.\nIn ONE department of knowledge, however, the despised Jewish people\nfar surpassed the haughty statesmen and polished sages of Greece\nand Rome. They knew the only true God, and spoke of him in a style\ncorresponding with his greatness, his condescension, and his\npaternal love. While the inhabitants of all other countries were\nabandoned to the grossest and most abject superstition and idolatry,\nthe Hebrews alone adored one God, and alone appear to have possessed\nany suitable ideas of the dignity and holiness of the Supreme\nBeing; and while the worship of the pagan divinities was licentious\nand cruel, that of the God of the Jews was distinguished by its\nmildness and purity. Here is a contrast which must be traced to some\nadequate cause.\"\n\n\"The Jews most certainly, in this department of knowledge, claim a\njust superiority over other ancient nations; but this may have been\nowing to their isolation and their training.\"\n\n\"That I grant; but their isolation was a Divine arrangement, and\ntheir training a Divine dispensation. They were separated from all\nother people by the express command of the Lord their God; and their\nteachers who trained them in this department of knowledge--the\nknowledge of the only true God, and of the way of salvation,\nproclaimed that God had made himself known to them by special\nrevelation.\"\n\n\"Yes, they said so, and I will admit that they believed it was so;\nbut as they were not infallible, they may have been mistaken.\"\n\n\"Why, Sir, any person of common sense can easily distinguish\nbetween a discovery, and a communication as to matters of fact.\nHowever, to account for their superior knowledge on these sublime\nand recondite subjects, without admitting the correctness of their\nown testimony,'that God spake to _their fathers_,' is absolutely\nimpossible, unless we believe--what would be an outrage on common\nsense to imagine--that there is more acuteness in mental dulness\nthan in superior intelligence; and that an untutored people,\nwhile devoting themselves chiefly to agriculture and the rearing\nof cattle, could eclipse, by the grandeur and sublimity of their\ndiscoveries, a people who has long enjoyed the highest degree of\nintellectual culture.\"\n\n\"But, Sir, your Scriptures prove that the Jews had amongst them\nmen of genius and of great mental power. Isaiah, for example, in\nsublimity and lofty grandeur of conception and description, has\nno superior in any age or country; and the pastoral odes of David\nequal, if they do not surpass, anything we meet with in Pope or\nAddison. As a legislator, Moses stands at the head of his order,\nand, if my memory serves me, the great critic Longinus says he\nwas no ordinary man; and, therefore, it is not a matter of such\nwonderment that they made discoveries of the Deity which no other\nphilosophers ever made.\"\n\n\"But you forget that what you call their discoveries were\ninspirations, which came upon them from the Source of all knowledge;\nand to these inspirations they uniformly attribute their knowledge\nof the only true God, and that scheme of salvation which he had\ndevised on behalf of man. And this belief was entertained by all\nthe tribes of Israel, not simply because their teachers said so,\nbut because, they confirmed the truthfulness of their testimony by\nsigns, and wonders, and divers miracles.\"\n\n\"And yet after all their novel and sublime discoveries in regard\nto these all-important subjects, and after all the miraculous\nattestations which you say were supplied in confirmation of their\ntruthfulness, we find that they apostatized from the worship of\ntheir Deity, and relapsed again and again into idolatrous worship\nand practices, and became corrupt and debased like the people of\nother nations.\"\n\n\"That is very true, Sir; and the consequences resulting from their\napostasy supplies a very cogent argument in favour of my hypothesis.\nWhile they adhered to the worship of the true God, and observed the\nstatutes and ordinances which he gave them, they were a united,\nvirtuous, and prosperous people; and, though few in number, they\nwere great in power. No invading force could subdue them, nor\ncould any adjoining country into which they carried their arms\nwithstand the shock of their assaults. But when they renounced their\nallegiance to Him, and relapsed into idolatry, practising at the\nsame time the cruel and obscene rites of heathenism, they became\ndebased and corrupt like other pagan nations; and then, when the\nprotecting arm of the Lord their God was withdrawn, they fell an\neasy prey to their enemies, who reduced them to a state of slavery\nmore galling to their national pride than that of Egypt. And,\nin further confirmation of my argument, just let us look at the\npresent moral state of those countries which have not yet received\nand submitted to the authority of Christianity. There we find\nmost triumphant evidence in favour of the moral superiority of the\nChristian system over every other at present existing in the world,\nin regard to promoting the dignity and happiness of mankind. Without\ndescending to the gross idolatries of Fetichism, and other abject\nforms of superstition, what is the social condition of nations where\nMahometanism or Buddhism is professed? and what, on the other hand,\nis that of those countries, where Christianity has been established?\"\n\n\"To you, Sir, who believe that the Deity restricts the bestowal of\na state of future blessedness to that comparatively small number\nwho believe in Jesus Christ, the condition of those nations where\nChristianity is not established must appear truly appalling; but to\nmyself it presents no such painful aspect, because, as the Deity\nhas permitted this state of things to descend from one generation\nto another, for such a series of ages, I believe he looks with an\n_equal eye_ of compassion and beneficence on all his offspring;\nand that, _if there be a future state of blessedness in reserve_,\nhe will discard your law of restriction, and confer everlasting\nhappiness on all, without respect to their faith, or their religious\nrites and customs. Hence I see no absolute necessity why you should\nembark in that crusade of missionary enterprise and labour, which we\nheard recommended and enforced with so much eloquence last evening;\nfor we are not sure that if such a transfer of homage, and change\nin the mode of worship, could be effected, it would augment the\nhappiness of the people who are the subjects of it, or improve their\nsocial habits and dispositions.\"\n\n\"I am rather surprised to hear you make these remarks; however,\nwithout noticing all of them, I think I can convince you that on\nsome points you are labouring under a species of delusion, and\nthat I shall endeavour to point out. I proceed, then, at once, to\nreal or very probable matters of fact. A vessel, richly laden and\nscantily manned, may sail up the Thames or the Clyde in perfect\nsafety, even if there are no weapons of defence on board; but if she\nwere to venture near the coast of some parts of the Indian seas,\nher passengers and crew would run the risk of a contest for their\nlives and liberty with the savages on shore. If a vessel should be\nwrecked on the shores of the once savage, but now Christian islands\nof Tahiti or Raratonga, its crew and passengers would be sure of\na kind reception from the natives; while, if a similar disaster\nshould happen on the shores of the Feejees or of Sumatra, they\nwould run the risk of being seized and devoured; or, if spared this\nfate, would be compelled to live in degradation and misery. Here\nare striking contrasts, amongst human beings who are endowed with\nthe same powers of intelligence and sympathy as ourselves; but to\nwhat singular cause are these to be referred, unless it be to the\ninfluence of the Christian faith, which, you doubt, will work no\nbeneficial change in the character and condition of man?\"\n\n\"You strike home now, and I feel I must surrender. But still, while\nthe diffusion of Christianity may tend to tame the wild savage, and\nmake him more like a human being, I do not see any necessity for\nyour missionary labours amongst the Chinese or the Hindoos, who are\nhighly civilized, and, upon the whole, intelligent. Why should any\nefforts be made to dispossess them of their religion, with its rites\nand ceremonies, which they inherit from their forefathers?\"\n\n\"I think that no compulsory efforts should be made to achieve this\nend; but I presume you would not think it wrong that our government\nshould introduce the humane laws of Britain into all her foreign\ndependencies?\"\n\n\"Why, no; such a measure, I think, would be very advisable.\"\n\n\"I thank you for this admission in favour of the necessity of\nChristian missions, especially to India, where cruelties are still\npractised in broad day, such as we should be apt to regard as\nmonstrous inventions, fitted only to gratify a morbid appetite for\nthe horrible, were they not attested by faithful eye-witnesses.\nWhat think you of this specimen? At the annual festival in honour\nof Muha Div (the great god), many persons are suspended in the air\nby large hooks, thrust through the integuments of their backs,[13]\nand swung round for a quarter of an hour, in honour of this deity;\nand often over a slow fire. Others have their sides pierced, and\ncords are introduced between the skin and ribs, and drawn backwards\nand forwards, while these victims of superstition dance through\nthe streets. Others cast themselves from a stage upon open knives,\ninserted in packs of cotton. Sometimes one of these knives enters\nthe body, and the poor wretch is carried off to expire. If an infant\nrefuses his mother's milk, it is often hung up in a basket on a\ntree, to be devoured by the vultures. This is no criminal offence,\nas it would be amongst us, but a ceremonial regulation of their\nfaith. And in India, the mother often sacrifices her first-born,\nto conciliate her guardian deity in behalf of her unborn progeny.\nWhen the child is two or three years old, she takes it to the river,\nencourages it to enter, as though about to bathe it, but suffers it\nto pass into the current of water, when she abandons it, and stands\nan inactive spectator, beholding the struggles and listening to the\nscreams of her perishing infant.\"\n\n  [13] We find, from a document which has recently come from India\n  (December, 1856), that some of these cruel rites are abolished in\n  a few of the provinces; and there is now no doubt but the work of\n  legislative humanity and enlightened policy having been begun, will\n  steadily advance, till the triumphs of missionary enterprise in our\n  Indian empire are complete.\n\n  \"An order has just been promulgated by the magistrate of Poonah,\n  under instructions from government, prohibiting hook-swinging and\n  other barbarous practices throughout the Poonah Zillah. Such a\n  measure has long been desired by all who wish for the improvement\n  of the natives. Of old it was believed--or careless and idle minds\n  found it convenient to believe--that it was dangerous to meddle\n  with any native practice, however immoral or revolting, that was\n  connected with or claimed the sanction of religion. But times are\n  changed, and innovations which might not safely have been attempted\n  a century or half a century ago, the age is now ripe for.\n\n  \"Another barbarous custom, also prevalent at Jejooree, is\n  interdicted by the proclamation of Mr. Davidson. A man runs a sword\n  through the fleshy part of his leg for about a foot, and, drawing\n  it out, sprinkles the blood on the entrance of the temple. For this\n  feat he receives large free-will offerings; and the right to perform\n  it is vested, as a valuable privilege, in a body of about fifteen\n  families, to each individual of which it comes round once in about\n  six or seven years. These men, however, long ago declared that they\n  would be glad to discontinue the practice (which some think is a\n  remnant of the rite of human sacrifice) if their incomes could be\n  assured to them.\"\n\n\"I would have all these cruel rites and ceremonies put down by the\nforce of law; which, of course, would supersede the necessity of\nyour missionary enterprise.\"\n\n\"As experience is a safe guide in the settlement of doubtful\nquestions, a reference to it, on the present occasion, will\nsupply palpable evidence that the labours of our missionaries\nin India have been of great importance and value, both to the\nnatives themselves, and also to the government, by facilitating\nthe introduction and peaceable establishment of a humane policy.\nThe history of their labours proves that they were not visionary\nspeculatists, but sober-thinking men, who knew and realized the\nfact, that wherever Christianity prevails it uniformly conduces to\nthe progress of mankind;--that it communicates that just manner\nof thinking upon the most important subjects, which, extending\nits influence thence to every department of speculative and\nmoral truth, inspires a freedom of inquiry, and an elevation\nof sentiment, that raises its disciples immeasurably above the\nlevel of unassisted nature. This great historic truth gave them\nconfidence in the prosecution of their herculean labours. Let me\nnow notice what they have already accomplished, and that without\ncreating any popular disturbances amongst the natives, thus\nfalsifying the predictions of their opponents, who, from the press\nand in both houses of parliament, were accustomed to say, that the\nsafety of our Indian possessions was endangered by the presence\nof our missionaries there; and that our Indian empire would be\nirrecoverably lost if any legislative measure were introduced\nto suppress or control the superstitious customs and rites of\nthe natives. In the first place, the missionaries have given us\ncorrect information on all matters relating to the Hindoos--their\nworship, and its various ceremonies--their character, and social\nhabits; and thus, by an accumulation of authentic facts, they have\ndisproved the statements of our popular writers, that the Hindoos\nare not only an intelligent, but a very virtuous people; and that\ntheir religious rites and services, though novel and repulsive\nto Europeans, are both chaste and humane. Since the missionaries\nexposed this deception, which had been so long practised upon us, no\none has ventured to eulogize the virtues, or defend the religious\npractices of the Hindoos. In the second place, they established\nschools for the education of the youth of India, both male and\nfemale; and thus they have succeeded, to a very considerable extent,\nin diffusing both scientific and biblical knowledge, which is\nnoiselessly but effectively rescuing them from the dominion of the\ndebasing ignorance and superstition under which their forefathers\nhad been living from time immemorial. And no one doubts, who is at\nall conversant with the present state of things in India, but the\nrising generation will far surpass any preceding one, in mental\nacuteness, in knowledge, and in moral character. In the third place,\nby their writings, their preaching, and their intercourse with the\nnatives, they have proved useful pioneers in clearing the way for\nthe peaceable introduction of the laws promulgated by the British\ngovernment for the suppression of many of those cruel practices to\nwhich I have already alluded. In the fourth place, without employing\nany undue modes of attack and exposure, they have succeeded, to a\nvery considerable extent, in shaking the confidence of the Hindoos\nin the truth of their national faith; and a powerful conviction is\nimpressed on the Indian mind--an impression which is becoming deeper\nand deeper every day--that the days of their mythology are numbered,\nand that ere long its humiliation and subversion will be achieved.\nAnd, in addition to these proofs and indications of their success, I\nhave to report another of their triumphs, and that refers _to your\nown fraternity_--the conversion of many of our own countrymen, who,\non their settlement in India, became first speculative, and then\npractical unbelievers--rejecting, as visionary or fabulous, the\nfaith of their early training, and often distinguishing themselves\nby their virulent hostility to the Christian missionary and his\nlabours; but who now zealously co-operate with him in his exertions\nto spread the knowledge of the way of salvation.\"\n\n\"To you, these doings of your missionaries are splendid triumphs in\nconfirmation of the Divine origin of that faith, which restricts\nthe bestowal of a state of future blessedness to the comparatively\nfew who believe in Jesus Christ; but to me they appear nothing\nmore than the natural consequences of a well-concerted attack on\na long-established and nearly worn-out order of things, which we\nknow invariably results in dividing popular opinion. On all such\noccasions _Divide and conquer_ is the motto, and when this is done,\nthen the pruning off from the old stock of belief and opinion,\nand the engrafting on the new one, is an operation as natural as\nit is easy. Human nature is given to change; the love of it is an\nessential element in our mental constitution, and nothing is more\ncommon than going from one extreme to another, or more likely than\nthe change from Brahminism or Buddhism to the faith of Christianity.\"\n\n\"And from Deism to Christianity also, as I have shown you. Hence,\nto quote your own words, I indulge the hope that you will become a\nbeliever, if we have patience.\"\n\n\"A possible event, on the assumed correctness of your hypothesis, as\nthen I may be operated on by some Divine influence, which I shall\nhave no power to withstand; but on my own supposition, as remote\nfrom possibility as the junction of the antipodes.\"\n\n\"We shall see. You have already advanced some way in the right\ndirection. But to return to India. Here is a fact, which was\nnot publicly known amongst us, till it was reported by our\nmissionaries--that one whole tribe in India has uniformly destroyed\nevery female child born amongst them, so that they have been obliged\nto take their wives from the tribe next in rank to them. On one\noccasion a father's heart recoiled when the emissaries of murder\ndemanded his daughter; and he repelled them from his presence. Her\nlife was spared, and she grew up tenderly beloved by her parents;\nbut the sight of a girl rising to maturity in the house of a\nRajpoot, was so novel, and so contrary to the customs of the tribe,\nthat no parent sought her in marriage for his son. The grief-worn\nfather, suffering under the frowns of his own tribe, and trembling\nfor the chastity of his daughter, and the honour of his family, bore\nher off to a pathless desert, where, with his own hand, he slew her,\nleaving her body to be devoured by wild beasts.\"\n\n\"Horrid! horrid! Such transactions as these, if true and believed,\nare enough to rouse popular indignation against our government\nfor not adopting some prompt and severe measures to prevent their\nrepetition. I would annihilate the whole tribe, rather than suffer\nsuch inhuman monsters to live on earth.\"\n\n\"You then would recommend a wholesale massacre to save a few lives;\nwhile I would advocate the introduction amongst them of a pure and\nhumane faith, which teaches and enforces the relative obligations of\nparents and children as they prevail amongst ourselves. This sense\nof relative obligation, and the social improvement which necessarily\nfollows it, Christianity, by its mild and persuasive influence,\nhas already succeeded in establishing in the cannibal islands of\nthe South Sea, and also, to some extent, amongst the natives of\ncivilized India. Christianity can do, and I have no doubt will do,\nfor India what she has done for Britain--subvert her idolatry,\nwith its cruel and obscene rites, and raise up an enlightened and\nrenovated native population, who, with gladsome voices, will sing\nthe song of Bethlehem, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth\npeace, good-will toward men' (Luke ii. 14).\"\n\nMr. Gordon, on rising to take his leave, said, \"Well, there is no\ndenying the fact, that the world is in a sad disordered state;\nand if you think you can improve it by your missionary labours, I\nwill not impeach the benevolence of your motives, though, without\nhesitation, I may predict the failure of your sacrifices and\nexertions.\"\n\n\"But, Sir, you must acknowledge that it is more honourable to fail\nin the cause of philanthropy than to make no effort.\"\n\n\"This honour, I believe, is in reserve for you, though I must say\nyou merit one more brilliant. Go on, my dear Sir; but don't be\ntoo sanguine. Utopia I know is very rich in splendid scenery, but\nunfortunately it partakes much of the nature of the mirage. Good\nnight; with many thanks for all your good wishes.\"\n\n\n\n\nA RENEWED ENCOUNTER.\n\n\nThe night before I left London, Mr. Gordon again called, and, after\nsome desultory conversation, our attention happened to be directed\nto the book entitled _No Fiction_, which was lying on the table.\nThis led to a somewhat sharp and lengthened encounter.\n\n\"I dipped into that book,\" said Mr. Gordon, \"the other day, and it\ngave me some amusement, as the tale is made to appear a very natural\none. Its author narrates and sketches extremely well, for a divine,\nand it is highly creditable to his talents, which must certainly be\nof a superior order.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, he is quite a superior man. There is one paragraph of his\ntale to which I should like to direct your attention, and which, by\nyour permission, I will read to you.\"\n\n\"Read on, Sir, and I'll give all due attention.\"\n\nI then read as follows:--\n\n     \"I have often been delighted,\" said Douglas, \"in reading the\n     accounts of the power of religion on the minds of children; but\n     this is the _first_ instance which has fallen beneath my own\n     eye. What a religion is ours! How great--and yet how plain! It\n     is so sublime, that it rises beyond the conception of the most\n     enlarged mind! and so simple, that it brings home its lessons to\n     the bosom of a little child! The elements of the gospel, like\n     the elements of our nourishment, are adapted to the endless\n     varieties of age, and character, and circumstance, throughout\n     all the human race.\"\n\n     \"And this appears,\" said Lefevre, \"to be a feature in our\n     religion which distinguishes it from all false religions. As\n     far as I am acquainted with the subject, no one of the pagan\n     systems _could_ have been rendered universal. They all received\n     their character from national prejudice, national policy, and\n     predominant national vices.\"\n\n     \"Yes,\" rejoined Douglas, \"and as, in their own nature, they\n     were not adapted for the benefit of mankind as such, so their\n     great teachers discovered an indifference to the bulk of the\n     human race, incompatible with everything which deserves the\n     name either of religion or morality. With haughty pride they\n     exulted in their own wisdom, and looked down with scorn or\n     ridicule on the folly of those who were not initiated into\n     their false philosophy. Man scarcely deserved their notice,\n     but as he claimed the proud titles of rich, or wise, or noble;\n     and women and children were utterly abandoned to ignorance and\n     wretchedness. Jesus, our blessed Saviour, was the first Master\n     in religion who opened the door of knowledge _to all_--who\n     carried his instructions and his tears to the cottage of _the\n     poor_! This appears to me to involve a powerful evidence of the\n     truth of Christianity, that may well perplex and confound the\n     hosts of infidelity. I have more than once thought that the\n     psalmist must have referred to this use of the subject, when\n     he said, 'Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast\n     ordained strength, because of thine enemies: that thou mightest\n     still the enemy and the avenger.'\"\n\n\"This passage, if I remember rightly,\" Mr. Gordon remarked,\n\"refers to a tale very similar to your story of _The Woodman's\nDaughter_; but I must confess, with all due deference, that I see\nnothing very remarkable in it; and how you can think of adducing\nit as an argument in favour of the Divine origin of Christianity,\nrather surprises me. Children, we know, are imitative. They take\nthe manners, the habits, and the tones of their parents and\nteachers; and if they should adopt their sentiments, feelings, and\nexpressions, it certainly ought not to be considered remarkable. But\nyet I should like to hear how you contrive to connect such a fact\nand the divinity of the gospel together.\"\n\n\"Such a fact, Sir, proves that the Christian religion is adapted\n(as we may fairly presume it would be, if of Divine origin), to the\nmoral condition of man, irrespective of his age--of the strength\nor weakness of his intellect--or the peculiar shades of his moral\ncharacter. To suppose that this adaptation is by accident, would be\nno less objectionable than to conclude, with the sceptics of the\nFrench school, that it is by chance we see, hear, and speak. If you\nare prepared to admit that the marks of contrivance, which we can\neasily discover in the construction and organization of our senses,\nsupply us with a legitimate argument in favour of the existence\nof a God, by whose power and wisdom this organization has been\narranged, I cannot conceive how you can avoid admitting the marks of\ncontrivance which we can as easily trace in the Christian scheme of\nsalvation, as conclusive evidence in favour of its Divine origin.\"\n\n\"O Sir! it has been invented by a few crafty men, who wished to\ndisplay their skill at the expense of our credulity, and they have\ndone it most dexterously. They were certainly adepts in invention.\"\n\n\"I know that this is a favourite opinion with you Deists; but I do\nnot think that you can support it. How came these men to devise a\nscheme of religion which is so admirably adapted to the moral state\nof man? From whence did they gain their information? They tell us\nthat they wrote under the dictation of an infinitely wise Spirit,\nand, in common fairness, their testimony ought to be admitted;\nand, I think, a candid examination of what they have done, and the\nstyle in which they have done it, will satisfy us that they are\ntruth-speaking men. I form my judgment on this point as I should on\nanother somewhat analogous to it. If, for example, I saw an epic\npoem equal to that of Virgil or Milton, or a treatise on logic\nsuperior to that of Dr. Watt's, written by a boy of ten years of\nage; and, if on expressing my astonishment and admiration, he\nshould say--'The writing, Sir, is mine, but nothing more--I wrote\nfrom the dictation of Wordsworth and Whately,' I should at once\nbelieve him, from a consciousness of his incompetency to produce\nsuch compositions by his own unaided powers. So with the sacred\nwriters. We know that, with very few exceptions, they were unlearned\nand ignorant men, and their contemporaries who knew them spoke of\nthem as such; and yet they have surpassed all other men in the\nscience of moral and spiritual truth. In confirmation, too, of this\ninternal evidence of the truthfulness of their testimony, that\nthey wrote under the dictation of an infallible Spirit, we find,\non examination, that the various parts of their comprehensive, yet\nminute theory, are in perfect harmony with each other, while, at\nthe same time, the theory itself is admirably adapted to the moral\ncondition of humanity. The marks of contrivance are too obvious to\nallow us to refer the arrangements to chance, or the mere skill of\nman. For our guilt, it provides a propitiatory sacrifice, whose\nblood cleanses from all sin--for our depravity, it provides a\nrenovating influence, by which, we are made partakers of the purity\nof the Divine nature; regarding us as oppressed with cares and\nsorrows, it animates us with exceeding great and precious promises,\nby which we are enabled to put our trust in God, and thus rise above\nthe trials of this life; and, viewing us as panting for immortality,\nit unveils futurity, and delights us with the sublime vision of\nendless happiness.\"\n\n\"To you, who are initiated into a firm belief of the Divine\norigin of Christianity, this apparent adaptation of it to our\nmoral condition and necessities, and its revelations of a future\nstate of happiness, must appear as the consummation of wisdom\nand benevolence. But I cannot resist the impression, that it is\nto the activity of your imagination you ought to attribute this\ncorrespondence, rather than to any actual fact; and that you are,\nat least so I think, unconsciously beguiling yourself with pleasing\nanticipations which will all prove visionary.\"\n\n\"The gospel, Sir, is a living reality, and it works moral wonders.\"\n\n\"I don't quite comprehend your meaning.\"\n\n\"I mean, that it answers the purpose for which it was intended, or,\nin other words, it does the moral work which is ascribed to it,\nand does it effectually; this I can prove by an appeal to living\ntestimony. Hence, when it is received by faith, it _does_ give peace\nto a wounded conscience; it _does_ infuse a renovating power, by\nwhich man becomes a new creature, in his moral principles and social\nhabits; it does administer the most soothing and strengthening\nconsolation to the child of sorrow, and it animates the dying\nbeliever with the hopes of a blissful immortality. These are moral\nfacts which the experience of myriads can attest.\"\n\n\"Yes, I see how it is; the imagination traces a correspondence\nbetween its own impulses, and aerial flights, and the component\nparts of your scriptural theory; and you very naturally think that\nyou would be robbed of an inestimable treasure, and the world at\nlarge sustain an irreparable loss, if your theory of faith should be\nexploded as a worn-out relic of an antiquated superstition.\"\n\n\"But, after all you say against the Christian faith, I do not think\nyou would vote for its expulsion from the earth, even if you thought\nyou could succeed in effecting it; and I will tell you why. Its\nexpulsion would be as great a calamity to the moral world, as the\ntotal disappearance of the solar light would be to the physical--we\nshould at once relapse into a state of profound ignorance on\nall the important questions which relate to God, to our origin,\nour immortality, and our destiny. We should then find ourselves\ngroping about, like the ancient heathen, amidst vain and foolish\nspeculations, striving to unravel the mysteries of our nature, and\nfinding no resting-place for our troubled spirits. I have often\nthought, when musing on such a fearful occurrence, what an awful\ngloom would spread over the world if we knew that the fatal hour\nwas coming, when, by some supernatural process, all our knowledge\nof Jesus Christ, and the design of his mission and death, would\nsuddenly pass away from human recollection; and when every leaf in\nour Bible, and of all other books referring to him, should become\nas blank as they were before they were printed--leaving us, like\nthe doomed spirits of the infernal world, without a Saviour, or any\npromise of mercy.\"\n\n\"_You_ would anticipate such a strange event with sad and awful\nforebodings. The disappearance of Jesus Christ from your theory\nof belief would be to you, and to all of your way of thinking, an\nirreparable calamity; though I must confess, that I cannot account\nfor the hold he keeps on your imaginations. To me, this is a mystery\nwhich deepens in profundity the more I try to fathom it. His very\nname appears to be a charm, and of more than magic power.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Gordon, there is a charm in the name of Jesus, which\nat all times, but more especially under circumstances of great\nprivation and danger, both soothes and elevates his disciples. They\nfear not to die in the tranquillity of their own homes or the raging\nof the tempest, on the scaffold or the battle-field.\"\n\n\"I will not attempt to deny a fact which general testimony confirms;\nbut permit me to ask, if you can assign any rational cause for what\nappears to me so mysterious?\"\n\n\"I can; the fact admits of a fair explanation. Those who have faith\nin Christ believe that, though invisible, He is ever near them to\nsuccour and to comfort them. Hence, the sailor, when pacing the deck\nduring the dark and stormy night, prays to HIM, who, when sailing\nwith his disciples, rebuked the winds and the waves; and he feels\nthat he is addressing one who hears him, and can save him. Yes! and\nin the dreary cell of tyranny--at the stake of martyrdom--in penury,\nsuffering, and in death--the name of Jesus is uttered with thrilling\naccents, and awakens associations which have tenfold greater power\nover the soul than the kindest expressions of human sympathy\nand love. I was an eye-witness, not long since, to a display of\nChristian heroism in death:--A young man, of superior intelligence\nand station in life, who had been rather sceptically inclined, was\ntaken ill, and during his continued illness his sceptical notions\nvanished, and he became a simple believer in Christ Jesus. After the\nlapse of some months, his physician told him he must die, as his\ndisease was beyond the reach of human skill. I was present when this\nannouncement was made, and he received it without expressing either\nsurprise or regret. When his medical attendant withdrew, he said to\nhis mother and his sisters, who stood weeping by his bedside--'I am\nnot surprised by your tears, for I know you love me; but weep not\nfor me, for I am nearing the end of my course. My confidence of a\nglorious issue is placed on HIM, who is mighty to save; he is with\nme, though I see him not. Death's dark vale is illumined with the\nlight of life, and I shall soon pass through it, and then I shall be\nsafe and happy for ever.'\"\n\n\"Most marvellous! and yet I believe it. Such incidents as these are\nmost impressive. We are mysterious beings, alternately terrified by\nour own imaginary fears, and excited to ecstasy by the illusions of\nour own fancy.\"\n\n\"But the extinction of Christianity and its sacred records might\nprove a great disaster to you sceptics; especially at some of the\nturning points of your history.\"\n\n\"To us! you now really take me by surprise; but, to be serious, how\ndo you make this out?\"\n\n\"Why, it is well known that sceptics, when in expectation of death,\noften call on Jesus Christ to save them.\"\n\n\"A drowning man will catch at a straw.\"\n\n\"He would prefer a life-boat.\"\n\n\"True.\"\n\n\"I ask you one plain question--If you lived on a dangerous coast,\nwould you ever scuttle a life-boat which has rescued many from\ndestruction, and which possibly you may live to need?\"\n\n\"I see your drift, and admire your ingenuity. Of course, I would\nnot.\"\n\n\"Well, I will venture on another supposition, and leave you to\ndecide whether I am not right in my conjectures, that even you,\nwith all your antipathies to Jesus Christ, may be surprised in\ncircumstances which would render the sound of his name the most\neffectual solace that could be given. Suppose, for instance, we were\nwalking together in some vast forest in the far northern part of\nAmerica, and saw advancing toward us a band of apparently ferocious\nsavages, should we not tremble with fear and apprehension? But\nsuppose, while in this state of terror, we should hear them singing\nin chorus a verse of some familiar hymn, would you then recoil in\nterror? Would you experience additional consternation on perceiving\nthat these barbarians had been instructed in the Christian faith?\"\n\n\"I like your illustrations--they amuse me. Can't you favour me with\nanother?\"\n\n\"I will try. Suppose you were sailing among the islands of the South\nSeas, and, when nearing one of them, would you not rather see the\nnatives on the beach clothed in European dresses, as at Tahiti and\nRaratonga, than in a state of savage nudity? and would you hesitate\nto drop anchor if you heard them singing in harmony--\n\n    'Jesus shall reign where'er the sun\n    Does his successive journeys run:\n    His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,\n    Till moons shall wax and wane no more.'\"\n\n\"In arguing,\" said Mr. Gordon, \"there is nothing more desirable than\na good illustration, which gives pleasure, even when it does not\nproduce conviction. Well, then, I will admit that there is a strange\nfascinating power in a name, and in mental associations, for which\nour most sagacious philosophers are unable to account; but that's\nno reason why I should give it my sanction, if I believe, as I do\nin these cases, that it springs out of a superstitious belief; and,\ntherefore, leaving the sailor in the storm, and the prisoner in the\ncell, with the rest of your illustrative examples, and not caring\nto conjecture how I should act or feel if I were placed in such\ncircumstances as you describe, I certainly, according to my present\nviews and impressions, would vote for the expulsion of Christianity,\nif my suffrage could bring about such an event; but I fear that it\nis too deeply fixed in the prejudices of the public mind ever to be\nrooted up--at least in our time.\"\n\n\"But would you not tremble in anticipation of the success of such\nan effort? Expel Christianity from the earth! Why, what evil has\nshe done? You may trace her progress by the improved condition\nof the people whom she has visited and blessed. Where she finds\na wilderness, she leaves a fruitful field for the sickle of the\nhusbandman; she meets with briars and thorns, and converts them into\nthe myrtle tree and the rose; she encounters all the base lusts and\nferocious dispositions of our nature, and supplants them with the\ntranquillizing affections of purity and peace. She improves the\nintellect, refines the taste, and humanizes the character; and,\nby raising men to a state of spiritual communion with the Supreme\nBeing, imprints on them the image of his benevolence, and animates\nthem with his love of righteousness. She mitigates the violence of\nsorrow--binds up the wounds which adversity inflicts in the heart\nof man--reconciles the mourner to his bitter loss--disarms death of\nhis terrors--and exhibits beyond the grave a scene of tranquillity\nand of joy which no hand can portray or tongue describe. Expel\nChristianity from the earth! Then, Sir, you would give perpetuity to\nthose horrid systems of idolatry which maintain their dominion over\nthe great majority of the human race, as no power will ever destroy\nthem but that which the gospel of Christ displays. Nay, Sir; if you\nwere to succeed, you would prove the greatest enemy to man that ever\nvisited the earth since the author of all evil triumphed over our\nfirst parents: for how many thousands would you, by such a wanton\nact of cruelty, deprive of their sweetest sources of consolation,\nand their brightest prospects of happiness!\"\n\n\"You are eloquently severe; but, my dear Sir, you may spare your\nseverity, as it is not likely that I shall ever make the attempt,\nand less likely that I should succeed, were I vain, or, to quote\nyour own language, wanton and cruel enough to do it. I willingly\nadmit that Christianity has done some good, but you must allow\nthat she has done some evil; and it is but fair to balance the one\nagainst the other, to see which preponderates. If she has promoted\npeace in one country, she has planned massacres in others; if she\nhas blessed one family, she has introduced discord and division into\nothers; and if there are a few solitary individuals animated by her\npromises of mercy, there is a larger number who tremble under the\nawful denunciations of her vengeance.\"\n\n\"Her promises of mercy are addressed to all, and all are invited\nto receive the blessings which she is willing to bestow; but if\nthey disdainfully reject them, and treat her message of grace with\ncontempt, she turns away, and announces their approaching doom;\nand she does this in a tone, and with a lofty majesty of speech,\nwhich often makes the most daring quail before her. But why do they\ntremble, if they believe she has no power to punish? Your other\ncharges against her I will meet by a quotation from a book[14] which\nI wish you would peruse, and which I shall be happy to present to\nyou:--\n\n     \"That men calling themselves Christians have persecuted others\n     with unrelenting cruelty, and have shed rivers of innocent\n     blood, is but too true. Did Christianity countenance this\n     conduct, it would merit unqualified reprobation. But far from\n     such a disposition, it forbids all violence and injury to be\n     employed in its defence. Christianity never shed a drop of its\n     enemies' blood since the day that Christ died on the cross; but\n     it has been lavish of its own. It never forged a chain to bind\n     a heretic or an adversary, nor erected a prison to immure him.\n     Christianity never dipped her pen in tears of blood, to write a\n     penal law denouncing vengeance on infidels. She never made her\n     bitterest foe heave a groan, from any bodily suffering inflicted\n     by her hands. Her only weapons of offence and defence are truth\n     and prayer. She returns good for evil, and blessing for cursing.\n\n     \"If men, wearing the garb of the disciples of Jesus, instigated\n     by pride, and the lust of dominion, and a desire to gratify\n     the worst passions of the human heart, injure any of the human\n     race under a pretence of zeal for religion, they act in direct\n     opposition to the gospel, and you cannot condemn them with too\n     much severity. But surely Christianity should not be condemned\n     for what it forbids men to perpetrate under pain of the Divine\n     displeasure. Or if such as were truly Christians ever sought\n     to put a stop to infidelity or error, and to propagate the\n     gospel in the world by force (and it is to be deplored with\n     tears of blood that such there have unhappily been), they will\n     receive no more thanks from Christ than the three disciples when\n     they wished him to bring down fire from heaven to destroy the\n     Samaritans:--'Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of: the\n     Son of man came not to destroy men's lives, but to save them.'\n     Nor would he account the words, which he directed to Peter on a\n     different occasion, too severe to be used to them here:--'Get\n     thee behind me, Satan, thou art an offence unto me; for thou\n     savourest not the things which be of God, but the things which\n     be of men.' Both the principles and precepts of the gospel,\n     and the conduct of Christ and his apostles, are as remote from\n     persecution as the east is from the west.\"\n\n  [14] Dr. Bogue's Essay on _The Divine Authority of the New Testament_.]\n\n\"I admire the candid and amiable spirit of the writer, and will\ncertainly read his book, if only from respect to the friendship\nwhich dictates the present; but I will not flatter you with any hope\nof bringing me over to your belief. However, waiving all personal\nremarks, allow me to ask you if you really believe that Christianity\nwill ever become a universal religion? and, if so, how do you think\nit will be propagated through the earth?\"\n\n\"That it is _adapted_ to become a universal religion, no one\ncan doubt who has ever inquired into its nature and design, or\nwho has ever read the history of its progress. It is suited to\nman as a rebellious subject of the Divine government; and it has\nbeen embraced by men of every rank, of every clime, and of every\ndescription of character. Hence, if you could bring together, in\none place, some natives of Europe, Africa, Asia, and America,\nor from any of the islands or cities which belong to either of\nthese great divisions of the earth; and could, by some miraculous\ninfluence, impart to them the power of speaking the same language,\nyou would find them all, if they had embraced the pure faith of\nChrist, giving utterance to the same sentiments--expressing the\nsame feelings--exulting in the same prospects--and disclosing all\nthe peculiarities of the same singular and extraordinary spiritual\ncharacter.\"\n\n\"But, Sir, if this hypothetical statement be correct, how will you\naccount for the endless divisions which prevail amongst those who\nare known to embrace the same Christian faith?\"\n\n\"You ought, Sir, to distinguish between a real and a nominal\nChristian; and though I will not deny but there are diversities of\nopinion even amongst real Christians, yet they relate to minor and\nsubordinate questions. Consider Christianity as coming from God--it\nis pure and unspeakably good; view it as received by men--it will\nbe, as the schoolmen say, _secundum modum recipientis_. If the\ndifference of capacity, and the prejudices and passions of mankind\nbe duly weighed, we shall not account it strange if they do not\nall think alike, nor receive the truth in all its purity. But this\nis not peculiar to the Christian religion. There are divisions and\ndissensions in matters of religion among pagan idolaters, among\nMahometans, and among Deists. You cannot deny it. But the Deist does\nnot consider this as a reason for rejecting Deism. If so, neither\nis it a reason for rejecting Christianity. More particularly,\nsome men are destitute of every noble principle--they are full\nof deceit, avarice, pride, and sensuality. We see them abuse the\ngifts of nature, and of Providence; is it wonderful, then, if they\npervert Christianity too, and entertain different ideas of many of\nits doctrines from wise and godly men? It is no more an objection\nagainst Christianity being from God, because such persons come\nshort of its purity, than against the gifts of nature and other\ntemporal blessings being from God, because they are often abused.\nWeakness of intellect will produce peculiarities of sentiment on\nevery subject, and, consequently, on religion. The prejudices of\neducation and early habits will generate attachments to certain\nopinions and rites; hence, also, differences in religion will arise;\nbut the fault is not in Christianity, it is in man. From similar\ncauses we see a diversity of opinion among the learned regarding\nsciences of great utility--medicine, law, politics, philosophy;\nbut, notwithstanding this, all allow them to be highly beneficial\nto mankind--none deny their usefulness, although people differ\nabout some particular points. To reject the gospel, because bad men\npervert it, and weak men deform it, and angry men quarrel about it,\ndisplays the same folly as if a person should cut down a useful tree\nbecause caterpillars disfigured its leaves, and spiders made their\nwebs among its branches.\"\n\n\"I have no objection at present to offer to this fair explanation of\nthe difficulty which has often perplexed me; but you will permit me\nto refer you to my former question--Do you think that Christianity\nwill ever be universally established?\"\n\n\"I do, Sir; and my belief is founded on the following basis.\nChristianity is adapted for a universal religion; it foretells the\nfact of its universal establishment; its disciples are commanded by\nthe Lord Jesus Christ to seek its universal propagation; and it is\nnow spreading itself with unexampled rapidity through the nations\nof the earth. You cannot, Sir, but be conscious that the aspect of\nthe times indicates some approaching change in the destinies of man;\nand though you, on your principles, cannot hail any redeeming power\nby which the curse that inflicts such mighty evils on suffering\nhumanity can be rolled away, yet we can on ours; and hence, while\nyou are left to speculate on the charms of a philosophy which has\nnever ameliorated the moral condition of man, we can speak with\nconfidence of the intervention of _Him_, who will turn the curse\ninto a blessing, and make this earth the abode of purity, of\nharmony, and of bliss.\"\n\n\"But how do you expect this great and mysterious change to be\nbrought about?\"\n\n\"Not by force. That has been tried by short-sighted rulers in former\ntimes, and has utterly failed. Conversion to Christianity which\nis effected by such means produces no change in the human heart.\nThe _man_ remains the same, though his professed belief may vary.\nThe circulation of the Scriptures, the distribution of religious\ntreatises, and the preaching of the gospel, are the only means which\nwe employ to accomplish this great design. But, even when these\nmeans are used in the most judicious manner, we do not calculate\non accomplishing the purpose which we have in view without the\ninfluence of a supernatural co-operation; for it is not by the power\nof man that the demon of superstition, or the Moloch of idolatry is\nto be dethroned, and Christianity established, but by the Spirit of\nthe Lord.\"\n\n\"I rather admire your dexterity in avoiding, _on principle_, the\nmortification attendant on any failure in your pious efforts in\nbehalf of the perishing heathen.\"\n\n\"I don't quite understand you.\"\n\n\"Why, you say, your success is dependent on the concurrence of a\nsupernatural power; and, consequently, if you fail in your pious\nundertaking, you lay the blame on the inactivity of this supposed\npreternatural influence, never for a moment doubting your own\nsagacity, or questioning the efficacy of the means which you employ.\"\n\n\"If you examine the theory of the Christian faith, you will find\nthat, in every moral operation, this concurrence of supernatural\npower with human agency forms an essential part of it. 'Man sows the\nseed of truth, it is God who gives the increase.'\"\n\n\"As such a theory must tend to limit exertion, and depress an ardent\nmind, it strikes me that it is an ingenious invention to provide a\npleasant solace in the season of disappointment, which, I believe,\nhas its periodical visitations in your ecclesiastic annals.\"\n\n\"It has analogy in its favour. We eat and drink to sustain life, but\nthe efficacy of the nourishment to sustain life depends on God. The\nfarmer casts the seed into the soil, but it is God who causes it to\ngrow and yield its increase. His confidence in God gives a stimulus\nto his own exertions.\"\n\n\"Well, I won't dispute this point with you; but, after all, does it\nnot tend to discourage your pious exertions, when you believe that\na successful issue is dependent on an influence which you cannot\ncontrol, and over which you have no power?\"\n\n\"No. It has a contrary effect, as in the case of the husbandman.\nWe look upon ourselves as mere active instruments employed in\naccomplishing the Divine purpose of grace and mercy in behalf of\nthe perishing heathen; and the established law of the economy of\nour faith and practice is embodied in the following record of\ninspiration:--'For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from\nheaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and\nmaketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower,\nand bread to the eater; so shall my word be that goeth forth out of\nmy mouth: it shall not return unto me void; but it shall accomplish\nthat which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I\nsent it. For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace:\nthe mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into\nsinging, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands'\n(Isa. lv. 10-12).\"\n\n\"I bow before such an ingenious theory of faith; but still entertain\nmy doubts. Patience must still hold on, or you will abandon me in\ndespair.\"\n\n\"I will continue to hope, even against hope; because I know there is\nan unseen power which is capable of effecting such a transformation,\nas I devoutly trust may yet be accomplished in you.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE EFFECT OF A WORD SPOKEN IN SEASON.\n\n\nNot long after I had returned home, and was again busily engaged\nin my pastoral duties, I received a letter, informing me of the\nlast illness and death of an esteemed friend and occasional\ncorrespondent, Mrs. Hastings. Her history is an interesting one, and\naptly illustrates the effect of a word spoken in season.\n\n\"You must often,\" says Dr. Chalmers, \"have been sensible, in\nthe course of your history, how big, and how important the\nconsequences were, that emanated from one event, which in itself\nwas insignificant--how on the slightest accidents the greatest\ninterests were suspended--how, moving apparently at random, you met\nwith people, or with occasions, that gave rise, perhaps, to far the\nmost memorable passages in your life--how the very street in which\nyou chanced to move, brought you into contact with invitations and\nappointments, or proposals of some sort, which brought results of\nmagnitude along with them; insomuch that the colour and direction\nof your whole futurity have turned on what, apart from this mighty\nbearing, would have been the veriest trifle in the world. A word--a\nthought--an unforeseen emotion--an event of paltriest dimensions in\nitself--may be the germ of an influence wide as a continent, and\nlasting as a thousand years--may, in fact, change the current and\ncomplexion of a person's social history and character, and lead to\nconsequences which shall be durable as eternity.\"\n\nMany years ago, I was unexpectedly called to London, on a matter\nof great emergency. My travelling companion, for part of the way,\nwas a lady, attired in deep mourning. I endeavoured to draw her\ninto conversation, by referring to the beautiful scenery, and other\ncommon-place topics, but I could not succeed. At length, on seeing\nher drop a tear, which she endeavoured to conceal, I said, \"This\nworld is rightly denominated a valley of weeping.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, it is,\" replied the stranger. \"I hope you will excuse my\nweakness. I have sustained the greatest loss that can ever befall a\nwoman. I am a widow. I had one of the best of husbands; but cruel\nfate tore him from me, even without permitting me to see him, till\nhis corpse was rudely exposed before me.\"\n\nShe then told me that her husband left her early one morning to go\nout shooting, but, on passing through a hedge, it is supposed, the\ntrigger of his gun got entangled in the briars, as he was found, an\nhour after the report had been heard, lying on his face, with his\ngun by his side, and his dogs crouching before and behind him, as\nthough their master was asleep.\n\n\"Since that fatal hour, Sir, I have not had one pleasant feeling\nin my desolate heart; and now I have left a spot on which nature\nhas lavished her beauties, to seek a tranquil death in some distant\nshade.\"\n\n\"But, Madam, do you never expect to see another happy day?\"\n\n\"No, Sir, never! No, never! I have tried every expedient in my\npower, but they have all failed. I have been to Bath, to Cheltenham,\nto Brighton, and have travelled on the Continent. I have read the\nmost popular novels of the English and the French schools; but all\nis useless--mine is a hopeless case.\"\n\n\"No, Madam, it may not be hopeless. I can direct you to a source of\nconsolation which you have not yet thought of.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Sir; then I'll try it. I would freely part with wealth for\nmental ease; for wealth, without happiness, is but an aggravation of\nmisery.\"\n\n\"I would recommend you, Madam, to read the Bible. That book was\ncomposed for the express purpose of promoting our happiness; and\nif you read it with attention, and pray for wisdom to understand\nit, and for a disposition to receive the truths which it reveals,\nyou will find that it will do you more essential good than all the\nexpedients which you have been trying.\"\n\n\"If, Sir, I had not received a favourable impression of your\nbenevolent disposition, I really should imagine that you were\ndisposed to turn my intense grief into ridicule. Read the Bible!\nWhy, Sir, what is there in that obsolete book to interest me?\"\n\n\"No, Madam; the book is not obsolete, and never will be, as long\nas human misery abounds in the world. That book has healed wounds\nas deep as yours, and mitigated sorrows no less poignant; and, if\nyou examine it, you may find it as a well-spring of life to your\nwithered happiness.\"\n\n\"Your advice, Sir, is prompted, I have no doubt, by the kindest\nsympathy; but my heart instinctively recoils from adopting it.\"\n\n\"Why, Madam?\"\n\n\"Because I cannot conceive how the reading of a book, which I have\nalways regarded as a collection of legendary tales, can remove or\nassuage such sorrows as wring my spirit. I have neither faith nor\ntaste for such reading.\"\n\n\"Have you ever read the Bible, Madam?\"\n\n\"O no, Sir, never! I may have read some passages as a school lesson,\nbut I don't remember any. My mother died when I was but a little\ngirl. From what I have heard an old servant say, I believe that she\nwas fond of the Bible; but my father abhorred it, and he trained me\nto abhor it. He used to call it the Grand Mogul of superstition.\nIts style of composition, I have heard him say, is as offensive to\ncorrect taste, as its sentiments are revolting to a cultivated mind.\"\n\n\"If you will permit me, Madam (taking out my little pocket Bible\nwhile speaking), I will read you a few passages, and then you can\njudge how far your belief is supported by evidence.\"\n\nShe bowed assent, and I then read the twenty-third psalm. I saw, by\nthe expression of her countenance, that the chaste imagery of the\npsalmist pleased her; but before we could interchange any remarks\nthe horn blew, and the mail suddenly stopped. However, when she\nalighted to step into the carriage which was in waiting to receive\nher, she said, in a tone of subdued seriousness, \"I will follow\nyour advice, Sir, and read the Bible to form my own judgment of\nits character and tendencies; and if you will favour me with your\ncard (which I gave her) I may, possibly, some day let you know the\nresult, especially if it should be what, I do not doubt, you wish it\nmay be.\"\n\nA long period had elapsed after this occurrence took place, and\nit had nearly passed from my recollection, when it was very\nunexpectedly revived by a letter from the lady. The letter was\nsubscribed Susannah Hastings, and, after calling to remembrance\nthe circumstances in which we had met, she proceeded to give me\na general outline of her subsequent history, accompanied by an\ninteresting account of her severe mental conflicts in her spiritual\ninquiries, and a pressing invitation to call and see her, should I\never pay a visit to London, where she then resided. I acknowledged\nthe receipt of the letter, congratulated her on the great moral\nand spiritual change through which she had passed, and stated that\nshe might expect to see me very soon. Not long after that I had\noccasion to be in London. Within a few days after my arrival, I\ncalled on her, and had from her own lips a more detailed account of\nthe process of her conversion from darkness to light, than she had\ngiven me in her letter. My visits were repeated during my sojourn\nthere, and since then we kept up an occasional correspondence.\nFrom these two sources of information--her letters and her verbal\ncommunications--I am able to give a finished sketch of her somewhat\nmarvellous, if not romantic history.\n\nHaving entertained, from early childhood, a belief that the Bible\nwas a very objectionable book, both in point of sentiment and style\nof composition, she says, in her first letter, \"I was not only\nsurprised but delighted, by your reading the twenty-third psalm. I\nsaw the rural scene vividly depicted; the sheep feeding in the green\nmeadows, while the shepherd was reclining on the bank of the gently\nflowing stream, watching the glad movements of the sportive lambs,\nas the evening sun glided in noiseless splendour through the sky.\nI at once resolved to purchase a Bible, thinking, _then_, that it\nwas merely a work of the imagination--an antique relic of some early\npoetic age.\" But on her arrival in London, she was prevented from\ndoing this so soon as she intended, in consequence of the assiduous\nattentions of her friends, who were ceaseless in their efforts to\nraise her drooping spirits; naturally thinking that, if they could\nsucceed in doing so, she would get reconciled to her fate, and again\nenjoy life. Hence she was lured from one gay scene to another still\nmore exciting, and every expedient was adopted which ingenuity could\ndevise, to amuse and gratify her. But she soon found, that neither\nthe opera, nor the theatre, nor the fascinations of private parties,\ncould assuage the tumultuous agitations of her heart. \"I moved\namongst them,\" she said, \"more like an automaton than a living being\nwho felt any pleasure in existence.\"\n\nAn incident now occurred, that led her into a new train of thought,\nwhich proved the beginning of an eventful issue in the history of\nher life. On passing her bookseller's, she looked in, to inquire\nabout a new novel, which she had seen announced as just issued\nfrom the press. There she saw on the counter a small Bible, which\nbrought our conversation in the stage coach to her remembrance,\nand she purchased it. In her first letter, she says, \"I soon found\nthe twenty-third psalm, and as I re-perused it, its poetic imagery\nappeared to my mind more beautiful than ever. I then turned to Psalm\nciii., which I read with more solemnity of feeling. It made me think\nof myself, and it brought me imperceptibly into contact with God.\nI was delighted by his assumption of the paternal character. This\nwas the first time in my life I felt any force, or perceived any\nintelligible meaning, in the petition in the Lord's Prayer--_Our\nFather, who art in heaven_; but yet my perceptions of its meaning\nwere very vague and indefinite. They did not excite any emotions\nof love, or of gratitude, or filial trust; but they left a strong\nimpression on my mind. It was a strange and startling impression,\nthat, though an inhabitant of earth, I was moving towards another\nworld. I am sure I had not thought so much about God or another\nworld all my life, as I thought that night, and particularly when\nmy head was on my pillow. My day-thoughts came up in my dreams, and\nin a more lucid form, and produced a more powerful effect. When I\nawoke in the morning, I felt a strange sensation of mental ease,\nwhich greatly astonished me, as I knew not by what cause it had been\nproduced. The agitating forces of bitter grief and sullen discontent\nwere in a state of quietude; and though not really happy, yet my\nspirits were buoyant, rising at times to cheerfulness.\"\n\nAt this juncture she had to fulfil a long-standing engagement--to\naccompany a party of friends on a tour to the north; and though she\nendeavoured to excuse herself, yet she felt compelled to yield,\nas the excursion had been planned principally on her account.\nWhen alluding to this excursion, at my first interview with her,\nshe said:--\"At an earlier period of my life, I should have been\ndelighted, when wandering through the Trosachs or sailing on\nLochlomond, when gazing on the wonders of Staffa or surveying\nthe magnificent scene from the top of Goatfell; but my mental\nsusceptibilities were unstrung, and I felt no response to the scenes\nof beauty and grandeur which I beheld. But never shall I forget\nthe little unobtrusive inn at Brodick, nor my neat little bed-room\nthere, as I there saw a Bible, the first I had seen since I left\nhome. I sat me down, and, in addition to the two psalms that had\nbecome favourites with me, I read Psalm cvii., which greatly excited\nme, as it revived the fearful emotions of the preceding day, when,\non nearing Arran, we had to encounter a terrific storm.\"\n\nOn her return home, she resumed her reading of the Scriptures,\nand passed from the Psalms to the Prophecies of Isaiah. The bold\nimagery of the prophet delighted her, but she could not trace its\napplication, or its meaning; and, in reference to his sixth chapter,\nshe was greatly perplexed to decide whether it was a poetical\nfiction, or a real description of heaven. \"My first course of\nreading,\" she says in her letter, \"left an impression on my mind\nthat we have not, in any of the walks of literature, such a class\nof men as the writers of the Bible. These men possess some rare\nendowments; they appear to know more about God and another world\nthan any other writers whose works I have ever read. There is a\nmajestic simplicity, and sublime grandeur, in all their statements\nand descriptions of the unknown world, and its great spirits.\"\n\nHaving no one to guide her in her study of the Scriptures, her\nreading was very desultory; she passed from one book to another\nin great mental perplexity, and could not discover any obvious\nconnection between them, resembling the continuity preserved in\nother works with which she was familiar. At length she turned\nto Paul's Epistles, but they were dark and mystical, and rather\nrepulsive to her taste, being so unlike the poetic and the prophetic\nbooks; to her mind they presented no sublimity or beauty; and\nyet she admitted, it was a strange repulsiveness--it gave her no\noffence, or even distaste to the Bible. \"I now,\" she adds, \"began\nreading the Gospels. They were more intelligible. The narratives\npleased me. I was delighted with some of the scenes, particularly\nthe Prodigal Son, and the Pharisee and Publican in the Temple. The\ntales interested me; they seemed to wear the air of truthfulness,\nand yet at times I thought them inventions. The history of Jesus\nChrist very soon took a strong hold of my imagination, and I soon\nbegan to admire the fine blending of majesty and meekness, of\ndignity and tenderness, of lofty bearing, which no insults could\ndisturb, and sweet compassion, which his character so broadly\nexhibits. Yes, I often said, he is a real person, for no human\ngenius could invent such a person, or draw such a character. I\nfollowed him through the dark period of his agonizing sufferings,\nfrom his prostration in the garden to Calvary, where he was\ncrucified. I wept when I saw him on the cross.\"\n\nIn one of the interviews I had with her, she said, that two\nthings both surprised and perplexed her. She was at a loss to\nconceive the reason why his countrymen treated Jesus Christ with\nso much unkindness and cruelty, when he was such an extraordinary\nbenefactor, and so benevolent--going about doing them good, healing\ntheir sick, restoring their injured senses of sight and hearing,\nand even raising their dead. The other thing that surprised and\nperplexed her was, that he should continue to live amongst them,\nwhen they were so rude in their manners, and insolent in their\nspeech, and when he knew they were often plotting to take away\nhis life. Why did he not leave them, and go and live amongst some\nmore humane and generous people, who would return such a style\nof treatment by courtesy and gratitude? The more she thought of\nthese things, the more she was perplexed. She felt so bewildered,\nthat she put her Bible in her book-case, under an impression she\nshould never be able to understand it. And yet she could not let\nit remain there long. Her curiosity was too much excited, and her\nself-imposed prohibition tended to increase her eager solicitude\nto make out the meaning of what she read. Hence she resumed her\nreading exercise; and on going through the Gospel of John very\ncarefully, a ray of light fell on _one fact_ in the history of\nJesus Christ, which, while it increased her perplexity, opened the\nway towards a discovery to be made in some future stages of her\ninquiry. The fact was this: she perceived that, when in conversation\nwith his disciples, he occasionally made emphatic allusions to the\n_necessity_ of his death. This she thought very strange, as it\nwas a case without a parallel within the compass of her reading.\nHowever, it fixed her attention; and, on a more minute examination,\nshe perceived that he professed to come from heaven, and avowed\nhis intention of returning thither; and that he spoke of dying, as\nthough he had a stronger interest in death than in life, foretelling\nto his disciples the agonizing death he was to die (Matt. xx.\n17-19). His not recoiling from such a death, and doing everything in\nhis power to escape it, led her to think that he was some incarnate\nbeing of a peculiar order, who had some special mission to fulfil,\nand yet she could not imagine what that mission could be--a mission,\ndepending for its accomplishment on death, rather than on life,\nappeared to her a mystery too profound for human ingenuity to\nunravel. \"At length,\" and I cannot do better than quote from her\nletter, she says, \"a thought struck me and I acted on it, and the\nlabour of doing so produced a momentary suspension of my oppressive\nanxiety. I arranged, as well as I could, some of the passages which\nappeared to assign the reasons for Christ's death, to which he often\nalluded, particularly the following:--'Even as the Son of man came\nnot to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a\nransom for many' (Matt. xx. 28). 'I am the good shepherd: the good\nshepherd giveth his life for the sheep.' 'As the Father knoweth me,\neven so know I the Father: and I lay down my life for the sheep.'\n'Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life, that\nI might take it again.' 'No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down\nof myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it\nagain. This commandment have I received of my Father' (John x. 11,\n15, 17, 18). I endeavoured to work out an intelligible meaning from\nthese passages, but I could not. A mysticism enveloped them which I\ncould not penetrate. I wanted a living expositor. I longed for an\ninterview with you, and more than once half-resolved to come and see\nyou, as, though you were a stranger, I felt you were a friend, and\nI knew no other whom I could consult. I had no book in my library\nwhich gave me any help, and I knew not what book to inquire for,\nif I applied to my bookseller. No language can depict the excited\nstate of my heart. I felt intuitively assured there was some latent\nmeaning in these mysterious sayings of Jesus Christ, or he would not\nhave uttered them. He was too wise and too good to utter what was\nfalse or foolish. But I could not trace out the clue of discovery.\nThis at times repulsed me, but, on cool reflection, it appeared like\na silent proof that the Bible was not a book of human invention, as,\nin that case, I thought, by dint of application, I should be able to\ndecipher its meaning. One thing now surprises me, and that is, that,\nwhile cherishing the idea that the Bible was a Divine book, rather\nthan a human one, I never thought of lifting up my heart in prayer\nto God for wisdom and grace to understand it.\"\n\nIn this state of painful bewilderment, depressed by repeated\nfailures in her efforts to acquire the knowledge which she deemed\nessential to her happiness, yet resolutely determined to prosecute\nher inquiries, she wrote to her uncle, a clergyman of the Church\nof England, stating her case, with its painful perplexities, and\ndesiring his sympathy and advice. He replied, expressing some\nsurprise at the receipt of such a letter, and intimating his\napprehension that she had been hearing some methodistical or\nevangelical preaching, which he denounced as a fatal heresy, more\ncalculated to drive people into a state of derangement, than to\nadvance them in virtue or in happiness. He assured her that, as she\nhad been, in baptism, made a member of Christ, a child of God, and\nan inheritor of the kingdom of heaven, she need not cherish any\nanxieties about her spiritual safety or final salvation. He advised\nher to banish the absurd chim\u00e6ras, which were disquieting her,\nand go and take the sacrament, which, he said, was the spiritual\nnourishment which Almighty God had provided to sustain the inner\nlife of the soul; and, in addition, he recommended her to mingle\nrather more in the circles of gaiety, so as to drive away her\nmelancholy ideas. This letter was both mystical and unsatisfactory.\nIt contradicted her experience, and she felt astonished that a\nclergyman should advise her to go more frequently into the gay\nworld. \"I knew,\" she said, \"that my own ideas were not fanciful,\nbut the vague conceptions of some great truths of the Bible; and\nI felt as unable to banish them from my heart, as a person, when\nasleep, feels unable to banish the dreams which disquiet him.\"\nHowever, she decided on joining in the communion; and being then at\nBath, away from all her gay friends, she went to church, and took\nthe sacrament--a thing she had never done before. But it had no\ntranquillizing effect; indeed, it increased her perplexity, and for\nawhile made her think that her case was a hopeless one, and that\nit would be better for her to abandon all further solicitude and\ninquiries, than to cherish and prosecute them. But she could not\nbring herself to such a decision; and the more she laboured to do\nso, the more anxious she became to get the clue of discovery, which\nshe thought was to be found _somewhere_. In this state of intense\nanxiety and great depression, she returned to her town residence.\nHer friends were more assiduous to please than ever; but some were\nmortified, and others were offended, because she would not again\nenter into the gay scenes and habits of former times; occasionally\nthey hinted their apprehensions that she would soon turn an\nEvangelical, and become as scrupulous and devout as any of the sect.\nThese sarcasms, in conjunction with her uncle's letter, suggested\nto her the idea of going to some church, where an evangelical\nminister did duty, thinking it possible that he might give her the\nexplanation she so much desired; but she long hesitated about doing\nthis, as she had not gone to any place of public worship for many\nyears, with the exception of the time when she took the sacrament\nat Bath. Her desire at length became so strong, that one Sunday\nmorning she left home, not knowing where to go; but, on passing\nalong the street, she saw some respectable and sedate-looking people\ngoing into a church, whither she followed them. This church was a\nDissenting chapel, which, she said, she should not have entered if\nshe had known it, as she had been accustomed to hear Dissenters\nspoken of as an uneducated and uncouth people. She felt a strange\nsensation on seeing the clergyman ascend the pulpit in a plain black\ncoat, instead of going into the reading-desk in a white surplice;\nbut the soft melody of the singing, and the emphatic solemnity of\nhis style of reading the Scriptures, calmed her momentary agitation,\nand she listened to his prayer with devout seriousness. This was\nthe first extempore prayer she had ever heard; and when speaking of\nit, in one of our interviews, she remarked that, in one particular,\nit bore a resemblance to her Bible reading--parts were plain and\nintelligible, and parts were under a veil of mysteriousness. The\nminister seemed to know the desires and emotions that were stirring\nwithin her, and he expressed them with so much accuracy and force,\nthat it greatly astonished her. \"Had I confessed to him,\" she\nremarked, \"he could not have had a more perfect knowledge of what\nwas passing in my mind.\"\n\nWhen God has any special design to accomplish, we may often trace\nthe harmonious conjunction of the various agents and agencies which\nhe employs in effecting it. The Ethiopian eunuch was sitting in his\nchariot, reading the prophet Esaias, when Philip, under a Divine\nimpulse, went and seated himself by his side. The passage he was\nreading was veiled in darkness, and he asked for an explanation,\nwhich was immediately given, understood, and felt; the moral\ntransformation took place by the concurring action of Divine power;\nhe avowed his newly originated faith; was baptized, and went on\nhis way rejoicing--the visible agent of the great transaction\ndisappearing, that the tribute of adoring gratitude might be offered\nup exclusively to the God of all grace. We pass from this wondrous\nscene to another, stamped with the same moral insignia, though\nnot quite so obviously conspicuous. Here is a person of superior\nintelligence, who has long been labouring, by her own unaided\nreason, to decipher the hidden mysteries of the truth as it is in\nJesus, and labouring in vain. She leaves her own home on a Sabbath\nmorning in quest of a living expositor, yet not knowing where to\nfind one. An unseen hand guides her to a chapel, which she would\nhave disdained to enter had she known its denominational character.\nHer latent prejudices spring up into powerful action when she\nobserves a slight deviation in the order of the service from that\nwith which her eye was once familiar; and yet they are overcome by\na devotional exercise, which surprised her by its novelty, while\nit strongly interested her by its appropriateness. The question\nshe left home to have solved is a simple, yet a very important\none; and on its solution her happiness is dependent. The second\nhymn is sung. The minister rises in his pulpit; his Bible is open\nbefore him, and, after a short pause, he announces his text, \"And\nI, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.\nThis he said, signifying what death he should die\" (John xii. 32,\n33). The sketch he gives of the crucifixion is thrilling; and many\nweep while he presents to their view the chief actors who performed\ntheir parts on this tragical occasion. Mrs. Hastings also weeps.\nThe preacher now passes from description to explanation; from a\ndetailed statement of facts, to an elucidation of the design for\nwhich the Son of God groaned, and bled, and died. She listens with\nbreathless attention, as he unravels the thread of mystery which\nran through all the passages of the Bible which she had arranged\nand studied, without perceiving their import. \"I felt,\" she said,\n\"intuitively assured, when he entered on this part of his subject,\nthat the light of explanation was coming; and I was intensely eager\nto catch every utterance. I now perceived that the death of Jesus\nChrist was a voluntary ransom, to redeem and to save the lost and\nthe guilty. The first part of his sermon awakened my sympathy;\nthe latter part touched another chord of my heart. I wept again;\nbut from a different cause. My sins made me weep; and the love\nof Christ in dying to expiate them, made me weep--and I now wept\nas I had never wept before. It was with some difficulty I could\nrefrain weeping, even when the clergyman had finished his sermon,\nwhich lasted rather more than an hour. I could have listened to him\nmuch longer. I never knew time go so rapidly. I left the hallowed\nplace with reluctance, thinking, as I paced back to my home, that I\nwas now entering as into a new world of existence, abounding with\nmystic, yet intelligible wonders. I was in a tumult of emotion, yet\nit was a calm ecstasy of feeling. I clasped my Bible, and pressed it\nto my bosom. I thought of your words, which I never forgot, though,\nwhen I first heard them, they sounded in my ear as the mockery of\ngrief:--'That book has healed wounds as deep as yours; and if you\nexamine it, you will find it a well-spring of life to your withered\nhappiness.' I now can attest the truth of your declaration. I have\ntasted its sweet waters; they are indeed the waters of life. None\nother so sweet or powerful. I can now respond to the truthfulness of\nthe following paraphrase of Dr. Watts, whom I now prefer to Byron or\nWordsworth--he is the poet of the heart weighed down by sorrow and\nanxiety:--\n\n    'Lord, I have made thy word my choice,\n      My lasting heritage:\n    There shall my noblest powers rejoice,\n      My warmest thoughts engage.\n\n    'The best relief that mourners have,\n      It makes our sorrows bless'd:\n    Our fairest hopes beyond the grave,\n      And our eternal rest.'\"\n\nI was happy to find that she had withdrawn from the gay circles of\nfashion, and, while she kept up a partial intimacy with some of her\nformer associates, her spirit and example bore a testimony against\ntheir vain and ensnaring pursuits. She had put on a religious\nprofession, and felt it to be an honour to obtain membership with\nthe church of which her spiritual counsellor and guide was the\npastor. This gave great offence to her clerical uncle, and also to\nsome of her other relatives who resided in London, but she was too\nindependent in spirit to submit to the arbitrary control of those\nwho were the secret enemies of the cross of Christ; and though she\ndid not court reproach as a desirable test of principle, yet she\ngave proof, by her steadfastness in the faith, and the amiable\nplacidity of her temper, that it possessed no power to warp her\njudgment or disturb her peace. She was too retiring in her habits\nto take an active part in any of the public institutions connected\nwith the church and congregation of which she was a member, but she\nbecame a generous contributor to their funds, doing good and working\nrighteousness, not desiring to be seen of men--a devout woman, who\nfeared God above many. She might again and again have changed her\nwidowed state, and with flattering prospect of distinction and\nhappiness, but she had fully made up her mind, that she would never\nput off the weeds of widowhood till the set time came when she was\nto pass away from earth, to be arrayed in the vestments of the\nheavenly world. She cherished through every stage of life the memory\nof her dear departed husband with an intensity of feeling which\nappeared to increase as she advanced in years. To the poor of the\nhousehold of faith she was a warm-hearted and liberal benefactor;\nin no exercise did she take more delight than in visiting the sick\nand afflicted; and though a Dissenter, she was free from bigotry and\nprejudice, and could say, with the apostle, \"Grace be with all them\nthat love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity. Amen\" (Eph. vi. 24).\n\nOur correspondence was kept up for a number of years, and in one\nof her last letters she says:--\"I am truly thankful to God that\nhe gave me grace to withdraw from the gay world. It is altogether\na gorgeous sham--a fascinating delusion; felt as such even by\nthose who are spell-bound by its charms. I often look back, dear\nSir, with astonishment and gratitude, to our casual meeting in\nthe stage coach, which has proved to me the most eventful and the\nmost important occurrence of my life. It has been the introduction\nof a new era in my history. The mystery of my irreparable loss is\nnow explained. The husband of my devoted attachment was smitten,\nand died. He was taken from me without my being permitted to say\nfarewell, and, even to this hour, I feel a bitter pang when I think\nof his melancholy end. Had he been spared to feel what I have felt\nof spiritual sorrow, and of spiritual consolation and hope, we\nshould have lived in the sweet anticipations of eternal life. I\npine, but I dare not murmur. The past is the fearful thunder-storm\nof desolation, from which, praise be to God, I have now emerged, and\nenjoy the brightness and calm of a serene and unclouded sky.\n\n\"When, my dear Sir, I contrast, as I often do, my present, with my\nformer self--my present, with my former tastes--my present, with my\nformer habits, and my present bright prospects of immortality with\nmy former prospects, overshadowed by the deep gloom of ceaseless\nsorrow--I appear a wonder to myself. I am the same person I was\nwhen I repelled your advice to read the Bible, thinking it a\npiece of wild fanaticism; but how changed am I now in heart and\nfeeling--become, I trust, a new creature in Christ Jesus.\" Psalm\nciii. 1-5.\n\nMy friend who announced to me the decease of Mrs. Hastings, informed\nme that her preceding illness was not of long duration, nor was it\nattended by any severe physical sufferings. During its continuance,\nher mind was kept in perfect peace; and at times, she felt a joy\nunspeakable in anticipation of beholding the Son of God, who\nwas crucified on Calvary, seated on his celestial throne; and of\nmingling with the countless myriads, in offering their adorations\nand praises. Her last intelligible utterance was, \"Lord Jesus,\nreceive my spirit;\" and, after a slight convulsive struggle, she\ncast one look on the friend standing by her side, and then expired.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY OF THE HOLMES.\n\n\nOn my return one afternoon from a round of pastoral visits, I was\ninformed that a gentleman was waiting to see me; and I received a\nmost agreeable surprise in finding that it was no other than Mr.\nHolmes, an old and much valued friend, and whose eldest daughter\nLouisa has already been casually mentioned as a friend and\ncorrespondent of Miss Roscoe.[15] He informed me that he had just\nleft his family at Dawlish, their favourite summer resort, where\nthey had been rusticating for nearly two months, and had come to\ntransact some business in my neighbourhood. I pressed him to remain\na few days with me, but he would consent to stay only one night,\nas he had already been occupied a longer time than he expected.\nBefore leaving, he extorted a promise from me that, as soon as my\navocations permitted it, I would pay him a visit at the Elms, his\nseat near London, whither he and his family expected to return in\nthe end of the summer.\n\n  [15] Vol. i. page 232.\n\nThe history of Mr. Holmes' career in life is an interesting one,\nand furnishes a striking example of those gradual elevations from\npoverty and obscurity to affluence and an honoured position in the\nworld, which are, perhaps, more frequently to be met with in the\nranks of English society than in those of any other country. I will\nhere give some account of it, as exhibiting an instructive example\nof persevering industry and upright conduct, crowned by honour and\nsuccess.\n\nMr. Holmes was the second son of a respectable farmer, who rented\na small estate in the county of Warwick. When a little boy he was\nvery inquisitive, fond of mixing with his seniors and superiors,\nfrom whom he gained much information; and though there was no good\nschool in the neighbourhood, yet, by the assistance of the kind and\namiable Vicar of the parish, he acquired the rudiments of a useful\neducation. That leisure time which other children usually devote\nto play, he gave to reading and study, and before he was fourteen,\nhe was a very good accountant. He happened, when about nine years\nold, to read the popular story of _Whittington and his Cat_, and\nsuch was the deep impression it made on his mind, that it became\nthe perpetual subject of his conversation; and he would often amuse\nthe other members of the family with visionary tales of his future\neminence. He would say to his brothers, \"I will leave _you_ to feed\ncows, and pigs, and horses, and turn up the clods of the field; but\nwhen I grow up, I will go to London, and see if I cannot become as\ngreat a man as Whittington.\" So completely had this passion gained\nan ascendency over him, that he would often walk miles to see the\nmail coach pass along the road towards the far-famed city; and after\nlistening to the sound of the horn, with an ecstasy of delight which\nno other notes could inspire, he would return home to talk and to\ndream of his future adventures.\n\nWhen about the age of fifteen, his father died, leaving a large\nfamily unprovided for; and as Henry could not think of remaining any\nlonger at home, his mother gave him a guinea and a few shillings,\nand he set off to seek his fortune. His youthful ardour kindled into\nrapture when he first saw the distant dome of St. Paul's towering\nabove the buildings and smoke of the wondrous metropolis. Though\nhe occasionally shed a tear of affection at the remembrance of his\nbeloved relatives in his native village, yet he was so absorbed in\nthe visions of his own fancy, that he was rarely depressed. Several\ndays were spent in fruitless efforts to obtain a situation--his\nfew shillings were expended, and the shadows of another night were\ndeepening into darkness, when he sat down on the stone steps in\nfront of a gentleman's house to rest himself. While he sat there\nruminating over the scenes of his boyhood, and pleasing himself with\nthe hopes of brighter and better days, a gentleman in a gig drove\nup to the door; and as he was getting out, Henry rose and offered\nhis assistance by holding the horse. The quickness of his movements,\nand the pleasing smile on his fine ruddy countenance, attracted the\nnotice of Mr. Lucas, who asked him his name and place of residence.\n\"My name, Sir, is Henry Holmes,\" he replied; \"I was born in the\ncounty of Warwick; my father was a farmer, and he is just dead. I\ndid not like to stay at home to be a burden to my mother, who has\na large family to bring up, so I left home last Monday, to see if\nI could get a place of work in London; and if you will hire me,\nSir, I will try to please you.\" This simple, artless tale made its\nway to the heart of Mr. Lucas, who said, \"How long have you been\nin London?\" \"Three days, Sir, but I have not been able to get any\nwork.\" \"Have you any money?\" \"Yes, Sir, I have a guinea which mother\ngave me when I left home, but I am afraid to change it, for if I do,\nall my money may soon be gone.\" This circumstance gave Mr. Lucas\nsuch a high opinion of Henry's carefulness of disposition, that\nhe at once resolved to take him into his service. Having obtained\nhis mother's address, he wrote to her and also to the Vicar of the\nparish. In a few days he received an answer which confirmed the\ntruth of the statement of the adventurous youth, and at the same\ntime bore honourable testimony to his fidelity and industry.\n\nMr. Lucas was a grocer, who lived in Fore Street, and had acquired\na handsome fortune by his trade. Like most wealthy citizens, he\nhad his country-house, where he resided during the summer months,\ncoming to business in the morning and returning in the evening.\nAs his groom had just left him, the thought struck him that this\ncountry lad might very well supply his place; and Henry rejoiced to\nenter on his new employment. He had to clean the horse and gig,\nthe knives and shoes, and look after some choice poultry; and such\nwas the attention he paid to his work, and the amiability of his\ndisposition, that he soon became a favourite with the whole family.\nOn their return to town for the winter he accompanied them; and as\nhe possessed talents which fitted him for a higher situation, his\nmaster took him into the shop, where he distinguished himself by his\nclose attention to business. No one was cleaner in his person, or\nneater in his dress; no one was more obliging in his disposition;\nthe rusticity of his appearance soon wore off; his punctuality and\nhabit of despatch became proverbial; and though his temper was\nhasty and irritable, yet he kept it in a state of subjection, and\nuniformly displayed a union of excellencies, which is but rarely\nfound in so young a person.\n\nSuch is the precarious tenure on which men hold their reputation\nunder the mysterious dispensations of Providence, that it is often\nendangered no less by their virtues than their vices; and those who\nat one period are esteemed and admired by the wise and the good,\nare at another plunged into the depth of misery by the malignant\ncruelty of the wicked. Thus it was with Henry. There were two\npersons belonging to the establishment, his seniors in age, and\nsuperiors in rank, who were jealous of him; and as they could not\nshake the stability of his character by any just accusations, they\nresolved to destroy it by artifice. One of them who had the care of\nthe till-drawer complained for several succeeding evenings of having\nmissed some money, and it was arranged that some marked money should\nbe put into the drawer. This was done; at nine o'clock the money was\ncounted, and the sum of five shillings and sixpence was missing.\nThis fact was immediately communicated to Mr. Lucas, who called\nall the servants into the counting-house, and proposed that each\none should have his person and his boxes searched, without being\npermitted to leave the room. To this proposal they all assented; and\nlots were drawn to determine the exact order in which the search\nshould be made. The first name drawn was the head-shopman, who\nimmediately gave up all his keys to Mr. Lucas, and underwent the\nstrictest examination, but he was pronounced innocent; the second\nwas the man who had the care of the till, and he also was pronounced\ninnocent; the third was Henry Holmes, who, after being searched,\nsaid, \"My box, Sir, is not locked.\" Mr. Lucas then quitted the room\nto search it, and on his return, looking steadfastly in Henry's\nface, said, \"I certainly did not suspect you, Henry, but I have\nfound the money in your box\" (producing it), \"and as you have given\nme such a proof of your ingratitude and perfidy, you shall leave my\nhouse to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" replied Henry in a firm tone, \"I am innocent. Some one has\nplaced the money in my box which might be very easily done, as I\nscarcely ever lock it.\"\n\n\"I have suspected you for a long time,\" said one of the shopmen;\n\"for no one is so likely to be guilty of fraud, as he who overacts\nthe part of virtue.\"\n\nMr. Lucas now withdrew into the parlour, when he related the whole\ncircumstances, and as soon as Mrs. Lucas heard the accusation of\nthe shopman, she said, \"Henry is innocent. He is the victim of\nanother's treachery, and some plan must be adopted to detect the\nculprit. In my opinion the accuser is the guilty party, or at least\nan accomplice. It is fair to presume that he who stole the last sum,\nstole the preceding sums that have been lost. How then will you\naccount for finding only the five shillings and sixpence?\"\n\n\"It is impossible,\" said Miss Lucas, \"that Henry can be the thief.\nWe never lost anything when he was with us in the country, and we\nknow that he does not go out to places of amusement like the others,\nand therefore he is under less temptation to extravagance than they\nare. There is a plot to effect his ruin, which I hope and trust will\nbe discovered.\"\n\nWhile they were talking, the housemaid entered the parlour, and\nsaid, that she had just overheard the two young men talking together\non the subject, and she distinctly heard one say, \"It was well\nplanned, and well executed, and now we shall get rid of him.\" She\nwas requested to take no notice of what she had heard, but to act\nas though she really believed that Henry was guilty. As these two\nyoung men slept together, Mr. Lucas removed some tea chests which\nstood against a thin partition that separated their bedroom from an\nupper warehouse, and having placed himself near an aperture in one\nof the boards, he waited till they retired to rest. Having, from\ntheir conversation, received a full conviction of their guilt, he\nwithdrew, and informed his wife and daughter that he was perfectly\nsatisfied of Henry's innocence.\n\nThe next morning he rose rather earlier than usual, and before\nthe porter had opened the shop, he summoned all the shopmen into\nhis presence, and charged these two men, first, with the crime\nof stealing the money, and then with the still baser crime of\nattempting to involve an innocent person in their guilt. This\nunexpected charge--the indignant firmness with which it was\nbrought--the involuntary movement of Henry, who came forward to look\nhis accusers in the face, confounded and abashed them; and though\neach made some faint efforts to deny it, yet when Mr. Lucas repeated\nthe conversation which he had overheard the preceding night, and\nthreatened that if they did not immediately acknowledge their guilt,\nand solicit Henry's forgiveness, he would send for the police, they\nmade a full confession, and implored mercy in the most suppliant\nmanner. Henry at once forgave them, and interceded for them; but Mr.\nLucas would not consent that such men should remain in his service,\nand having paid them their arrears of wages, he discharged them.\n\nThis plot, which was laid to effect Henry's ruin, led to his\nadvancement, and he now rose rapidly, step after step, till he\nbecame the manager of Mr. Lucas' establishment.\n\nWe often see tradesmen, when they have amassed a large fortune,\naffecting contempt for the rank of life in which they have moved,\ndiscovering at the same time a strong anxiety that their children,\nespecially their daughters, should form alliances with those who\nmove in the higher and more exalted circles of society. Hence they\nwill often sacrifice a daughter at the shrine of their vanity,\nand give a large portion of the wealth which their industry\nhas accumulated, to some titled pauper, whose extravagance first\nreduces her to beggary, and whose unkindness at length breaks her\nheart. But Mr. Lucas was a wise man. He never rose in feeling or in\nexpectation above the level of his station. He had but one child,\nand he wished to see her happy; and when he perceived that a mutual\nregard subsisted between her and Henry, he expressed his entire\napprobation, and they were married. On this event taking place, Mr.\nLucas retired from business, and at his decease, which happened\nabout twelve months after that of his wife, he left the greater part\nof his property to Mr. Holmes.\n\n[Illustration: THE CONSPIRACY DEFEATED.\n\nVol. ii. page 128.]\n\nMr. Holmes, who had thus risen, by the Divine blessing on his\nindustry, from a humble situation to a position of wealth and\neminence, would often allude in conversation to his original\ncondition, and exhibit his guinea as a proud memorial of his\nformer poverty;--thus rebuking, by his example, the pride of many\na modern Croesus, who is no less anxious to conceal from others\nhis origin, than to make an ostentatious display of his wealth.\nHe had a large family, and as he took considerable pains with the\neducation of his children, and set before them an example worthy\nof their imitation, he had the pleasure of seeing them growing\nup, esteemed and respected, bidding fair to be the ornaments of a\nfuture generation. His two eldest sons were in partnership with him,\nhis youngest was studying medicine, one daughter was married to a\ncountry gentleman in Warwickshire, and three were still living with\nhim. He had long resisted the importunity of his children to take\nsome country residence, that they might enjoy an occasional retreat\nfrom the noise, and smoke, and bustle of the city; but when his\nwife urged the measure, it was at once adopted, as he was no less\nanxious to gratify her wishes than she was to avoid the indulgence\nof unsuitable gratifications.\n\nAfter many unsuccessful efforts to obtain an eligible residence,\nhe purchased a small estate about seven miles from London, where\nhe erected a neat and commodious mansion; and as his two sons were\nnow able to manage his business, he retired from the more active\nand laborious duties of it, to spend the evening of his days amidst\nrural scenes, with which his earliest and deepest impressions were\nassociated. Having been accustomed, when a child, to attend his\nparish church on the Sabbath, he regularly observed the practice\nthrough life; and though for many years he had no clear perceptions\nof the nature or the design of the gospel, yet soon after the\nsettlement of the Rev. Mr. Newton at St. Mary Woolnoth, he began to\nfeel its enlightening and purifying influence. At first he disliked\nhis style of preaching, and the pride of his heart rose up against\nthat plan of salvation which requires the man of virtue to implore\nmercy in terms as humiliating as those which the chief of sinners\nemploy; but as his knowledge increased, his prejudices gradually\nsubsided, and though he could not remember any specific time when\nthe great moral change was effected, by which he passed from death\nunto life, yet he uniformly spoke of it as the most important and\nblissful event of his history.\n\nThe renovation which the grace of God produces in the human\ncharacter, often leaves the ruling passion to retain its ascendency,\nwhile it gives it a new direction; and he who undergoes it, usually\ndisplays the same bold decision or hesitating precaution--the\nsame spirit of active enterprise or prudent consideration, in his\nreligious profession, that he has been accustomed to display in the\navocations of everyday life. But on some occasions it is just the\nreverse; and we see the avowed infidel, when convinced of the truth\nof the gospel, halting between two opinions--the active tradesman,\nwho keeps the machinery of a large and complicated concern in a\nbrisk and constant motion, a lukewarm Christian--and the man who\ncould face, without flinching, the most appalling dangers, discover\na shrinking timidity when the obligations to a life of practical\ndevotedness to God are pressed upon his attention. To account for\nsuch a moral phenomenon would be absolutely impossible, unless\nwe advert to the powerful influence which sensible objects are\nknown to possess over the mind, especially during that period\nin the religious experience of a Christian when his faith in\nthe Divine testimony is weak and defective; but as that great\nmoral principle increases in strength and animation, the natural\ndispositions recover their native tone and vigour--the mind no more\nvacillates--but rising to a full conviction of the superior value of\nthe things which are unseen and eternal, gives to them its supreme\nattention and affection.\n\nMr. Holmes felt the transforming power of the truth soon after\nhis marriage, which led him to the adoption of religious habits\nand customs; but he was too deeply involved in the cares\nand perplexities of business to become a very zealous and\npublic-spirited Christian. His moral character was unimpeachable,\nand he brought the great principles of religion to regulate his\nconduct in the ordinary affairs of life; but his heart was too much\nin the world--the fervour of his devotional spirit bore no just\nproportion to his diligence in business, and he was less anxious for\nthe higher attainments of faith than for the acquisition of wealth.\nHe regularly attended the ministry of the Rev. Mr. Newton on the\nSabbath; but that ministry was more frequently the word of reproof\nthan consolation; and though the hope of a blissful immortality\nwould sometimes dawn upon him, yet it shone with too feeble a ray to\nafford him entire satisfaction; as it is wisely ordained that a full\nassurance of eternal life shall be imparted only to those who give\n_diligence_ to make their calling and election sure.\n\nMrs. Holmes was certainly more devout than her husband, and devoted\na larger proportion of her time to reading and meditation; but\nher associations were unfavourable to the growth of her piety,\nwhich, though sincere, was too much tinctured with superstition.\nShe thought more of her duties than her privileges--of her defects\nthan of Him who came to repair them--placed more dependence for\nconsolation and hope on prayer and watchfulness than on the blood of\nsprinkling; and, while she did not doubt the truth of the promises,\nshe uniformly gave a more implicit assent to the threatenings of the\nsacred volume. She was rather a disciple of the mortified Baptist\nthan of the merciful Redeemer. Her devotions were sincere and\nfervent, but not elevating. They consisted much in contrition, but\nlittle in praise--much in sorrow for sin, but little in hope of its\npardon. She did not sufficiently cast her confidence on the great\nPropitiation. She firmly believed all that the Saviour had done and\nsuffered for sinners, but she could not claim for her own enjoyment\nthe benefits resulting from his mission and death. While she was\npainfully working out her salvation with fear and trembling, she\nindulged the most unfounded apprehensions of the Divine displeasure,\nand lived more in dread of perishing than in expectation of being\nsaved.\n\nNo circumstance gave them so much uneasiness, on their removal\nto their country seat, as the loss of that ministry under which\nthey had been brought to feel the power of the truth; especially\nas the Vicar of the parish was decidedly opposed to evangelical\nsentiments. The junior branches of the family were intelligent and\naccomplished, but they made no profession of religion; and now\nthey were liberated from the restraints which a faithful and an\nenlightened ministry had thrown over the evil tendencies of their\nnature, they evinced a strong inclination to adopt the habits, and\nconform to the customs of fashionable life, which greatly perplexed\nand depressed their pious parents, especially their mother. An\nintimate friend (Mrs. Loader), who spent some weeks at the Elms, saw\nthis manifest change in their predilections, and availing herself of\na favourable opportunity, she alluded to it, when in conversation\nwith Miss Holmes, and delicately, yet most earnestly, urged her to\nbe on her guard, or the change in their place of residence would\nbecome a snare, if it did not break up all their religious habits,\nand prove fatal to their spiritual happiness and safety. This\nadmonitory warning Louisa received with gratitude, as a fresh proof\nof the kind concern her friend felt for the best interests, both of\nherself and of the entire family. \"Indeed,\" she remarked, \"the world\nabounds with evil, but no temptation is so pernicious, or so much\nto be dreaded, as irreligious society; and this is the only society\nwhich we now have. I fear it will prove destructive of all the good\nimpressions we have received under the ministry of the venerable Mr.\nNewton. His appeals operated as a check and as a restraint on the\nevil tendencies of our nature; but now we are allured into worldly\nhabits, by being told from the pulpit that we ought to see life,\nand have free access to all its scenes and sources of pleasure and\namusement. Mamma has been endeavouring to persuade papa to take\nan excursion to Dawlish, which will remove us from this scene of\ndanger, and I hope on our return we shall be enabled to withstand\nevery enticement injurious to our religious habits.\" On taking\nleave, Mrs. Loader presented her with a copy of Doddridge's _Rise\nand Progress of Religion in the Soul_, which Miss Holmes said she\nhad read, but promised to peruse again, as a compliment to the\nkindness which had dictated the present.\n\nMiss Holmes' two sisters, Emma and Jane, were several years younger\nthan herself. They bore some resemblance to each other in the\ngeneral outlines of their character, but materially differed in\nsome of its more prominent features. As they had just finished\ntheir education in a school, where all the accomplishments could be\nacquired, except the one most essential to human happiness, they\nfelt themselves in their native element when moving in the circles\nof gaiety and folly. Emma had the finest figure, but Jane possessed\nthe most cultivated mind. The former excelled in gracefulness of\nmanners, the latter in sweetness of disposition; and while Emma\nwas rather fond of display, there was an unobtrusive modesty about\nJane which inclined her to conceal her most attractive charms. Emma\nappeared to most advantage in a large party, where she moved, and\nspoke as though she were the presiding spirit of the scene; Jane,\nin a select circle, where the interchange of thought and sentiment\ncould take place without being subjected to the interruptions and\nbreaks which a promiscuous throng invariably occasions. Emma was\nrather of a satirical temper, with a keen sense of the ludicrous;\nbut Jane surpassed most of her own age in that practical good sense\nwhich is more valuable than artificial polish. Though, however, they\nthus differed so materially in some of the more prominent features\nof their character, they were nevertheless passionately fond of\neach other, and much attached to their parents, their brothers, and\nsisters.\n\nAs Mr. Holmes had applied himself to the toils of business with\nunremitting constancy for so many years, and had acquired a large\nfortune, he yielded without hesitation to the solicitations of Mrs.\nHolmes and his daughters, and took a tour with them through the\nwest of England, visiting in their route all the localities either\nfamed for their natural beauty, or interesting by their historical\nassociations. Travelling by easy stages, they at last reached\nDawlish in Devonshire, with which they were so much delighted that\nthey remained there for several months. Here it was that Miss Holmes\nwas introduced to Miss Roscoe, with whom she formed an acquaintance,\nwhich soon ripened to an ardent friendship, and proved in future\nyears a source of much spiritual enjoyment.\n\n\n\n\nA MISFORTUNE OFTEN A BLESSING IN DISGUISE.\n\n\nShortly after the return of the family to the Elms, from their\nDevonshire excursion, Miss Holmes sustained an accident, which,\nthough apparently an untoward occurrence, she used afterwards to\nspeak of as having exercised a most salutary influence on her\ncharacter. As she was stepping out of the carriage one day, the\nhorses suddenly moved forwards, by which her foot got entangled\nbetween the step and the wheel, and she was very much injured.\nA messenger was immediately despatched for a surgeon, who, on\nexamining the bruised parts, reported that no bones were broken, but\nsaid that the ancle joint had been violently sprained. After the\napplication of leeches, and giving orders to prepare a fomentation\nto reduce the swelling, he requested that she would immediately\nretire to rest; and if she felt any pain in the morning, not to\nattempt to walk, but keep her foot in a horizontal position. These\ninstructions were attended to; but she passed a very restless night,\nand in the morning was much worse than had been expected. This\naccident confined her a close prisoner for some months, so that she\nhad no opportunity of renewing her former intimacies, which had been\ninterrupted by the excursion to the west of England. Many called\nand left their cards, and some of her more intimate friends would\ncome occasionally and sit with her; but a sick chamber possesses few\nattractions for the votaries of pleasure, who generally turn from it\nwith careless indifference.\n\nAs she usually enjoyed a great flow of spirits, and was rather\nvolatile in her disposition--more fond of the pleasures of society\nthan the grave exercises of meditation--she was very depressed and\nirritable during the first few weeks of her confinement, often\ncensuring in strong terms the inattention of the servant in leaving\nthe horses; but she gradually became more reconciled to her state,\nand at length turned her attention to reading, to divert her mind\nand beguile the tedious hours. She would have preferred some of the\npopular tales and novels of the day to any of the volumes in her\nfather's library; but she had too much regard for his authority and\nhis feelings to send for works which she knew would be displeasing\nto him.\n\nOne afternoon, when her parents and sisters went to dine with her\nbrothers in London, leaving her alone, she requested the servant to\nbring her a book; and one book after another was brought, and closed\nalmost as soon as she had read the title-page. At length she thought\nof the book which her esteemed friend, Mrs. Loader, had given her,\nand of her promise to peruse it. She took it up from the table\nnear which she was sitting, but after turning over a few leaves\nput it from her, saying, \"I have read it.\" But as she had pledged\nherself to read it again, she took the book once more--reluctantly\nand carelessly read the running titles which are prefixed to its\ndifferent chapters, till she came to the tenth, when her attention\nwas imperceptibly arrested, and she perused it with a degree of\ninterest which no other religious composition had ever excited.[16]\n\n  [16] The author has transcribed, from Doddridge's _Rise and\n  Progress_, nearly the whole of this chapter and the subjoined\n  prayer, as he conceives they will prove very acceptable to those of\n  his readers who have not the original work.\n\n\"Thus far have I often known convictions and impressions to arise,\nwhich, after all, have worn off again. Some unhappy circumstance\nof external temptation, ever joined by the inward reluctance of an\nunsanctified heart to the scheme of redemption, has been the ruin of\nmultitudes. And, 'through the deceitfulness of sin, they have been\nhardened,' till they seem to have been 'utterly destroyed, and that\nwithout remedy.' And therefore, O thou immortal creature, who art\nnow reading these lines, I beseech thee, that, while affairs are in\nthis critical situation, while there are these balancings of mind\nbetween accepting and rejecting that glorious gospel which I now lay\nbefore you, you will give me an attentive audience, while 'I pray\nyou in Christ's stead that you would be reconciled to God.'\n\n\"One would indeed imagine there should be no need of importunity\nhere. One would conclude, that as soon as perishing sinners are told\nthat an offended God is ready to be reconciled--that he offers them\na full pardon for all their aggravated sins--yea, that he is willing\nto adopt them into his family now, that he may at length admit them\nto his heavenly presence--all should, with the utmost readiness\nand pleasure, embrace so kind a message, and fall at his feet in\nspeechless transports of astonishment, gratitude, and joy. But alas!\nwe find it much otherwise. We see multitudes quite unmoved, and the\nimpressions which are made on many more are feeble and transient.\nLest it should be thus with you, O reader, let me urge the message\nwith which I have the honour to be charged; let me entreat you to be\nreconciled to God, and to accept of pardon and salvation in the way\nin which it is so freely offered to you.\n\n\"I entreat you, 'by the majesty of that God in whose name I come,'\nwhose voice fills all heaven with reverence and obedience. He\nspeaks not in vain to legions of angels; but if there could be any\ncontention among those blessed spirits, it would be, who should be\nfirst to execute his commands. Oh, let him not speak in vain to you!\nI entreat you, 'by the terrors of his wrath,' who could speak to you\nin thunder--who could, by one single act of his will, cut off this\nprecarious life of yours, and send you down to hell. I beseech you\nby his tender mercies, which still yearn over you, as those of a\nparent over 'a dear son,' over a tender child, whom, notwithstanding\nhis former ungrateful rebellion, 'he earnestly remembers still.'\nI entreat you, 'by all this paternal goodness,' that you do not\ncompel him to lose the character of the gentle Parent in that of the\nrighteous Judge.\n\n\"I beseech you further, 'by the name and love of our dying Saviour.'\nI beseech you, by all the condescension of his incarnation, by\nthat poverty to which he voluntarily submitted, 'that you might be\nenriched' with eternal treasures; by all the gracious invitations\nwhich he gave, which still sound in his Word, and still coming,\nas it were, warm from his heart, are 'sweeter than honey or the\nhoney-comb.' I beseech you, by all his glorious works of power and\nof wonder, which were also works of love. I beseech you, by the\nmemory of the most benevolent Person, and the most generous Friend.\nI beseech you, by the memory of what he suffered, as well as of\nwhat he said and did; by the agony which he endured in the garden,\nwhen his body was covered 'with a dew of blood.' I beseech you, by\nall that tender distress which he felt, when his dearest friends\n'forsook him and fled,' and his blood-thirsty enemies dragged him\naway, like the meanest of slaves, and like the vilest of criminals.\nI beseech you, by the blows and bruises, by the stripes and lashes,\nwhich this injured Sovereign endured while in their rebellious\nhands; 'by the shame of spitting, from which he hid not that kind\nand venerable countenance.' I beseech you, 'by the purple robe, the\nsceptre of reed, and the crown of thorns which this King of glory\nwore, that he might set us among the princes of heaven.' I beseech\nyou, by the heavy burden of 'the cross,' under which he panted,\nand toiled, and fainted in the painful way 'to Golgotha,' that he\nmight free us from the burden of our sins. I beseech you, by the\nremembrance of those rude nails that tore the veins and arteries,\nthe nerves and tendons, of his sacred hands and feet; and by that\ninvincible, that triumphant goodness, which, while the iron pierced\nhis flesh, engaged him to cry out, 'Father, forgive them, for they\nknow not what they do.' I beseech you, by that unutterable anguish\nwhich he bore, when lifted up upon the cross, and extended there as\non a rack for six painful hours, that you open your heart to those\nattractive influences which have 'drawn to him thousands, and ten\nthousands.' I beseech you by all that insult and derision which\nthe 'Lord of glory bore there;' by that parching thirst, which\ncould hardly obtain the relief of 'vinegar;' by that doleful cry,\nso astonishing in the mouth of the only-begotten of the Father,\n'My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?' I beseech you, by\nthat grace that subdued and pardoned 'a dying malefactor;' by that\ncompassion for sinners, by that compassion for you, which wrought\nin his heart long as its vital motion continued, and which ended\nnot when 'he bowed his head, saying, It is finished, and gave up\nthe ghost.' I beseech you, by the triumphs of that resurrection by\nwhich he was 'declared to be the Son of God with power;' by the\nspirit of holiness which wrought to accomplish it; by that gracious\ntenderness which attempered all those triumphs, when he said to her\nout of whom he had cast seven devils, concerning his disciples, who\nhad treated him so basely, 'Go, tell my brethren, I ascend unto my\nFather and your Father, unto my God and your God.' I beseech you, by\nthat condescension with which he said to Thomas, when his unbelief\nhad made such an unreasonable demand, 'Reach hither thy finger, and\nbehold mine hands, and reach hither thine hand, and thrust it into\nmy side; and be not faithless, but believing.' I beseech you, by\nthat generous and faithful care of his people, which he carried up\nwith him to the regions of glory, and which engaged him to send down\n'his Spirit,' in the rich profusion of miraculous gifts, to spread\nthe progress of his saving Word. I beseech you, by that voice of\nsympathy and power, with which he said to Saul, while injuring his\nchurch, 'Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?' by that generous\ngoodness, which spared the prostrate enemy when he lay trembling at\nhis feet, and raised him to so high a dignity as to be 'not inferior\nto the very chiefest apostles.' I beseech you, by the memory of all\nthat Christ hath already done, by the expectation of all he will\nfurther do for his people. I beseech you, at once, by the sceptre\nof his grace, and by the sword of his justice, with which all his\nincorrigible 'enemies' shall be 'slain before him,' that you do\nnot trifle away these precious moments, while his Spirit is thus\nbreathing upon you--that you do not lose an opportunity which may\nnever return, and on the improvement of which eternity depends.\n\n\"I beseech you, 'by all the bowels of compassion which you owe to\nthe faithful ministers of Christ,' who are studying and labouring,\npreaching and praying, wearing out their time, exhausting their\nstrength, and very probably shortening their lives, for the\nsalvation of your soul, and of souls like yours. I beseech you, by\nthe affection with which all that love our Lord Jesus Christ in\nsincerity long to see you brought back to him. I beseech you, by\nthe friendship of the living, and by the memory of the dead; by the\nruin of those who have trifled away their days and are perished in\ntheir sins, and the happiness of those who have embraced the gospel\nand are saved by it. I beseech you, by the great expectation of that\nimportant 'day, when the Lord Jesus shall be revealed from heaven;'\nby 'the terrors of a dissolving world;' by the 'sound of the\narchangel's trumpet,' and of that infinitely more awful sentence,\n'Come, ye blessed, and depart, ye cursed,' with which that awful\nsolemnity shall close.\n\n\"I beseech you, finally, by your own precious and immortal soul;\nby the sure prospect of a dying bed, or of sudden surprise into\nthe invisible state, and as you would feel one spark of comfort in\nyour departing spirit when your flesh and your heart are failing. I\nbeseech you, by your own personal appearance before the tribunal of\nChrist (for a personal appearance it must be, even to those who now\nsit on thrones of their own); by all the transports of the blessed,\nand by all the agonies of the damned, the one or the other of which\nmust be your everlasting portion. I affectionately entreat and\nbeseech you, in the strength of all these united considerations, as\nyou will answer it to me, who may on that day be summoned to testify\nagainst you; and, which is unspeakably more, as you will answer\nit to your own conscience--as you will answer it to the eternal\nJudge--that you dismiss not these thoughts, these meditations, and\nthese cares, till you have brought matters to a happy issue--till\nyou have made a resolute choice of Christ, and his appointed way of\nsalvation; and till you have solemnly devoted yourself to God in the\nbonds of an everlasting covenant.\n\n\"And thus I leave the matter before you and before the Lord. I\nhave told you my errand; I have discharged my embassy. Stronger\narguments I cannot use--more endearing and more awful considerations\nI cannot suggest. Choose, therefore, whether you will go out, as\nit were, clothed in sackcloth, to cast yourself at the feet of him\nwho now sends you these equitable and gracious terms of peace and\npardon; or whether you will hold it out till he appears, sword in\nhand, to reckon with you for your treasons and your crimes, and\nfor this neglected embassy among the rest. Fain would I hope the\nbest; nor can I believe that this labour of love shall be entirely\nunsuccessful--that not one soul shall be brought to the foot of\nChrist in cordial submission and humble faith. 'Take with you,'\ntherefore, 'words, and turn unto the Lord,' and say unto him, 'Take\naway all iniquity, and receive me graciously; so will I render the\npraise of my lips.'\"\n\nThe impression which this reading produced was such as she had never\npreviously felt; the arrow of conviction had pierced her heart,\nbut the feelings excited were more those of joy than of grief. She\nre-perused the chapter; it disclosed new beauties--it sent forth\na still stronger power of excitement. Her soul was alternately\nelevated and depressed, agonized and composed, as though she had\nno control over its movements. She recalled to her remembrance\nthose powerful, yet momentary impressions of truth, which she had\nexperienced in former years, when sitting under the ministry of\nthe venerable Newton; and trembled lest those under which she was\nnow labouring should prove equally transient. It was this fearful\napprehension which gave her more pain, than a discovery of her moral\ndanger; because she knew that there was salvation for the chief of\nsinners; but she knew that if these impressions left her they might\nnever return. She arose from the couch of weariness and suffering,\nand stood resting on the back of her chair, while she gave vent to\nher feelings in the following form of prayer:--\n\n\"Blessed Lord, it is enough! it is too much! Surely there needs not\nthis variety of argument, this importunity of persuasion, to court\nme to be happy, to prevail on me to accept of pardon, of life, of\neternal glory. Compassionate Saviour, my soul is subdued; so that I\ntrust the language of my grief is become that of my submission, and\nI may say, 'My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed; I will sing\nand give praise' (Psalm lvii. 7).\n\n\"O gracious Redeemer! I have already neglected thee too long. I have\ntoo often injured thee; have crucified thee afresh by my guilt and\nimpenitence, as if I had taken pleasure in 'putting thee to an open\nshame.' But my heart now bows itself before thee in humble unfeigned\nsubmission. I desire to make no terms with thee but these--that\nI may be entirely thine. I cheerfully present thee with a blank,\nentreating thee that thou wilt do me the honour to signify upon it\nwhat is thy pleasure. Teach me, O Lord, what thou wouldst have me\nto do; for I desire to learn the lesson, and to learn it that I may\npractise it. If it be more than my feeble powers can answer, thou\nwilt, I hope, give me more strength; and in that strength will I\nserve thee. O receive a soul which thou hast made willing to be\nthine!\n\n\"No more, O blessed Jesus, no more is it necessary to beseech and\nentreat me. Permit me, rather, to address myself to thee with all\nthe importunity of a perishing sinner, that at length sees and\nknows 'there is salvation in no other.' Permit me now, Lord, to\ncome and throw myself at thy feet, like a helpless outcast that has\nno shelter but in thy generous compassion; like one 'pursued by the\navenger of blood,' and seeking earnestly an admittance into the\n'city of refuge.'\n\n\"'I wait for the Lord; my soul doth wait; and in thy word do I\nhope,' that thou wilt 'receive me graciously.' My soul confides in\nthy goodness, and adores it. I adore the patience which has borne\nwith me so long; and the grace that now makes me heartily willing\nto be thine; to be thine on thine own terms, thine on any terms.\nO secure this treacherous heart to thyself! O unite me to thee in\nsuch inseparable bonds, that none of the allurements of rank, or\nof fortune--none of the vanities of an ensnaring world--none of\nthe solicitations of sinful companions, may draw me back from thee\nand plunge me into new guilt and ruin! 'Be surety, O Lord, for thy\nservant for good,' that I may still keep my hold on thee; till at\nlength I know more fully, by joyful and everlasting experience, how\ncomplete a Saviour thou art. Amen.\"\n\nAs she sat musing on the wondrous scene which had passed before her,\nadoring the long-suffering which had borne with her follies, and\nthe grace which had so unexpectedly invested the truth with such\nattractive and subduing power, she was roused by the entrance of her\nmother. \"I hope, my dear Louisa,\" said Mrs. Holmes, \"you have spent\na more pleasant day than you anticipated.\" \"I have been more free\nfrom pain than usual,\" she replied; \"and upon the whole, the hours\nhave passed away agreeably, though I certainly felt my solitude to\nbe irksome.\"\n\nMany who have felt the renewing influence of the truth, when\nlooking back to the earlier periods of their history, can recal\nto their remembrance some text of Scripture, an observation in a\nsermon, or a remark in conversation, which had an extraordinary\neffect at the time it was heard; fixing their attention as though\nit spoke with commanding authority; and which may be regarded as\nthe first strivings of the Spirit of God within them. These sacred\noccurrences have served as the rallying point of hope, when the mind\nhas been driven to the remotest distance from the faith of Christ;\nand notwithstanding the preference which may have been given for a\nseason to the pleasures of sin, there has been a secret inclination\nfor those of righteousness--God having implanted a witness in the\nbosom who has never ceased to warn and to reprove.\n\nMiss Holmes, when about the age of twelve years, heard Mr. Newton\nmake the following remark, in addressing himself to children: \"You\nshould treasure up in your memory, while you are young, all the\nreligious knowledge which you can obtain, as it may be of great\nservice to you at some future day, when your attention may be\ndirected to the momentous question of your salvation. You will then,\nwhen convinced of sin, and awed by the terrors of the world to come,\nknow how to obtain relief, and be kept from that state of deep\nperplexity in which many are plunged, who are brought to see their\ndanger, while ignorant of the way of escape.\"\n\nThis judicious remark struck her with peculiar force, and ever\nafterwards she listened to the preaching of the gospel, in\nanticipation of the future benefit which she might derive from it.\nFrom that moment she lived in the full expectation of the great\nspiritual change, which was ultimately produced in her mind. Often,\nat different periods, would she retire from the fascinations of\nthe world to pray for a new heart; and though she had urged her\nrequest till hope began to wane, yet she was never permitted to\ndespair of obtaining the blessing. It is true, the paralyzing\ninfluence of her new connections and habits had greatly diminished\nher anxieties and solicitudes for the one thing needful; but the\nearly impressions of its importance which she had received, when\nlistening to the faithful appeals of Mr. Newton, were too deeply\nimprinted in her heart ever to become obliterated; and though\nshe usually assumed great ease of manners, and wore the smile of\ncomplacent cheerfulness, yet beneath these outward appearances there\nlay concealed a wounded, and at times an agonized spirit. She would\nsometimes join in the satirical play of wit on the eccentricities\nof professors, but always discountenanced any attack on the truth\nor sanctity of religion; and though she was becoming more and more\nconformed to the world, yet she could not disengage herself from the\ninfluence which the powers of the world to come had early acquired\nover her judgment and her conscience. She had too much religion to\nbe happy with the gay, and too little to be happy with the pious;\nmingling with each, yet not being able to partake of the enjoyments\nof either, she was doomed to a life of perpetual mortification.\n\nAs her character usually received its peculiar tone and complexion\nfrom the society with which she last associated, it was perpetually\nvarying from gay to grave and from grave to gay; her spirits would\noccasionally rise to the highest mirth, and then sink to the\nlowest depression; sometimes she appeared open and bland, at other\ntimes reserved and gloomy; alternately devoting herself to the\npleasures of the world, and the external exercises of religion, it\nwas not till after she became a new creature in Christ Jesus, that\nher most intimate friends could ascertain the real cause of such\nextraordinary changeableness in her character.\n\nThe impressions of Divine truth on the heart, when produced by a\nsupernatural power, are deep and permanent; but when they claim\nno higher origin than the agency of man, they soon pass away like\nthe morning cloud and early dew, and leave no trace of their\nexistence. They may, during their continuance, induce an order\nof thought and reflection, in strict accordance with the general\ntenor of the Scriptures, but they effect no real change in the\nheart or character. As they bear a resemblance when they are first\nreceived, and at successive periods, to the operations of the Holy\nSpirit, they are frequently mistaken for them, and a profession of\nreligion made under their influence is often abandoned as soon as\nthey subside. Hence the annals of the Christian church record the\nnames of many who have outlived their avowed attachment to the faith\nof Christ; and the most awful passages of the sacred volume are\ndirected against those who, after pleading its promises, with the\nhope of obtaining eternal life, relapse into a course of worldliness\nor infidelity.\n\nIt was under a trembling apprehension of the transitory nature of\nher religious convictions and feelings, that Miss Holmes formed a\nresolution to make no reference to them, till by a process of trial\nshe had acquired some satisfactory evidence of their permanency.\nShe remembered an observation which she once heard the venerable\nNewton make, when preaching on the parable of the sower:--\"Genuine\nreligion is distinguished from that which is spurious, not so much\nby the dissimilarity of its first impressions, as by its power to\nresist temptation, and to bring the dispositions of the heart into\nsubjection to the authority of Jesus Christ.\"\n\nHer indisposition, though severe and protracted, was at no\nperiod considered dangerous; it kept her away from the scenes\nof gaiety to which she would otherwise have been exposed, and\ngave her an opportunity of devoting her attention more calmly\nand dispassionately to that subject which now began to appear\npre-eminently interesting and important. She knew that her sins\nwere more in number than she could calculate, and that the sentence\nof condemnation which stood recorded against her might be executed\nwithout any impeachment of the justice or benevolence of God; but\nsuch was the strength of her faith in the efficacy of the Saviour's\ndeath, and in the power of his intercession, that she \"was filled\nwith all peace in believing, abounding in hope, through the power of\nthe Holy Ghost.\" Her transition from a state of nature to a state of\ngrace--from vain and passing pleasures to those of religion--from\nthe delusive charms of the visible to the more attractive glories of\nthe unseen world, was sudden, but tranquil--unattended by those deep\nconvictions of guilt and that overpowering apprehension of future\ncondemnation which sometimes torture and distract the mind of the\nyoung disciple. This was primarily owing to the accurate knowledge\nof the scheme of salvation which she had acquired by sitting under\nthe enlightened ministry of Mr. Newton; for while it must not be\nconcealed, that the beginning and consummation of personal religion\nin the heart is to be attributed to the immediate action of a\nsupernatural power, yet it is equally evident that its progress in\nallaying the fear that produceth torment, in instilling the peace\nwhich passeth all understanding, and in elevating and fixing the\naffections on things above, is usually in proportion to the accuracy\nand extent of the theological information which is possessed.\n\n\"Many,\" says an interesting writer, \"are too prone to look for a\nconversion always uniform, not only in its effects, but in its\noperation, and too much bordering on the miraculous. The soul\nmust be first overwhelmed with fear--then pierced by grief and\nanguish--then plunged into despair--then suddenly filled with hope,\nand peace, and joy; and the person must be able to determine the day\non which, and the sermon, or the paragraph, or the providence by\nwhich the change was wrought. But this is by no means necessarily,\nor generally the case. There is a variety in the temperaments\nand habits of men, and in the methods employed to bring them to\nrepentance. We should remember that there are differences of\nadministration, but the same Lord; that often he prefers to the\nearthquake, the wind, and the fire, the small still voice; that he\ncan draw by the cords of love and the bands of a man; that he can\nwork as effectually by slow as by instantaneous exertions; and that\nhe may change the soul in a manner so gradual and mild, as to be\nscarcely discernible to any but the glorious Author. And here we\nare furnished with evidence from analogy. In nature some of God's\nworks insensibly issue in others, and it is impossible for us to\ndraw the line of distinction. The path of the just is as the shining\nlight, which shineth more and more unto the perfect day. But who\ncan ascertain which ray begins, or which ends the dawn? If you\nare unable to trace the progress of the Divine life, judge by the\nresult. When you perceive the effects of conversion, never question\nthe cause. And if perplexed by a number of circumstantial inquiries,\nbe satisfied if you are able to say, One thing I know, that whereas\nI was once blind, now I see.\"\n\nThe chastened seriousness of spirit which Miss Holmes exhibited, and\nthe new course of reading which she adopted, induced the family to\nsuppose that she was taking a religious turn, though she cautiously\nabstained from making any reference to it. She felt convinced that\nsome essential change had taken place, yet at times she doubted if\nit was anything more than the effect of her own spontaneous thoughts\nand reflections; and as she had, more than once, experienced a\nmental excitement of a similar nature, she rejoiced with trembling.\nShe knew that the righteous hold on their way, because they are kept\nby the power of God through faith unto salvation; but as she was\noften perplexed, when endeavouring to ascertain whether she belonged\nto that specific denomination of character, she could not anticipate\nthe issue of her impressions with unmingled satisfaction. She felt a\ndistaste for those objects of pursuit and sources of gratification\nwhich had acquired such a powerful ascendency over her; and now she\nlonged to partake of the more refined enjoyment which results from\ncommunion with the members of the household of faith and the public\nexercises of devotion; but she dreaded the prospect of coming into\ncontact with the world, lest another relapse of feeling should take\nplace, which would leave her still more insensible than ever to the\nunseen realities of eternity.\n\nThe Saviour, in his various offices, was now precious to her, as he\nis to all them that believe. She dwelt with holy awe and delight\non that union of majesty and condescension, purity and compassion,\njustice and grace, which he displays in his mediatorial character;\nbut she was apprehensive, that when exposed to the rival influence\nof temporal pursuits, her mind would again be enslaved by their\ncharms, and she would lose the relish she now felt for her new\nthemes of contemplation and enjoyment.\n\nThus it is wisely ordained, that at every period in the experience\nof the Christian, there shall be some circumstances to perplex\nhis judgment--some uncertainty to darken his prospect--some\napprehensions to disturb his peace, to convince him that here\n'perfect bliss cannot be found;' and that no attainments, however\nhigh--that no anticipations, however bright and animating--are\ncapable, while we are encompassed with infirmities, of yielding\nunmingled satisfaction and delight. At times Miss Holmes felt very\nanxious to disclose to some one the change through which her mind\nwas now passing, that she might have the advantage of Christian\nsympathy and guidance; but the perplexing question was, to whom\nshould she make the communication. She often thought of speaking\nto her mother, but when she made the attempt, her courage failed\nher. At length she addressed the following letter to her friend\nMrs. Loader, who had evinced so much solicitude for her spiritual\nwelfare:--\n\n     \"THE ELMS, _16th Oct., 18--_.\n\n     \"MY DEAR FRIEND,--I am much obliged by your affectionate\n     epistle, which I received on the 10th; and I regret that you\n     should deem any apology necessary for the introduction of that\n     specific advice which it contains. My obvious indifference to\n     the momentous question of personal religion, and my growing\n     conformity to the customs and habits of the gay world, must,\n     I have no doubt, have given you very considerable uneasiness;\n     and I assure you that it often plunged me into the deepest\n     depression of spirit. I was often cheerful, but never happy;\n     often trying fresh expedients to divert my attention from what\n     I deemed _the gloomy subject_, but never could succeed; and\n     though I became more insensible to the attractions of religion\n     as I grew in years, yet I exposed myself more frequently to\n     the keenness of its reproofs and the awful terrors of its\n     threatenings. My associates, who had not had the privilege of a\n     pious education, could enjoy the world, and treat with levity\n     the prohibitory injunctions of the Scriptures, but I could not.\n     I never could divest myself of the full conviction that God has\n     the first claim on the affections of the heart; and that he has\n     appointed a day when every human being 'must appear before the\n     judgment-seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things\n     done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be\n     good or bad.' These thoughts would rush into my mind, not only\n     when alone, but also when in the midst of the gayest company,\n     and by no expedient could I succeed in driving them away.\n\n     \"It was under the most agonizing mental conflict I ever\n     sustained, that I hailed our tour to the west as likely to\n     dissolve the fatal charm by which I was subdued and enslaved;\n     but I found, on my return, that my _heart_ had undergone no\n     change, as I often secretly anticipated a re-entrance into\n     those scenes which my conscience so severely condemned. I once\n     heard Mr. Newton remark, that as our dangers often spring out\n     of our comforts, so the greatest blessings sometimes grow out\n     of our heaviest afflictions. The correctness of this remark I\n     can _now_ attest from experience. It was on our return from\n     Devonshire that I met with the accident which has confined me a\n     close prisoner for more than two months; but to that accident\n     which I called disastrous, I owe all my present happiness and my\n     prospect of eternal glory.\n\n     \"You express a hope that I have given the book which you so\n     kindly presented to me, a candid perusal, presuming that no\n     season can be more favourable for such subjects of inquiry than\n     those which we denominate afflictive. Yes, my dear friend, I\n     have read it, though I felt such a reluctance to do so that I\n     put it from me several times; and had not my word stood pledged\n     to read it, I had still been a stranger to its soul-stirring\n     contents. I read on carelessly till I came to the tenth chapter,\n     when the subject fixed my attention, and I hope penetrated\n     my heart. Then I _felt_ that I was a sinner--then I _felt_\n     that I stood solitary and alone, in the immediate presence of\n     my Legislator and my Judge, confounded, because righteously\n     condemned--then I _felt_ that I needed a Saviour. I have had\n     many strong convictions of the truth and the necessity of\n     religion in the earlier seasons of my life; but those produced\n     on this occasion were more clear, and full, and impressive, than\n     any that ever preceded them. They came with an authority which\n     I could not resist; they prevented all vacillation of mind,\n     and constrained me, with a force which I had no disposition to\n     withstand, to yield to their power; and though my evil heart\n     of unbelief would sometimes suggest that all is a delusion,\n     artfully practised on my imagination by Satan, who sometimes\n     transforms himself into an angel of light, yet I can say, in\n     reference to Him who is the chief among ten thousand--'Whom\n     having not seen, I love; in whom, though now I see him not, yet\n     believing, I rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory.'\n\n     \"When, my dear friend, I received that present from your hand,\n     I did not calculate on the effects which it was ordained to\n     produce; for though I feel unworthy of the notice of the Friend\n     of sinners, yet, on reviewing the recent change which has taken\n     place in my sentiments, my taste, and my feelings, I cannot\n     avoid ascribing it to his sovereign and predetermined will.\n     But though I am fully convinced that a great change has been\n     produced, yet I must not conceal from you the dread I sometimes\n     feel lest it should prove only a momentary excitement. I now can\n     see the vanity of the world; but shall I do so when I am again\n     able to go about? I now can consecrate myself to the service of\n     the Redeemer; but shall I have courage to take up the cross and\n     follow him, when again enticed to mingle with the gay votaries\n     of fashion? It is not my province to dictate to infinite Wisdom,\n     nor prescribe the method by which my religious principles shall\n     be tried; but it is my earnest, and my daily prayer, to be kept\n     within the walls of my solitary retreat, till He whose I am, and\n     whom I wish to serve, has prepared me to resist every temptation\n     by which I may be assailed, and to perform every duty which may\n     devolve upon me.\n\n     \"Now that I have given you this explanation, you will doubtless\n     be able to account for that singular variation in my disposition\n     and manners, which you must have so often noticed; but if\n     you had known the strange revulsion of feeling to which my\n     poor unhappy mind was perpetually subjected, you would have\n     considered it as perfectly natural. I am by nature a child\n     of imitation--apt to catch the spirit and temper of those\n     with whom I come into contact--easily captivated by imposing\n     manners--averse to all appearance of singularity--volatile and\n     impetuous in my disposition; yet at the early age of twelve,\n     I was so powerfully impressed with the truth and necessity of\n     personal piety, that I do not think I ever spent a day without\n     giving it my most serious attention. Hence, when carried away\n     by the example of others to scenes of gaiety, my spirits would\n     naturally rise to a high pitch of feeling, yet on returning to\n     my graver and more important subjects of reflection, I felt so\n     abased and confounded--so terrified and alarmed in prospect of\n     futurity, that I could scarcely endure the anguish I was doomed\n     to suffer. I do not know that I can better describe the state of\n     my mind, than by quoting the language of Dr. Watts, with a few\n     slight alterations:--\n\n      'I was a helpless captive, sold\n        Under the power of sin:\n      I could not do the good I would,\n        Nor keep my conscience clean.\n\n      'My God, I cry'd with fervent breath,\n        For some kind power to save,\n      To break the yoke of sin and death,\n        And thus redeem the slave.'\n\n     \"The charge which is often brought against religion, as\n     tending to abridge our comforts, and induce a melancholy and\n     dejection of spirit, I can repel from experience. Infallible\n     Truth declares, that her ways are ways of pleasantness, and her\n     paths are paths of peace; and now I know, and feel it. My mind,\n     which has been tossed about on the surging billows of doubt and\n     perplexity, has at last gained that haven of rest, where, I\n     trust, it is destined to remain.\n\n     \"No one of my family has any knowledge of the present state\n     of my feelings, as I have cautiously abstained from making\n     any allusion to religious subjects; not because I am ashamed\n     of religion, but because I am unwilling to make a premature\n     profession; and though perhaps you may censure me for\n     withholding from my dear parents a communication which is so\n     calculated to give them pleasure, yet if I should be permitted,\n     after having made it, to relapse into my former course of\n     gaiety and folly, the disappointment will be so great that it\n     may entail on them perpetual sorrow. Pray that I may be kept\n     in the evil hour--that I may be enabled to walk circumspectly\n     towards them that are without--that I may have courage to make\n     a profession of my attachment to the Lord Jesus, and grace to\n     adorn it, and at length be presented faultless before the\n     presence of his glory, with exceeding joy.\n\n     \"I need not say how acceptable another letter from you would be;\n     but I certainly should prefer a personal interview, if you could\n     make it convenient to pay us a visit. I am happy to inform you\n     that I am much better, and that all the rest of the family are\n     well.--Yours affectionately,\n\n     LOUISA.\n\n     \"To Mrs. Loader.\"\n\nTrue piety does not act to be seen of men, nor speak to gain their\napplause; but though for a season it may remain unobserved, yet\nthe meekness of its spirit and the lustre of its character are\nmarks by which it will always indubitably be known. For the reasons\nwhich have been previously assigned, Miss Holmes had abstained\nfrom communicating to her family the change which had taken place\nin her sentiments and feelings; but she was not able to conceal\nfrom them the external proofs of it which her conduct and her\noccasional conversation necessarily supplied. As she was reserved on\nthe subject, so were her parents; and though they felt anxious to\nascertain if her great seriousness of manners was anything more than\na recurrence of her former deep depression of spirit, yet they knew\nnot how to do it.\n\nIt often happens that young persons can make a more free statement\nof their religious experience to strangers or distant friends\nthan they can to their own parents; but this in general argues\nsome essential defect in the bringing up and arrangements of the\nfamily. There may be, I grant, on the part of the child, in the\nearlier stages of his experience, a reluctance to disclose to any\none \"the secret movements and operations of his heart towards the\nbest of Beings;\" but if Christian parents were to incorporate, in\ntheir course of religious instruction, the habit of a free and\nunreserved conversation on the practical effects of truth, and if\nthey would occasionally retire with their children, to pray _with\nthem_ and _for them_, specifically and alone, it would imperceptibly\nbeget such a union and intimacy of spirit, that _they_ would be\nno less anxious to unburden to them the anxieties and sorrows of\ntheir heart, than the parent would feel delighted to become their\nspiritual counsellor and friend.\n\nWhen Miss Holmes was sitting with her mother, one Sabbath evening,\nan allusion happened to be made to the sermon which had been\npreached at church, and with which Mrs. Holmes expressed her\ndissatisfaction. \"Perhaps,\" remarked Louisa, \"it would be difficult\nto procure a more pleasant residence than our own, or one which\nis more conducive to our general health; but I assure you that I\noften deplore the consequences which must inevitably result, from\nour being deprived of the privilege of attending an evangelical\nministry.\"\n\n\"It gives me pleasure, my dear, to hear you deplore the loss of such\na privilege, as it is a proof that you value it.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mamma, I do value it, but now, alas! I have no prospect of\nenjoying it. Yet I feel more for others, than I feel for myself,\nespecially for the junior members of our family; as I fear, now that\nthey are removed from the restraints which pure evangelical truth\nimposes on the heart and conscience, they will devote themselves\nto the pleasures of the world, which will give them a distaste for\nthose of religion.\"\n\n\"And does my dear Louisa then prefer the pleasures of religion to\nthose of the world?\"\n\n\"I trust, Mamma, I do; though I am almost afraid to speak with\nconfidence on such a delicate and important question. I know from\npast experience, that there may be deep religious impressions, and\npowerful religious excitement, even while the heart retains all\nits evil propensities and antipathies; but I hope it hath pleased\nGod to employ my late affliction as the means of bringing me into\nfellowship with himself, and his Son Jesus Christ. I murmured when\nhe smote me, but now I can say, 'I know, O Lord, that thy judgments\nare right, and that thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me. Before I\nwas afflicted I went astray; but now have I kept thy word.'\"\n\n\"Both your father and I have thought,\" said Mrs. Holmes, \"that God\nwas dealing graciously with your soul, and we have often prayed\nthat you might come out of this affliction a new creature in Christ\nJesus; yet we could not overcome the strange reluctance we felt to\nspeak to you on the subject; but as it hath pleased God to answer\nour prayers, I must convey the glad tidings to your father, who will\nembrace you as one alive from the dead.\"\n\n\"As you have drawn me into a premature disclosure on this subject,\nI certainly cannot object to your communicating to my dear father\nthe substance of our conversation, but I must request that you will\ntake no notice of it to any other person. For if I should now make\na profession of religion, and on the return of health and energy,\nshould relapse into my former course of gaiety and folly, I shall do\nessential injury to others.\"\n\n\"But, my dear, you may be 'confident of this very thing, that he\nwhich hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of\nJesus Christ.'\"\n\n\"Yes, I know, that when the work of grace is begun, it will be\ncarried on, notwithstanding the various impediments which may\nobstruct its progress, or the artifices which may be employed by\nthe great adversary to effect its destruction; but I am not quite\nsatisfied that what I feel _is_ the work of grace. It may be nothing\nmore than the effect of my own fears; and if so, it will disappear\nas soon as they subside; or it may be the necessary consequence of\nthat train of serious thought and reflection, which a lengthened\nindisposition generally originates; and if so, every trace of its\nexistence will be obliterated, when I again intermingle in the\npursuits of active life.\"\n\n\"But have you not, my dear Louisa, _tasted_ that the Lord is\ngracious, as well as _felt_ his terrors which have made you afraid?\nand can you, on cool reflection, suppose that He will ever abandon\nyou, now that you have surrendered your heart to him?\"\n\n\"I have felt none of the terrors of religion, which may be an\nessential defect in my experience; and the excitements which I have\nascribed to the love of God shed abroad in my heart by the power of\nthe Holy Ghost, may prove the momentary joy of the stony-ground\nhearer, in whom the seed of truth could not thrive, because it took\nno root. If, after a period of trial, I am induced to believe that I\nhave felt the renovating power of Divine grace, I trust that I shall\nthen have courage given me to make a decided profession of the faith\nof Christ, without regarding the remarks to which it may subject me;\nbut till then, it is my earnest wish, that you intrust to no one but\nmy dear father the communication which I have almost unintentionally\nmade to you. I have seen so many throw off their religious\nprofession, and return to the course which they had abandoned; and I\nhave such a dread of apostasy, that it is my fixed determination to\nhave some practical proof of the efficacy of my principles to resist\ntemptation, and bring the dispositions of my heart into subjection\nto the authority of Jesus Christ, before I make any profession.\"\n\n\"I approve, my dear, of your decision; but while jealous of\nyourself, you must guard against mistrusting the faithfulness and\nloving-kindness of God your Saviour, who has pledged his honour to\nkeep you by his power through faith unto salvation.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTIAN EXPERIENCE.\n\n\nThe scene which opens on the imagination of the young Christian\nis often so beautiful and enchanting--it so deeply fixes his\nattention, and enchains his affections--that he turns with an eye\nof comparative indifference from the objects and pursuits to which\nhe has been previously devoted, under a full conviction that they\ncannot _now_ yield him the gratification they once did; and that\nhe cannot _now_ derive permanent happiness, except from that new\nsource of felicity which he has discovered. It is, when he is under\nthese novel and powerful impressions, that the long neglected\nBible discloses new beauties; no theme of meditation or discussion\npresents any subduing charm in comparison with Christ Jesus, and him\ncrucified; and having felt the transition from a state of spiritual\ndeath to a newness of life, to be attended by such hallowed\nemotions, he is in danger of anticipating too large a portion of\nspiritual enjoyment, which not unfrequently becomes the occasion of\ngreat mental perplexity, and sometimes of deep depression.\n\nDuring the continuance of her indisposition Miss Holmes felt so\nintensely interested in reading her Bible, that she might clearly\nunderstand the sublime theory of the Christian faith, and so\nabsorbed in her spiritual exercises, that her health sustained\nsome injury by the severity of her application. As a very natural\nconsequence, a shade of melancholy was cast over her spirit. She\nwas forewarned of the possibility of such an effect being produced;\nbut the usual apology which she made to her pious mother was, \"Can\nI take too much interest in that important subject, into which\nangels desire to look? or can I ever hope for a more favourable time\nfor its investigation than the present, when I am precluded from\nmingling in the employments or the amusements of the world?\"\n\nThe following form of self-dedication to God she now drew up and\nsigned, having vowed in the most solemn manner to observe it to the\nfull extent of her pledge:--\n\n\"Eternal and unchangeable Jehovah! thou glorious Creator of heaven\nand earth, and adorable Lord of angels and men, I desire with the\ndeepest humiliation and abasement of soul, to bow down at this\ntime in thine awful presence, and earnestly pray, that thou wilt\nimpress my heart with a clear perception of thine unutterable and\ninconceivable glories.\n\n\"To thee do I now come, invited by the exceeding great and precious\npromises of thy Word; trusting for acceptance in the efficacy of\nthe Saviour's death, beseeching thee to 'be merciful unto me a\nsinner.' The irregular propensities of my depraved nature have in\nten thousand aggravated instances wrought to bring forth fruit unto\ndeath. And if thou shouldst be strict to mark my offences, I must be\nsilent under a load of guilt, and immediately sink into destruction.\nBut thou hast graciously called me to return to thee, though I have\nbeen a backsliding child. I come unto thee, O Lord, convinced not\nonly of my sin, but of my folly; and while I implore mercy through\nthe mediation of Jesus Christ, I would be no less importunate for\nthe purifying influences of the Holy Spirit, that I may be entirely\nconformed to thee. Permit me to bring unto thee those powers and\nfaculties which I have ungratefully alienated from thy service; and\nreceive, I beseech thee, thy poor revolted creature, who is now\nconvinced of thy right to her, and who desires nothing in the world\nso much as to be thine.\n\n\"I bring to thee a dark benighted mind, to be illuminated with\nDivine knowledge. Thou hast the words of eternal life; I therefore\nresign my understanding to thy teaching. I bring to thee a corrupt\nand deceitful heart; do thou cleanse and make it upright before\nthee. Do thou expel all the evils which lurk within it, and make it\na temple for thyself. May the same mind which was in Christ Jesus be\nin me. May I possess the same humility which he displayed, the same\nindifference to the riches and the pleasures of the world, the same\nspirit of zeal for thine honour, and of benevolence towards man. May\nI ever wear the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit; be enabled to\nadorn the profession which I hope to make; and finally be admitted\ninto the kingdom of my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.\n\n\"And I do now most solemnly give myself unto thee, as one whom\nthou hast made alive from the dead, with a firm and unalterable\ndetermination to live devoted to thee; loving thee supremely,\nwalking in thy fear, and glorifying thee in my body and my spirit,\nwhich are thine.\"\n\nThe practice of self-dedication, which is often recommended to the\nyoung Christian, may tend to increase his reverence for God, and to\nmake him more watchful over his own spirit; but unless he has very\nclear perceptions of the way of salvation, it may be productive\nof essential spiritual injury. For though we are told in the most\nexpress language, that \"we are saved by grace through faith, and\nthat not of ourselves, it is the gift of God; not of works, lest\nany man should boast;\" yet when the distinction between obedience,\nas the fruit of faith, and obedience as the hope of reward, is\nnot accurately and perpetually observed, there is a danger of\ncontracting a self-righteous spirit, which by aiming at personal\nperfection for ostentatious display, or as a source of mental\nconfidence, may bring the soul into a state of spiritual bondage.\n\nMiss Holmes having most solemnly dedicated herself to God, and\nformed a sanguine opinion of the high capabilities of the renewed\nmind, began to prescribe a set of rules for her self-government,\nwhich she resolved to observe. If these rules had related merely to\nher conduct in social life, she might have kept them; but as they\nincluded the regulation of the disposition, and the frame of her\nmind towards God, they were founded on a mistaken conception of her\nown ability. They imperceptibly diverted her attention from the\nperfect righteousness of Jesus Christ, by faith in which sinners\nare accepted and justified, to a laborious effort to attain a high\ndegree of sinless excellence; and as she progressively discovered\nso many, and such lamentable defects in her obedience, the peace of\nmind which she enjoyed when \"first she knew the Lord\" was destroyed,\nand she gradually sunk into a state of despondency. By making this\nfatal, yet common mistake, she was led to the conclusion, that the\nattainments of the genuine Christian were placed beyond her reach,\nand that it would be an act of presumption if she attempted to\nacquire them.\n\nAn evangelical ministry is instituted to promote the edification\nof them that believe, no less than to convert sinners from the\nerror of their ways; to guard them against those misconceptions of\ntruth, which may prove injurious to their happiness and spiritual\nprosperity; and to explain that mysteriousness which rests over\ntheir earlier experience, when there is a constant, and often\na rapid interchange of hope and of fear, of sorrow and of joy,\nof a bright prospect of future blessedness, and a foreboding\napprehension of future woe. Those who attend such a ministry,\npartake of the advantages of it, without being conscious of the\nbenefit which they receive; but if indisposition, or any other\ncircumstance, prevent a Christian from availing himself of this\nordinance of grace, he may linger for a long time, especially in the\nearlier stages of the spiritual life, in a state of great mental\nperplexity, and may gradually sink into a morbid depression, without\nbeing able either to remove or account for it.\n\nDomestic engagements prevented Mrs. Loader from paying a visit to\nthe Elms; but the following letter is a proof of the deep interest\nwhich she took in the welfare of her friend, and also of her ability\nto give her judicious counsel:--\n\n     \"MY DEAR LOUISA,--I am fearful lest you should construe my\n     silence into indifference; but I flatter myself, that the\n     following explanation will protect me from such an imputation.\n     I was from home when yours of last month arrived; and since my\n     return, family matters so engaged my attention, that I have\n     been prevented replying to it. It is impossible for words to\n     express the pleasure I felt on the perusal of your first very\n     interesting letter; and though the degree of that pleasure was\n     somewhat diminished on the reception of your second, yet I\n     cannot refrain from offering you my sincere congratulations,\n     on account of what the Lord has done for you, and is still\n     doing. Clouds and darkness are often round about him, while\n     he is silently and unobserved carrying on his own work; and\n     when it is not in our power to trace the operation of his\n     hand, we are required to stand still, and he will show us his\n     salvation. In the early experience of the Christian there are\n     many circumstances which perplex and confound him, and which\n     appear to place his good hope in the most imminent danger; but\n     it is the province of faith calmly to wait the issue, which is\n     certain, and will be glorious.\n\n     \"I am not surprised, my dear Louisa, that you should regret\n     having made what you call a premature disclosure of your\n     Christian experience, especially as you begin to entertain some\n     strong doubts of its being genuine. This is very natural, and\n     very common. If the experimental influence of the truth fell\n     under the immediate observation of our senses, we should be\n     able to mark its progress with the most perfect accuracy; but\n     as the seat of its first and most powerful operations is the\n     heart--that province which the eye can never penetrate; and as\n     it merely diffuses itself over the exercise of our intellectual\n     and moral faculties, without acting alone, and independently of\n     them, we almost necessarily, at times, suspect whether we have\n     ever felt it. It is true, we may see a change in our conduct,\n     and a change in the disposition and temper of our mind; but as\n     this uniformly takes place in consequence of our full conviction\n     of its propriety, we may, especially in a gloomy hour, be\n     incapable of tracing it up to a supernatural cause.\n\n     \"The first impressions of Divine truth on the heart are\n     generally strong and deep--they produce a powerful excitement\n     of the affections; and such is the intense degree of interest\n     which is sometimes felt at such a period, that no variation\n     is anticipated, except it be some higher and more blissful\n     elevation of soul--some ascent to a spiritual Pisgah, from\n     whence the lot of our future inheritance with the saints in\n     light may be clearly seen. But when the mind becomes more\n     familiar with the sublime truths of religion, they lose somewhat\n     of their novelty; and though they still retain their ascendency\n     over the judgment, yet the impressions which they produce become\n     less powerful. This change in the feelings often induces the\n     young Christian to suspect, that the cause of its original\n     production must be found, not in the grace of God, but the\n     uninfluenced operations of his own faculties and passions. It is\n     when the mind is thus variously exercised, that the invisible\n     enemy of our peace often comes to augment our perplexity, by\n     insinuating, that if we were renewed, the fact of our renovation\n     would be so conspicuous, that we could never doubt it--that\n     if we did really love the Lord, our love would glow with\n     undiminished ardour--that if our faith were genuine, we should\n     never be permitted to stagger at any of the promises of God\n     through unbelief--that if we were made partakers of the Divine\n     nature, we should for ever escape the corruption that is in the\n     world--and if our spiritual emotions were actually produced\n     by the operation of a supernatural power, they would neither\n     subside nor fluctuate.\n\n     \"If then, my dear Louisa, you should doubt, where others have\n     doubted before you, and if you should feel those causes of\n     perplexity and depression operating on your mind, under which\n     the faithful in Christ Jesus in every age have laboured, you\n     ought to comfort yourself by the reflection that you are now\n     passing through the usual trials of Christian experience. If you\n     had no doubts, you would have cause to fear; and if you knew no\n     change of feeling, you would have cause to suspect your change\n     of heart.\n\n      'Come then--a still, small whisper in your ear,--\n      _She_ has no hope, who never had a fear:\n      And _she_ that never doubted of _her_ state,\n      _She_ may perhaps--perhaps _she_ may, too late.'\n\n     \"I am happy to find, by your last letter, that you have\n     disclosed the state of your mind to your dear parents; for\n     while I certainly approve of the motive which induced you to\n     conceal it from them, yet I think you have acted wisely in\n     breaking through your resolution. As they so often wept over\n     you, when you were living without God, and without Christ in\n     the world; and have, with so much fervour, intermingled their\n     supplications at the footstool of the Divine throne for your\n     conversion, it would have been an act of unkindness to have kept\n     them in a state of ignorance on a subject in which they are so\n     deeply interested. You should communicate to them not only the\n     general fact, that you are _now become 'a fellow-heir of the\n     grace of life,'_ but also the perplexities which disquiet and\n     depress you, as they are so well qualified to give you that\n     instruction and consolation which you may require. It is by\n     giving vent to the feelings of the soul, that we gain relief\n     from our most poignant griefs; and though you perhaps can more\n     readily communicate your experience to an absent friend than\n     to your own parents, yet, if you make the effort, the barrier\n     which obstructs an unreserved disclosure of all you feel, and\n     all you fear, will soon be broken down, and then your spiritual\n     intercourse will be free and unfettered. It will require, on\n     your part, I have no doubt, a great sacrifice of feeling, to\n     take the step which I now venture to recommend; but you know who\n     has said, My grace shall be sufficient for thee--as thy day,\n     thy strength shall be; and if you by prayer and supplication\n     with thanksgiving, make your request unto Him, He will give you\n     wisdom and strength to follow the advice I now offer.\n\n     \"I have often regretted your removal from London, especially\n     when I found that you are not favoured with an evangelical\n     ministry in the church. This circumstance must operate as a\n     serious drawback upon your social happiness; and now you are\n     brought to feel the importance of religion, I am not surprised\n     that you should deeply deplore it. You ask me what you are\n     to do, now you are able to attend public worship. This is an\n     important question, but I feel no hesitation in giving you the\n     advice which I have given to others, who have been placed in\n     similar circumstances. If there be no Dissenting chapel within\n     a convenient distance, in which the gospel is preached, go to\n     your parish church as usual, to avoid the appearance of Sabbath\n     profanation; but if there be one, I think it your duty to attend\n     there. I do not recommend you to secede, for the mere sake of\n     secession; but for your spiritual improvement, which will depend\n     more on a pure evangelical ministry, than any other secondary\n     cause. Some, I am aware, would urge you to prefer your parish\n     church to a Dissenting chapel, even if the minister be an\n     irreligious man, and to stay there till it shall please God to\n     introduce the gospel into it; but as it is not in my power to\n     reconcile such advice with the injunction of our Lord, _Take\n     heed what ye hear_, you cannot expect that I can approve of such\n     a course. The eminently devout Christian loves the habitation\n     of the Lord's house, and the place where his honour dwelleth;\n     but we have no reason to believe that God visits any place with\n     the manifestations of his love, where the minister does not\n     preach salvation by grace through faith. But suffer the word of\n     exhortation. You are now coming out amongst the difficulties\n     of a public profession of religion; one friend may recommend\n     you to adopt one plan, and another, another; and the more you\n     consult, the more you may be perplexed, till at length you may\n     be incapable of coming to any decision. To obviate this evil,\n     go and meditate seriously on the following passage--'Trust in\n     the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own\n     understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall\n     direct thy paths.' Reduce to practice the admonition of the wise\n     man, and you will find that the Lord will give wisdom, as well\n     as strength.\n\n     \"I am much obliged by your kind invitation to the Elms, and\n     intend, as soon as I can leave home, to pay you a visit, when\n     I hope to find you in perfect health. Remember me very kindly\n     to every member of your family, and believe me to be, yours\n     affectionately,\n\n     E. LOADER.\"\n\nOne of the most common-place charges which is brought against\nevangelical religion, is, that it has a tendency to make its\npossessor melancholy; and if we were to form our judgment of it\nfrom the appearance and manner of some who profess it, we should\nbe disposed to admit its correctness. They not only abstain\nfrom all the pleasures and amusements of the social circle; but\nhabitually wear a gloom on their countenance, which indicates a\nsingular dejection and moroseness of spirit. But this dejection\nof spirit, which we may sometimes discover in a professor of\nevangelical religion, is not produced by his religious principles,\nbut by his sense of personal guilt, and his want of that assurance\nof forgiveness, which the gospel of Jesus Christ is intended to\nconvey. He may be permitted to remain for a season, by the Holy One\nof Israel, whose laws he has violated, and whom he has neglected\nto glorify, under the sentence of self-condemnation; but when he\nis enabled to rely on the atonement made by Jesus Christ, and to\nappropriate the promise of mercy, he enjoys the peace which passeth\nall understanding. If then, we wish to form a correct estimate\nof the real tendency of evangelical truth, we must not go to the\npenitent sinner while he is suffering under the deep convictions\nof guilt, as then he is more prone to put from him the words of\nconsolation, than to embrace them; but we must go to the established\nbeliever, who, having received the truth in the love of it, is\nenjoying its sacred and blissful influence. He will repel the charge\nas a libel on his faith, and unblushingly avow, that he never knew\nsolid and substantial happiness till he derived it from communion\nwith God, through the mediation of Jesus Christ, and a hope of being\npresented faultless in his immediate presence. And though the spirit\nof scepticism, which is so prevalent in all ranks of society, may\nridicule such an avowal, as a delusion attempted to be practised on\nhuman credulity, yet surely no one, on reflection, can presume to\nsay that a Christian is not competent to bear testimony to a fact of\nhis own experience. The religious principles which he has embraced,\nare represented by those who have never felt their influence, as\nhaving a tendency to make their possessor melancholy; and yet he\ndeclares that he has had more mental satisfaction since he embraced\nthem than he ever had before. Whose testimony shall we admit to be\nmost conclusive?--the testimony of those who are entirely ignorant\nof the subject, or of those whose knowledge qualifies them to\nspeak? Suppose, for example, a question to arise respecting the\nexcellencies or defects of a piece of music, we should not venture\nto place any dependence on the opinion of a man who has no taste\nfor the science. If we did, we should expose ourselves to ridicule\nor contempt. On such a question we should require the opinion of\na competent judge; and I appeal to the sound sense of my readers,\nif they can allow those persons to pronounce a judgment on the\ntendency of religion who have never felt its holy influence on the\nheart. They may express their opinion, and they often do express it,\nbut of what value or importance is it in relation to the subject?\nThey may say that its tendency is to make us unhappy; but how can\nthey prove it? Not certainly by appealing to the obvious design of\nChristianity, for that has been so unequivocally announced by the\ncelestial messengers, that we cannot misconceive it. \"And the angel\nsaid unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of\ngreat joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this\nday, in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.\nAnd suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly\nhost, praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on\nearth peace, good-will toward men.\" And if they venture to appeal\nto the experience of the religious man, he candidly says, \"I am\nhappy; but my happiness differs from yours, it takes its rise from\na different source, and possesses qualities which are peculiarly\nits own; it is more pure, more exquisite, more substantial, because\nmore intellectual and spiritual than yours. My happiness is the\npeace that passeth all understanding.\" But when we mention peace,\nwe mean not the stupid security of a mind that refuses to reflect;\nwe mean a tranquillity which rests on a tried and durable basis--a\npeace which, founded on the oath and promise of Him who cannot\nlie, and springing from the consciousness of an ineffable alliance\nwith the Father of spirits, makes us to share in his fulness, and\nbecome a partner with him in his purity; a repose serene as the\nunruffled wave, which reflects the heaven from its bosom, while it\nis accompanied with a feeling of exultation and triumph, natural to\nsuch as are conscious that ere long, having overcome, they shall\npossess all things.\n\nThere are many periods in the history of human life, when the\npower of religious principles over the mind commands the respect,\nand excites the admiration of the most inveterate infidel. Go\nand see the poor Christian, contented amidst his privations--the\nsuffering Christian, patient under his protracted affliction--the\ndying Christian, resigned and happy in prospect of his approaching\ndissolution; and if you do not pay a spontaneous homage to the\ninfluence of the principles which have such an effect in elevating\nand supporting the soul of man, when visited by these direful\ncalamities, it must be referred either to a want of taste, or to a\nwant of judgment.\n\n    \"He is the happy man, whose life ev'n now\n    Shows somewhat of that happier life to come;\n    Who, doom'd to an obscure, but tranquil state,\n    Is pleased with it; and, were he free to choose,\n    Would make his fate his choice.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Content, indeed, to sojourn while he must\n    Below the skies, but having there his home.\n    The world o'erlooks him in her busy search\n    Of objects more illustrious in her view;\n    And, occupied as earnestly as she,\n    Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world.\n    She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not;\n    He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain.\n    He cannot skim the ground like summer birds\n    Pursuing gilded flies; and such he deems\n    Her honours, her emoluments, her joys.\n    Therefore in contemplation is his bliss,\n    Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from earth\n    She makes familiar with a heaven unseen,\n    And shows him glories yet to be revealed.\"\n\n\n\n\nDOUBTS AND PERPLEXITIES.\n\n\nThe change which had taken place in Miss Holmes, became the topic\nof general conversation in the circle of her gay associates; and\nthough some of them predicted that she would again appear amongst\nthem, when \"the fit of melancholy\" was over, their anticipations\nwere disappointed. She returned the calls of inquiry as soon as\nher health permitted; but she left a deep impression on the mind\nof all her friends, that worldly pleasures had lost their charms\nfor her, and that other and nobler objects of pursuit now engrossed\nher attention. One of the first proofs of her decision, was\nconsenting to become secretary to a female branch of an Auxiliary\nBible Society, which was established in the vicinity of the Elms,\nand which brought her into immediate connection with several\npious families. Having derived so much spiritual benefit from the\nScriptures during her long confinement, she felt anxious that they\nshould be universally circulated; and voluntarily devoted a large\nportion of her time and her influence to secure the co-operation of\nothers in accomplishing this important object.\n\nOne of the most conspicuous professors in her neighbourhood was a\nMr. Corrie, whose father had attended the ministry of Romaine, and\ntransmitted to his son a profound veneration for the memory of that\ndistinguished clergyman. He was a widower, rather advanced in life,\na man of wealth; and had residing with him two unmarried sisters.\nThese ladies were amiable and intelligent--zealous and active in\nthe cause of humanity and religion--and their chief delight was in\ngoing about doing good. Mr. Corrie usually spent the forenoon in\nhis study, while his sisters went forth on their visits of mercy to\nthe cottages of the poor; and they generally passed their evenings\nin agreeable and profitable conversation, or in reading to each\nother. They often read a portion of Mr. Romaine's Works, which they\nconsidered the standard of orthodoxy; and though they were willing\nto submit every religious opinion to the test of Scripture, yet they\nnever thought of subjecting his opinions to such an ordeal. His\ntreatises on the Life and Triumph of Faith, and some Letters which\nhave been published since his decease, they regarded with almost as\nmuch reverence as the Epistles of the inspired writers; believing\nthat no author equalled him in correctness of sentiment and depth of\nexperience.\n\nMiss Holmes, in her perambulations on behalf of the Bible\nSociety, happened to call on the Misses Corrie, to solicit their\nsubscriptions, just as they were sitting down to tea; and being\npressed to remain, she consented to spend the evening with them.\nTheir cheerfulness--the spirituality of mind which they discovered\nin their conversation--the fervent spirit of devotion which was\napparent in Mr. Corrie when engaged in family prayer--and the\nconfidence with which they spoke of their interest in Christ,\noperated so powerfully on her feelings, that she remained with them\nmuch longer than she intended; and when the lateness of the hour\ncompelled her to leave, she could not do so without requesting\npermission to repeat her visit. \"We shall be happy to see you at\nany time,\" said Miss Corrie; \"and if it be in our power to teach\nyou the way of the Lord more perfectly, we shall consider ourselves\nhighly honoured.\"\n\nReligious conversation is one of the most useful methods of\ninstruction and consolation we can employ; but sometimes, when\na false standard of experience is adopted, it becomes the means\nof perplexing and distracting inquiring minds. Our Lord taught\nhis disciples, as they were able to receive instruction; keeping\nalive their attention, while he allayed the restlessness of an\nunprofitable curiosity, by saying--\"I have yet many things to say\nunto you, but ye cannot bear them now. Howbeit, when he, the Spirit\nof truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall\nnot speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he\nspeak: and he will shew you things to come.\" And on this wise maxim\nthe Holy Spirit condescends to conduct His process of instruction,\nthat we may not be confounded by communications which we are unable\nto understand; but be led on step after step in the province of\nDivine knowledge, till we are \"able to comprehend with all saints,\nwhat is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; and to know\nthe love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that we may be filled\nwith all the fulness of God.\" And it is of great importance, in\nrelation to the government of our conduct towards others, and for\nour own tranquillity and spiritual improvement, that we rigorously\nadhere to the same maxim; or we may inflict a wound, while\nattempting to impart the consolations of our faith, and absolutely\nretard that growth in knowledge which we are anxious to cultivate\nand advance.\n\nMr. Corrie was eminently pious, but a man of rather weak\nunderstanding, and who had associated with but few intelligent\nChristians in the earlier part of his life. His first undigested\nthoughts had grown up into firm and immoveable opinions; and though\nhe devoted a large portion of his time to reading the Scriptures,\nyet, owing to the bias of which he was not conscious, he more\nfrequently searched for passages in support of his own peculiar\nnotions, than studied them to enlarge his views of the entire scheme\nof Divine truth. He was positive, but not perverse; inflexibly\nattached to his own belief, but not disposed to inveigh against\nthat of another; and though he imbibed some religious opinions\nwhich have done great injury to the dignity and the amiability of\nthe Christian character, yet in him their tendency was neutralized\nby the sweetness of his natural disposition and the fervour of his\ndevotional spirit. He dwelt much on the high points of election\nand predestination; maintained with great pertinacity that human\nnature undergoes no moral improvement, but remains as impure and\ndeceitful after the great change has taken place, as it was before;\nand he considered an assurance of our final salvation so essential\nto the nature of faith, that he would not regard as a true believer\na person who did not enjoy an unclouded prospect of eternal glory.\nThese topics bounded the range of his inquiry; and though at times\nhe would unawares make concessions which compromised their accuracy,\nyet when apprized of his danger, he would step back with singular\nadroitness, and resist the force of an argument to expose their\nfallacy, by saying to an antagonist, \"_You_ see through a glass\ndarkly, while I see face to face.\" If these opinions had been\nconfined within the circle of his own family, and the few pious\nfriends who were of the same theological school, he would have done\nno injury, as their devotional spirit and habits would have proved\na safeguard against their pernicious tendency. But by bringing them\nforward in promiscuous company, and by holding them up as essential\narticles of the Christian faith, he often involved the judgment of\nthe young disciple in great perplexity, and unintentionally threw\ndown some of those barriers which the Scriptures have raised to\nrestrain the evil propensities of our nature. The effects of these\nopinions on the mind of Miss Holmes may be seen in the following\nletter, which she addressed to her friend Mrs. Loader, a few weeks\nafter her introduction to this family:--\n\n     \"MY DEAR FRIEND,--I should have replied earlier to your last\n     letter; but since my convalescence I have been so engaged with\n     my new duties, as the secretary to our Auxiliary Bible Society,\n     that I have not been able to find time. I cannot express to you\n     in words, how much pleasure I derived from your communication.\n     It came at a season when my mind was sinking into despondency,\n     and when I was tempted to give up my hope; but the Lord was\n     pleased to employ it as the means of dispersing the darkness\n     which was hovering around me, and I was enabled to rejoice once\n     more in the light of his countenance. I had gained that elevated\n     spot--that spiritual Pisgah, to which you so beautifully allude;\n     from whence I could read\n\n                'My title clear\n       To mansions in the skies;'\n\n     and from whence I thought I should never be displaced; but\n     alas! I am again compelled to give utterance to a feeling of\n     despondency.\n\n     \"I had my fears at the very commencement of my religious course,\n     that my convictions and impressions, like the morning cloud and\n     early dew, would soon pass away, and that I should be permitted\n     to relapse into my original state of darkness and indifference;\n     yet these fears came upon me only at times, like a sudden gust\n     of wind in a serene evening. Now, alas! I have to mourn over\n     their perpetual presence and desolating power; and I sometimes\n     think, the doom of a backslider, or an apostate, awaits me. I\n     shudder in anticipation of such a dreadful issue; and though\n     I often pause and listen, yet I hear not the voice of the\n     Comforter. Yet I cannot go back; perhaps I may say, when taking\n     a survey of the more general state of my heart, I move slowly\n     onwards between hope and fear.\n\n     \"I have lately formed an intimate friendship with two excellent\n     ladies, who reside with their brother, not more than a quarter\n     of a mile from the Elms; and in whose society I spend a\n     considerable portion of my leisure hours. From the influence\n     of their example, and from their conversation, I anticipated\n     much spiritual improvement; but the oftener I visit them, the\n     deeper I am plunged in mental despondency; and though I have\n     ventured to allude, in indirect terms, to the perplexed state of\n     my mind, yet I cannot obtain from them the words of consolation\n     which I need. They and their brother have adopted the views of\n     Romaine as their religious standard; and hold his memory in such\n     veneration, that they rank him next to the inspired writers, and\n     tacitly condemn all who, on any religious points, differ from\n     him. They have lent me his treatises on the Life and Triumph of\n     Faith, which I have read with close attention; but instead of\n     deriving from them that satisfaction which I was led to expect,\n     they have revived all my former fears, and invested them with\n     a tenfold poignancy. He says, when addressing the believer,\n     'Thou must be first persuaded of thine interest in Christ,\n     before thou canst make use of it, and improve it; and therefore\n     the knowledge of thy union with him must be clear and plain,\n     before thou canst have a free and open communion with him.' I\n     might have passed over this passage, without having taken any\n     particular notice of it, had it not coincided with the belief\n     which has been so often expressed by my excellent friends, the\n     Misses Corrie and their brother. They say, in the most express\n     terms, that an assurance of our interest in Christ, and of our\n     final salvation, is essential to faith; but this assurance\n     I do not possess. Sometimes I have thought that the Saviour\n     has looked with an eye of compassion on me, and has raised my\n     desponding soul to the ineffable manifestations of his love;\n     but I cannot say that 'he gave himself for me.' I rely on the\n     efficacy of his death for acceptance and eternal life; but I\n     dare not say that my dependence is genuine. In some favoured\n     moments, I have anticipated the blissful interview, when I have\n     hoped to see him as he is, but I cannot speak with confidence--O\n     no! I dare not. While my necessities compel me to go to the\n     Saviour, and plead his promises, my want of assurance keeps me\n     back; and thus, being suspended between these propelling and\n     repulsive powers, I suffer extreme mental torture.\n\n     \"But this is not the only subject on which my mind is perplexed.\n     In a conversation the other evening, when we were tracing up the\n     bestowment of every good and every perfect gift to the free and\n     unmerited grace of God, Mr. Corrie asserted, with the utmost\n     degree of confidence, that no true believer in Jesus Christ can\n     doubt his personal election to eternal life. This assertion,\n     made by so good and amiable a man, and which met the decided\n     approbation of his sisters, fell upon my ear with all the terror\n     of the condemning sentence; and from that moment to the present,\n     I have been driven, as an outcast, from the promises of mercy,\n     I have read the Scriptures to satisfy my mind on this point,\n     and there I read of sinners being chosen in Christ before the\n     foundation of the world--of their being elected according to the\n     foreknowledge of God the Father--of their being predestinated;\n     but this high point appears invested with such terror, that my\n     spirit recoils when attempting to approach it; and though I have\n     prayed for faith to receive the hidden mysteries of revelation,\n     and for wisdom to understand them, yet I cannot believe that I\n     am one of the selected number, whose name has been enrolled in\n     the Lamb's book of life. But should I feel all this terror on\n     my spirit, when adverting to a doctrine which appears stated,\n     with the utmost degree of explicitness, by the inspired writers,\n     if I had that faith which is of the operation of the Spirit\n     of God? Should I, if I possessed like precious faith, recoil,\n     with almost instinctive dread, from a subject on which my pious\n     friends speak with so much animation and delight? Surely there\n     must be some defect in my experience, which renders me incapable\n     of disengaging myself from the bondage of fear in which I am\n     held; and which holds me back from a participation of that\n     glorious liberty which I see enjoyed by the children of God\n     around me.\n\n     \"There is one point of resemblance between my experience and\n     that of my friends, too striking to pass unnoticed; yet, when\n     reading the Scriptures, it has merely served to involve me in a\n     still more perplexing labyrinth of difficulty. It is this--they\n     maintain 'that our hearts undergo no moral improvement when\n     the great renovation takes place, but remain as impure and\n     deceitful as before.' I certainly did anticipate, when I first\n     felt the influence of the truth, that I should grow in grace\n     as well as in knowledge; and that I should attain to a more\n     near conformity to the image of Jesus Christ; but on a close\n     and impartial examination, I am compelled to believe that I\n     have made no progress: indeed, I fear I have made a retrograde\n     movement. I do not feel that calm satisfaction, or any of the\n     blissful emotions I felt, when my attention was first arrested\n     by the unseen realities of eternity. I do not feel that\n     indifference to worldly objects, which I felt when confined to\n     a couch of pain and languor. I am not so deeply affected by the\n     unparalleled love of Christ, as I was when I first viewed him\n     bearing away the iniquities of the people by the agonies of his\n     death; nor does sin appear so exceedingly sinful, as when I\n     first experienced its bitterness. I am neither so grateful for\n     my mercies, nor so abased on account of my transgressions, as I\n     was when the light of a supernatural manifestation first threw\n     open to my view my neglected obligations and concealed defects.\n     I feel, if possible, more fully convinced of the absolute need\n     of a Saviour, than I was when I first felt the burden of guilt\n     upon my conscience, but yet I am less able to exercise faith in\n     him; and instead of that peace which was diffused through my\n     heart when I first believed, I am sometimes driven to the verge\n     of despondency.\n\n     \"I have not yet communicated to my dear parents the present\n     perturbed state of my feelings, as I am unwilling to give one\n     pang of sorrow to their tender bosom; and though I sometimes\n     pray that the Lord would be pleased to turn away from me the\n     face of his anger, and comfort me, yet I cannot pray in faith.\n     Surely no one else ever felt what I feel, or suffered what I\n     suffer. There are two verses in a favourite hymn, which, I\n     believe, was composed by the venerable Newton, which I can\n     repeat with intense earnestness:--\n\n      'Lord, decide the doubtful case;\n        Thou who art thy people's Sun,\n      Shine upon thy work of grace,\n        If it be indeed begun.\n\n      'May I love thee more and more,\n        If I love at all, I pray;\n      If I have not lov'd before,\n        Help me to begin to-day.'\n\n     \"I am happy to inform you, that there is a Dissenting chapel\n     about three quarters of a mile from the Elms, in which the\n     gospel is preached with great simplicity and power, and where\n     my esteemed friends, the Corries, usually attend; so that a kind\n     Providence has made that provision for our spiritual necessities\n     outside the pale of the Establishment, which we should have\n     preferred within, but which is denied us unless we go to a\n     considerable distance. We have attended this chapel regularly\n     for some time, and are much delighted with the minister. He is\n     an amiable, unobtrusive man--imbued, I trust, with the spirit of\n     his Master--cheerful in his disposition, but rather reserved.\n     Those who are admitted into more familiar intimacy, speak of him\n     in the highest terms of affectionate respect; and he is much\n     esteemed by his people. You know we are attached to the Church;\n     but, after mature deliberation, we are satisfied that it is\n     our duty to hear the gospel; and as it is not preached by our\n     Vicar, we feel it no less a duty than a privilege to go where\n     the Lord has sent it. Our decision has offended some of the\n     _anti-evangelical_ high church families, who regard the Church\n     of England with as much veneration as a Roman Catholic would a\n     relic of St. Peter; but we must obey the dictates of conscience,\n     which will no longer permit us to attend a ministry where the\n     truths of the gospel are not preached.\n\n     \"From some of our new clergyman's discourses I have derived\n     consolation, but he has not touched on any of the points of\n     perplexity in which my mind is involved; and though at times\n     I have thought of soliciting a personal interview, to make\n     known to him all I feel, and all I fear, yet I cannot assume a\n     sufficient degree of confidence to do it. Indeed, I cannot speak\n     freely on such delicate subjects to any one but to you; and I\n     hope, if you cannot spare time to pay us your long promised\n     visit, that you will favour me with your advice, and I know you\n     will not neglect to pray for me.\n\n     \"My sister Emma, I regret to say, continues to manifest a\n     decided aversion to the things of the Spirit of God--they are\n     foolishness to her; but Jane is becoming much more serious. I\n     do not think that she is yet decided, but I hope the good work\n     is begun. I often find her with her Bible, and sometimes she\n     retires to her own room in the evening, where I hope she spends\n     some portion of her time in praying to her Father in secret;\n     and if so, He who seeth in secret will ultimately reward her\n     openly.--Yours affectionately,\n\n     \"LOUISA.\n\n     \"To Mrs. Loader.\"\n\nWhen a young Christian searches the Scriptures for correct\ninformation on the great questions of religion, and is favoured\nwith the assistance of judicious and pious friends, he usually\npasses on from one degree of knowledge to another without meeting\nwith the formidable obstructions and perplexing embarrassments to\nwhich he is exposed, by the conflicting opinions which are prevalent\namongst us. The light which shines on the sacred page, when it comes\n_directly_ from above, is clear and pure, and makes distinctly\nmanifest, to the judgment and the conscience, the truth as it is in\nJesus, in its simplicity and power. But when it passes through a\nhuman medium, it often shines in an oblique course, throwing into\nthe shade some essential parts of the economy of Divine truth; and\nhence a defective theory is sometimes embraced, which always proves\nunsatisfactory, and sometimes fatal to our peace. It is therefore\nimpossible to exercise too much caution, in the early periods of\nour experience, in the choice of our religious associates, and of\nthe books which we read; as it is in the power of error, whether\nit comes from the lips of friendship or from the press, to do more\nessential injury than the truth may be able to repair, till after a\nlengthened period of extreme anxiety and disquietude. And as we are\nso liable to receive pernicious impressions from the numerous errors\nwhich are in perpetual circulation around us, we cannot depend with\ntoo much simplicity, or docility of disposition, on the Holy Ghost,\nwhom the Saviour has promised to his disciples. \"And I will pray the\nFather, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide\nwith you for ever; even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot\nreceive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know\nhim; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you. He shall teach\nyou all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever\nI have said unto you. He shall glorify me: for he shall receive\nof mine, and shall shew it unto you.\" Hence it is indispensably\nnecessary for the Christian, in every period of his life, but\nespecially when entering on his religious course, to implore the\ngracious influence of the Divine Spirit, to guard him against every\nspecies of error--to lead him into all truth--and to invest the\ntruth with that holy unction, which will render it no less a source\nof the highest intellectual improvement, than of the most exquisite\nmental enjoyment. Such a habit of dependence on Divine aid will be\nan effectual safeguard against the spirit of self-sufficiency, which\nproves so fatal to those who are enslaved by it; and while it will\nstimulate to mental diligence in searching the Scriptures, that we\nmay ascertain what is the mind of the Spirit, it will keep us in a\nstate of independence of human opinion.\n\nBut while I wish to point out to the attention of the young\nChristian, the dangers to which he is exposed from the society of\nhis pious yet injudicious friends, and to bring him into immediate\nconnection with the Spirit of truth, I would, at the same time,\nguard him against indulging any visionary expectations respecting\nthe mode of His instruction, or the infallible certainty of the\nopinions He may permit us to form. He teaches through the medium of\nthe Scriptures, even while the judgment is altogether unconscious of\nany supernatural assistance; but His communications are restricted\nto those points in the system of truth which are essential to\nsalvation; leaving us to form our own judgment on questions of minor\nimportance. Hence the agreement amongst the disciples of Christ, on\nwhat is essential, and their diversity on what is non-essential.\n\nBut even when we are taught by the Holy Spirit, and thus imbibe\nthe truth in its most perfect state, it will not always retain its\noriginal power of impression, but will admit of a partial declension\nin moving the affections, even while its authority over the judgment\nand the conscience remain undiminished. Hence the lines of Cowper\nare often employed as expressive of the disconsolate state of the\nheart:--\n\n    \"Where is the blessedness I knew,\n       When first I saw the Lord?\n     Where is the soul-refreshing view,\n       Of Jesus and his Word?\n     What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd!\n       How sweet their mem'ry still!\n     But they have left an aching void,\n       The world can never fill.\"\n\nAnd this cessation of a powerful excitement, which usually\nsucceeds the first impressions of truth, is often regarded, by the\nChristian, as an indisputable evidence of the decay of his religious\nprinciples, when it may be nothing more than a necessary consequence\nof the more advanced progress of his personal experience, as the\nchange of the leaf, from living green to the auburn hue, is a plain\nindication that the fruit is advancing in its ripening process.\n\nThe above account presents an instance, which has many parallels,\nof the struggles, anxieties, and perplexities, which so often beset\nthe mind of the believer on his first entering on his career of\nChristian experience. I shall return soon to the continuation of the\nhistory of Mr. Holmes' family; but, in the meantime, must beg the\ncourteous reader to accompany me back, for a short space, to my own\ntown, from which I have been led by this digression in my narrative.\n\n\n\n\nTHEATRICAL AMUSEMENTS.\n\nPART I.\n\n\nOne morning, while musing on the changing scenes of my eventful\nlife, recalling the past, and speculating on the future, I received\na letter from an old friend, requesting that I would call on\nher as soon as I could make it convenient. From the tone of the\nletter, and some expressions contained in it, I judged she was in\ntrouble, and accordingly proceeded immediately towards her house.\nAs I was passing along, I remembered that, several years before,\nI had received a similar note, written by the same hand, and in a\nsimilar strain of grief. The writer was a widow, whose husband had\nbeen cut off in the flower of his days, leaving her to provide for\ntheir children, who were at that time all dependent on her. On the\noccasion I speak of, I found her bewailing the alarming illness of\nher only son, a youth of about fifteen years. She complained with\nbitterness that the Almighty, who had taken away her husband, was\nnow about to take away her first-born also. I attempted to bring her\nmind into a state of acquiescence to the Divine will, by reminding\nher that no affliction came by chance--that he who works all things\nafter his own counsel, often sends an early affliction, to prevent\na more painful one--and that when he is pleased to take from us our\nchoicest comforts, it is \"for our profit, that we might be partakers\nof his holiness.\" She replied that the Almighty might tear her son\nfrom her, but she could not surrender him. When I expostulated with\nher, she did not attempt to justify her opposition to the will of\nGod, but excused herself from the affection she bore her son; and\nearnestly requested me to pray for him, and pray that his life might\nbe spared. We prayed together for the lad, and in due time he was\nrestored to health. Having removed soon after this to a different\nquarter of the town, I had seen but little of him or his family for\na considerable time.\n\nPerhaps, thought I, as I drew near the house of sorrow, the life\nof this son is again in danger. He has been spared a few years,\nas the staff of his mother's strength, and now she is inured\nto her troubles, he is about to be taken from her. Indulgent,\nyet mysterious Providence! The lines of the poet recurred to my\nrecollection with peculiar force--\n\n    \"The ways of heaven are dark and intricate.\n     Puzzled with mazes and perplex'd with errors,\n     Our understanding traces them in vain--\n     Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search. Nor sees\n     With how much art the windings turn,\n     Nor where the regular confusion ends.\"--_Addison._\n\n[Illustration: JAMES GODWIN.\n\nW. L. THOMAS.\n\nTHE MOTHER'S HOPES BLASTED.\n\nVol. ii. page 179.]\n\nWhen I entered the room, I found her reclining on a sofa, and in\ntears, her three daughters weeping apart. Though I knew not the\ncause of their distress, I felt at once that some great calamity had\nbefallen them. My presence seemed to revive their grief, for when\nthey beheld me, there was a spontaneous burst of anguish. At length,\nwhen nature had given vent to her feelings, and recovered a portion\nof that strength which had been consumed by the violence of grief,\nthe sufferer informed me that her son had brought upon them a deluge\nof sorrow. Without going into particulars, she requested me to read\nthe following letter, which was lying on the table:--\n\n     \"MY DEAR MOTHER,--Apprehensive that you may be alarmed by the\n     abruptness of my departure from home, I write to inform you\n     that I am well; and when I reach the place of my destination,\n     I will send you my address. I now regret the course I have\n     taken, but this will not bring back my departed reputation,\n     nor heal the wound which I have inflicted on your peace. Had\n     I taken your advice, and kept myself from evil companions and\n     vain amusements, I had still been a virtuous and happy man--your\n     comforter, and the support of the family; but I disregarded your\n     lessons, and became a regular attender of the theatre, to the\n     fatal attractions of which, I am convinced, I now owe my ruin.\n     From the theatre, it was but one step to the tavern and the\n     gaming table. To gratify my passion for the latter, I embezzled\n     my masters' property, and am now a wretched fugitive from the\n     pursuit of justice. Remember me very kindly to my sisters, and\n     tell them never to enter a theatre, for it is to my attendance\n     at that place of dissipation, that I attribute my first\n     deviation from the right path.--Your undutiful, yet affectionate\n     son,\n\n     W. HARVEY.\"\n\n\"Oh! my poor William,\" exclaimed his mother, \"oh! that I should ever\nhave lived to see this day! Our disgrace is all over the town this\nmorning. Look at this, too,\" she continued, producing a hand-bill\noffering a reward of \u00a350 for the apprehension of William Harvey,\nabsconded.\n\nAfter perusing these, I expressed my heartfelt sympathy with the\nfamily, and tried to soothe their feelings and offer words of\ncomfort; but what comfort could I impart in such circumstances! In\nanswer to my inquiries, I drew from her, amidst sobs and tears, an\naccount of her son, and the causes which had produced the fatal\ntransformation in his character. It was to the following effect:--At\nthe decease of his father, he was removed from school, and placed\nin the counting-house of Messrs. ----, extensive merchants in the\ntown. Being a lad of strong natural powers and quick perceptions,\nactive and industrious in his disposition, he soon made himself very\nuseful, and within the space of three years, had so established\nhimself in the esteem and respect of his employers, as to be\npromoted to a post of responsibility and trust. He was distinguished\nfrom most young men of his age, by the soundness of his judgment,\nand the sobriety of his habits, and so devotedly attached to\nhis mother and his sisters, that he made the promotion of their\nhappiness his constant study. In the morning he went to the duties\nof his station with cheerfulness; and in the evening, when the toils\nof the day were ended, he either retired to his own room, to read\nthe amusing or instructive page, or passed it away in their society.\nHe would often admit, when conversing with his pious mother,\nthe necessity of personal religion, yet he thought some distant\nfuturity a more convenient season for attending to it than the\npresent time; and hence the strong impressions which he occasionally\nreceived, when engaged in the public exercises of devotion, were\nsoon obliterated by the tumultuous anxieties of commercial life.\nBut when about the age of eighteen, he began to feel the necessity\nof personal religion; and though he did not suffer its interesting\nand important inquiries to divert his attention from his secular\npursuits, yet he was convinced that it was no less his duty to be\n\"fervent in spirit, serving the Lord,\" than diligent in his business.\n\nHis mother witnessed this moral renovation of his character with\npeculiar delight; and soon had the pleasure of hearing him lead the\ndevotions of the family both morning and evening. For the space\nof two years, he was equally distinguished for his diligence in\nbusiness and his fervour of devotion, till at length he fell into\nthe company of a young man who ultimately effected his ruin. This\nyoung man was the son of a wealthy citizen, as accomplished in\nmanners as he was corrupt in principles; and though he made no\nprofession of religion, yet he affected to treat it with great\nrespect, and thus more effectually gained an ascendency over young\nHarvey. Their first acquaintance soon ripened into the maturity\nof an ardent friendship; and notwithstanding the dissimilarity\nof their opinions, they became almost inseparable companions.\nEach felt anxious to gain the other over to his own course, and\nadopted what he conceived to be the most likely method; but it soon\nbecame apparent, that evil communications more speedily corrupt\nthe virtuous, than good communications reclaim the vicious. One\nof the earliest symptoms of this corruption of principle, was his\nbecoming an occasional frequenter of the theatre, a place which,\nhitherto, the pious admonitions of his mother had prevented him from\nentering. Then came abandonment of his home, and of the society of\nits inmates, after the business of the day had terminated, which\nbroke in upon the devotional order of the family, and often led\nto inquiries and remonstrances which were natural, but painful.\nThese gentle and affectionate remonstrances at first had a powerful\neffect, and he was induced to return to his former habits; but\nin process of time, they were either heard with indifference, or\nresented, and he who had officiated at the family altar, in a\nhumble and apparently contrite spirit, informed his mother that he\nshould in future decline engaging in such a responsible office. She\nbesought him in the most urgent and imploring manner, to rescind\nhis avowed determination, and once more break away from that fatal\ncharm, which was seducing him from the path of righteousness and\npeace; but she could not succeed. He was resolute and decided; and\nafter this time rarely returned home till very late at night.\n\n\"I have sat alone,\" said his mother, \"watching for his return,\ntill one, two, three, and even four in the morning; and when I\nhave opened the door, he more often abused me for my kindness,\nthan apologized for his misconduct. Having spent his midnight\nhours in dissipation, he consumed those of the morning in sleep;\nand sometimes did not get to business much before noon. Though he\nforesaw what might be the consequences of his folly and impiety, yet\nno arguments were sufficient to induce him to change his course.\nHe grew worse and worse, till at length he disappeared two days\nago, and I heard nothing of him till yesterday, when I received\nthe letter which has thrown us all into such misery. This trial,\nwhich would have been a severe one under any circumstances, is to\nme peculiarly poignant; as it brings to my remembrance my sins. It\nis now just seven years since the Almighty appeared to be taking\nhim from me, and such was the heavenly frame of his mind, that he\nwas not unwilling to go. Had he died then, I should have wept over\nhis grave, but I should have had the prospect of meeting him in\na better world. Or if I had felt resigned to the will of God, he\nmight have been restored to me in mercy, as was Isaac, when the\nangel of the Lord forbade his venerable father to slay the sacrifice\nwhich he had so willingly bound, and placed on the altar; but I was\nrebellious. I prayed for his life, because I thought it essential to\nmy happiness; and his life has been spared; but alas, he is become\nthe destroyer of our peace. It is now, Sir, only two years since he\nbegan to turn his attention to religious subjects, and to lead the\ndevotions of our family; and though, like most parents, I rejoiced\nwith trembling, yet hope preponderated, and I thought he would have\nbeen my support and comfort in my old age; but alas, the vision of\nbliss has disappeared, and I am left to desolation and despair.\"\nHere she paused to weep, and then resumed her tale of sorrow. \"I\nwatched his gradual departure from the ways of righteousness with\nmuch anxiety, and made many efforts to reclaim him; and though he\nyielded at first to my solicitations, and made many solemn promises,\nyet he broke them all, and gave himself up to the company of the\nwicked. _The stage has been his ruin._ Till he entered the ill-fated\ntheatre, which throws out its unhallowed attractions to beguile and\ncaptivate the thoughtless and the gay, he was one of the best of\nsons, and one of the kindest of brothers, fond of home, and devoted\nto his mercantile duties; but after he had acquired a taste for\nits scenes and its performances, he became undutiful to me, unkind\nto his sisters, indolent and extravagant, unwilling to submit to\nthe control of authority or of reason, and determined to follow\nthe devices and desires of his own heart, even though he should\nplunge us all in ruin. It was in the theatre that he fell into bad\ncompany--it was there he lost his strength to resist temptation;\nand being once overcome, he surrendered himself, a willing captive\nto the service of iniquity. Ill-fated place! There many a virtuous\nyouth has become the victim of sin! and there my William fell, and\nin his fall he has destroyed my happiness for life. Where he is\ngone, I know not, nor do I know what destiny awaits him; but this\nI know, from bitter experience, that the theatre will corrupt the\nmost virtuous; and while it professes to afford only amusement and\ninstruction, it often becomes the destroyer of personal honour and\nof social happiness.\"\n\nI retired from this scene, my mind loaded with anxiety on behalf\nof the unfortunate family, deeply regretting that it was not in\nmy power to afford them any effectual relief. I could not reclaim\nthe infatuated youth, nor yet repair the moral injury which the\nattractions of the theatre had brought upon the honour and peace of\ntheir household. I was grieved by their tale of sorrow; but it did\nnot surprise me, as I had met with too many proofs of the debasing\ntendency of theatrical amusements, to be astonished by such a\nnarrative.\n\nI had an engagement to spend the evening of the day on which the\nabove conversation took place, at the house of a friend, who had\ninvited me to meet a gentleman from London, an acquaintance of his,\nwho was then paying him a visit. On arriving there I found a small\nparty assembled. In the course of the evening, after a desultory\nconversation on various matters, we found ourselves involved in a\nclose, though not angry debate. The circumstance which led to this\nspirited discussion, was a reference to a recent verdict which had\nbeen given against a celebrated comedian, for a crime which never\ncan be visited with too much severity, as it tends not only to the\ncorruption of public morals, but the destruction of private and\ndomestic happiness.\n\n\"It is of importance,\" said Mr. Proctor, the gentleman at whose\nhouse we were spending the evening, \"that they who lash the vices\nof the age, and who hold them up to scorn and contempt, should be\nvirtuous themselves, or they will do more injury by their example,\nthan they will do good by their professional labours.\"\n\n\"Very true, Sir,\" replied a Mr. Talbot, one of the party, who was\na great admirer of the drama, \"but we must not expect to find the\nperfection of human nature in a profession which is exposed to so\nmany and such powerful temptations!\"\n\n\"The perfection of human nature!\" exclaimed Mr. Proctor's London\nfriend, Mr. Falkland, \"perhaps it would be impossible to find a\nclass of men, in any single profession, in which we shall find so\nlittle virtue and so much vice as in the theatrical profession.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"But, Sir, do you really mean to say, that the\nstage never exhibits, in the private character of its performers,\nthe beauty and consistency of virtue? Surely you are not so\nuncharitable!\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"I will not say that every one who appears on the\nstage is immoral, in the broad acceptation of that term; but I mean\nto say that the great majority are more depraved in their tastes,\nhabits, and conduct, than the general average of society. This is\na fact which I presume no one will attempt to deny, who possesses\nan accurate knowledge of the character of the performers at our\ntheatres.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"There is, I admit, too much truth in what you now\nsay; and how will you account for it?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"To account for it is not difficult--the moral\ntendency of their profession is a sufficient reason; and that we may\nhave the most palpable and unequivocal evidence of its nature, it\nis allowed by Providence to operate in the first place and to the\nfullest extent on the morals and character of the persons who are\nengaged in it.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"There, Sir, I am at issue with you; for I maintain\nthat the moral tendency of theatrical amusements is favourable to\nthe cultivation and growth of private and public virtue; and though\nsome who are touched with the puritanical spirit of the age, may\nassert the contrary, yet I think they will not be able to prove it.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Then, Sir, if the moral tendency of theatrical\namusements be favourable to the cultivation and growth of private\nand public virtue, will you be kind enough to say, how it comes to\npass that the very persons who are employed to conduct them, are, in\ngeneral, the most profligate members of society?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Why, Sir, they are profligate before they enter the\nprofession.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"But can't men of high-toned virtue be induced\nto enter a profession, which is intended to promote the moral\nimprovement of the age--to make us wiser and better?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Very few. The majority are persons of talent, who go\n'_through all the vagabondry of life_,' and then offer themselves to\nthe stage as a _dernier_ resort.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"They first become profligate, and then betake\nthemselves to the stage, as a forlorn hope!\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"They are profligate before they enter on the stage,\nwhich is an evil every virtuous man must deplore.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"And _remain_ profligate after they are on.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Too many.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"The majority, Sir.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Perhaps so.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Then, Sir, if the tendency of their profession be\nfavourable to the cultivation and growth of virtue, how is it that\nit does not reclaim these profligate players? How is it that it does\nnot scatter the seeds of virtue among them, and raise it to a high\nstate of culture?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Why, Sir, are there not many who wear the gown\nimmoral?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"I fear there are, Sir.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"And yet, I presume, you will admit, that the moral\ntendency of the clerical profession and duties is favourable to the\ncultivation and growth of private and public virtue.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Most certainly, Sir.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Then, how comes it to pass, if it be so, that these\nmen still remain immoral?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Permit me to say, that the introduction of this\nquestion is no satisfactory reply to my argument. Answer that in the\nfirst place, and then you are at liberty to propose what queries\nyou think proper. If the tendency of the theatrical profession be\nfavourable to the cultivation and growth of virtue, how is it that\nit does not reclaim these profligate players? This is the question\nunder debate, and let us keep to it. We may ramble after we have\nsettled it.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Why, Sir, there are two reasons which may be\nassigned--their extreme profligacy before they enter their\nprofession; and the numerous and powerful temptations to which they\nare exposed after they have engaged in it.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Then, Sir, theatrical amusements will not reclaim\nextreme profligacy, nor produce virtue where it is most needed?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Perhaps not.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Then, Sir, you require a stock of virtue to insert\nyour graft on, or you do not calculate on raising any good fruit?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Exactly so, Sir.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Then, as men of high-toned virtue, with few\nexceptions, cannot be induced to engage in the theatrical\nprofession; and as it is found incapable of reclaiming the\nprofligate, we can never expect to find a preponderance of virtue\namongst the members of that profession; and, consequently, we are\nreduced to the necessity of admitting this astounding fact--the men\nwho are employed to chastise the vices of the age, and to cultivate\nits virtues, are, with few exceptions, the most profligate in their\nmanners!\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"But, Sir, will you make no allowance for men and\nwomen who are necessarily exposed to so many temptations in the\ndischarge of the duties of their profession?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Why, Sir, what peculiar temptations to vice ought\nto stand connected with the duties of a profession which is intended\nto promote private and public virtue?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Why, you know they often appear, when on the\nstage, in a rank far above the level of their condition, which may\nimperceptibly induce them to cherish those habits of extravagance\nin private life, for which they are so notorious. But the most\nfatal temptation to which they are exposed, is the too familiar\nintercourse which necessarily takes place between the actors and\nactresses on the stage, which cannot be avoided, unless the most\npopular plays are suppressed; and would it not betray an ignorance\nof human nature, to expect that this circumstance should produce no\ninjurious effect on their moral character?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Certainly. You reason very properly. You have\ngiven a faithful, just, and true account of an evil which is\ngenerally admitted. But, in accounting for this evil, have you not\nmade a concession which invalidates the correctness of your general\nposition, that the tendency of theatrical amusements is to promote\nthe cultivation and growth of private and public morals?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"No, Sir, I have merely assigned the causes of that\ngeneral profligacy of manners which prevails amongst players, as a\nreason why you should be more indulgent towards them; and why you\nshould not expect the perfection of virtue to grow in such near\ncontact with the most fascinating temptations.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"I know full well what you intended to do, and also\nwhat you have done. May I be permitted now, to place your leading\nassertion, and your last concession, in one sentence?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Yes, provided you do it fairly.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"I will attempt it. The tendency of theatrical\namusements is to promote the cultivation and growth of private and\npublic virtue; but the actors and actresses, who are employed in\nthis good work, are necessarily placed in a position which destroys\ntheir own virtue, and brings on amongst them a general profligacy\nof manners. That is, their representation of vice and vicious\ncharacters on the stage often leads to immoral practices in their\nprivate conduct. Does not this prove that the tendency of their\nprofessional duties is injurious to their own morals?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Have I not admitted it, Sir?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Yes, and proved it, at the extreme hazard of\nendangering your own proposition, that the stage is favourable to\nthe interests of _private_ virtue.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"But, Sir, are there not many who wear the gown, and\nwho make much higher pretensions to virtue than players do, who,\nafter they have given their public lectures on morality, will retire\nand sin in secret. Now, permit me to ask, if the sanctimonious\nhypocrite is not a more odious character than the profligate player?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"I regret, Sir, that you should overstep the bounds\nof the question under discussion, to attack the clerical profession;\nbut lest you should imagine that you are occupying a position from\nwhich no fair argument can displace you, I will for once attempt to\nfollow you. I admit, then, for the sake of the argument, that there\nare some who make higher pretensions to private virtue than the\nactors and actresses of our theatres, who, after delivering their\npublic lectures on morality, retire and sin in secret; but will the\nvices of one class of men justify the vices of another? If some of\nthe clergy are corrupt, will the fact of their corruption diminish\nthe magnitude of the players' vices? Why you have introduced this\ncharge against the clergy into the discussion I cannot say, as\nit has nothing to do with the question at issue, which is the\nnecessary connection between a player's profligacy of manners and\nthe duties of his profession. That is, that the very performance\nof his duties, when he is engaged in promoting the morality of the\npublic, has a tendency to produce a corruption of his own morals.\nBut you can bring no such charge against the moral tendency of the\nclerical duties. A clergyman is not compelled, in the discharge\nof his functions, to give utterance to any expressions, or to\nperform any actions, which have even a remote tendency to vitiate\nhis taste or corrupt his morals; so that if he should turn out a\nbad man, you must look for the cause of it, not, as in the case\nof the stage-player, in any impure and contaminating influence of\nhis profession, but in the depravity of his nature. If he become\nimmoral, he acts an inconsistent part, offers an insult to the\nsentiments of the virtuous part of mankind, and loses his place\nin society--as a man who is a disgrace to his profession, whose\nexample is in direct opposition to the acknowledged tendency of\nhis ministerial functions. But as a pure moral character is not\nnecessary to qualify a man to appear on the stage, no one feels at\nliberty to charge a theatrical performer with inconsistency, even\nif he should become notorious for swearing, gaming, drunkenness, or\ndebauchery. He may revel in these vices, and yet appear before an\naudience with as much confidence of affording them gratification by\nhis performances as he would feel if he were a man of the purest\nmoral excellence. It is true, that if publicly convicted of some\nflagrant offence, and held up, through the medium of the press,\nas the base wretch who violates the sanctity of friendship, the\nadmirers of the drama will express a virtuous indignation, and\nwish him to perform a sort of quarantine before he again makes his\nappearance before them; yet they will never regard it as a lasting\ndisqualification for his professional duties.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Well, Sir, after all the attacks which you have\nmade on the character of theatrical performers, and the defence\nwhich you have set up in favour of the clergy, I maintain that\nthe sanctimonious hypocrite who retires from the pulpit, where\nhe has delivered his grave moral lectures, to sin in secret, is\na more pernicious character than the most profligate player that\never disgraced his profession. For do not the vices of the clergy\nshake our confidence in the truth of religion, which you know is\nnever done by the vices of the stage; and is not their example, in\nconsequence of their more powerful influence over the public mind,\nmore destructive to the morals of society?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"If, Sir, your belief in the Divine origin of\nChristianity is ever shaken by the vices of its professors, you give\na decisive proof that it does not rest on the legitimate evidence\nwhich is offered in confirmation of it. Christianity claims a Divine\norigin, and she adduces irrefragable arguments in confirmation of\nit; but the consistent conduct of _all_ her professors is not one\nof them. Judas was a traitor, but his treachery did not weaken the\nforce of evidence which the miracles of Jesus Christ supplied in\nfavour of his Divine mission; and though it is very common for us\nto look for an exact correspondence between the life of a Christian\nand the purity of his professed faith, yet if all who profess to\nbelieve in the Christian religion should become as licentious in\ntheir manners as the most notorious libertines, their profligacy\nwould not weaken the evidences on which Christianity founds her\nclaims to our belief. They would be convicted of the crimes of which\nthey are guilty; but by what process of fair argumentation could you\nbring the verdict recorded against them to disprove the divinity of\na system of religion which is supported by the evidence of prophecy,\nof miracle, of testimony, its own internal purity, and its more than\nmagic power in the renovation and transformation of the most impure\nand debased of men?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Well, perhaps I made a slight mistake by saying that\nthe vices of the clergy tend to shake our confidence in the divinity\nof our faith. It would have been more correct to say, they have a\ntendency to make us mistrustful of the integrity of the clerical\ncharacter. But will you not admit that they have a most pernicious\ninfluence over the popular mind--more especially on young men who\nare just entering into active life?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Yes, Sir, I readily concede that the vices of\nthe clergy have a more pernicious effect on the morals of society\nthan the vices of players, because the clerical character is held\nin higher estimation, and because the clergy have free access\nto families who would feel themselves degraded if a player was\nto be introduced into their company. The clergy who support the\ndignity of their profession, as the great majority of them do,\nare esteemed and respected--their friendship is highly valued and\nassiduously cultivated; but players are doomed to neglect when off\nthe boards--they are shunned in the ordinary intercourse of social\nlife, and kept in a state of exclusion, which is something like an\ninstinctive evidence, pervading all classes, with a few exceptions,\nthat they must be kept aloof from the sacred precincts of the family\ncircle. And it is to this sensitive abhorrence, which the virtuous\npart of society feels, against any familiar intercourse with\nplayers, that we are to attribute the comparatively trifling injury\nwhich the profligacy of their private character does to the morals\nof the public; but if ever this safeguard should be broken down--if\never the line of demarcation which estranges us from them should be\nremoved, and they should have free access to our homes--allowed to\nassociate with our sons and daughters, they would introduce amongst\nus a degree of moral corruption which no authority could check or\ninfluence subdue.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"But, Sir, I have known some players introduced into\nthe highest intellectual circles of London and Edinburgh. Why, it is\na well-known fact, that the Kembles and Siddons, Bannister, Young,\nand many others, were often guests at the mansions of some of the\nmost virtuous and accomplished of our nobility.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"I admit, Sir, that the intellectual eminence of a\nfew of the profession has procured for them an admission into the\nsociety of literary men; but a virtuous public, and even that part\nof the public which admires the drama, with few exceptions, will not\nreceive them into its private or social friendship. And in the case\nof the few exceptions into whose circles they have been received,\nshall we find no husband or father who has not had occasion to rue\nthe day when he consented to call an actor his friend? It would be\ninvidious to give names, or I could, from my personal knowledge,\nmention some instances of the lamentable results of intimacies\nwith players. Enough was brought before the public to justify the\nremarks of the _Times_:--'The conduct of persons who appear on the\nstage has never been the most irreproachable; and it may be doubted\nwhether such a mass of living vice, as the actors and actresses but\ntoo generally present in their private lives, is not more injurious\nto public morals than the splendid examples of virtue which they\nexhibit in their theatrical characters are useful.'\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"And, Sir, has no unsuspecting family had occasion to\nrue the day when they received into their friendship the ministers\nof religion? Have _they_ never broken down the fence that guards\nthe sanctity of domestic virtue? Have _they_ never been publicly\nconvicted of crime?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Yes, Sir; but when you compare the relative\nnumbers of the two professions, you will be compelled to admit that\nthere are but very few of the clerical order who trample on the\ndecencies and virtues of social life, and yet continue to discharge\ntheir ministerial functions. Only let a clergyman be suspected, and\nhe is shunned; but let him be convicted, and he is disrobed, and\nheld in abhorrence, not only by the public, but by his brethren.\nAnd though the light and trifling spirits of the age are fond of\ntraducing the reputation of the ministers of religion, and often\nimpute to them crimes of which they are not guilty, yet I fearlessly\nassert that, with rare exceptions, they are an ornament to society,\nand are not surpassed, if equalled, by any order of men, for\nsobriety, chastity, benevolence, and all the virtues which bless and\nadorn social life.\"\n\n_Mr. Proctor._--\"I very much dislike the introduction of reflections\non the clerical order into these discussions, because they are\nirrelevant to the question before us, and tend to perplex and\nembarrass it rather than to bring it to a fair issue. The question\nis simply this, '_Is the moral tendency of theatrical amusements\nfavourable to the cultivation and growth of private and public\nvirtue?_' It is admitted that the members of the theatrical\nprofession are, with few exceptions, loose in principles and\nprofligate in manners; and our friend has attempted to prove that\ntheir profession has a tendency to make them so. Now, I think if\nthese amusements are favourable to the cultivation and growth of\nvirtue, we have a right to expect that the persons who are employed\nto conduct them should exhibit in their own character the virtues\nwhich they profess to inculcate. But they do not. This is a fact.\nWe never think of recommending our sons or our daughters to go\nto the actors and actresses of the stage, for models from which\nto mould their own character. If we knew that they were forming\nan intimacy with any of them, we should forbid it, under a full\nconviction that such intimacies would sink them in the esteem of\nthe more respectable part of society, and expose them to the most\npowerful and seducing temptations. Thus far, I think, our friend\nhas gained his point; but the question is not yet decided. The\nplayers may be profligate, and a close connection may be traceable\nbetween their professional labours and the corruption of their\nmoral principles and habits; but notwithstanding this, _we_ may\nderive great advantage from their theatrical representations. 'Their\nbusiness is to recommend virtue and discountenance vice--to show the\nuncertainty of human greatness, the sudden turns of fate, and the\nunhappy conclusion of violence and injustice'--to expose the folly\nof pride, the baseness of ingratitude, the vileness of hypocrisy,\nand to prove, by an appeal to the senses, rather than by logical\nreasoning, that virtue is its own reward and vice its own tormentor;\nand surely, Sir,\" addressing himself to Mr. Falkland, \"you will\nnot presume to say that the immorality of 'their private lives'\ndisqualifies _us_ from receiving the moral benefit of their public\nlabours? This, I think, would be a position which you could not\nmaintain.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"But, Sir, I maintain that the frequenters of our\ntheatres sustain, with rare exceptions, more moral injury from\nthe representations they witness on the stage, than they receive\nmoral benefit. Your friend Mr. Talbot admitted, in an early part of\nthis discussion, that familiarities of expression and action take\nplace on the stage which offend modesty, and if so, I appeal to you\nwhether such expressions and actions can produce any other effect\nthan an impure and demoralizing one.\"\n\n_Mr. Proctor._--\"But these offensive familiarities are not of\nperpetual occurrence.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"But they are of frequent occurrence; and when\nthey do occur they taint a pure mind and inflame a corrupt one. The\nfollowing is a just critique on our popular comedies:--'The English\ncomedy is like that of no other country. It is the school in which\nthe youth of both sexes familiarize themselves with vice, which is\nnever represented there as vice, but as mere gaiety.'\"\n\n_Mr. Proctor._--\"I admit the correctness of this statement to a\ncertain extent; and will confess that I have at times wished my\nchildren out of the theatre, from an apprehension of the possibility\nof their sustaining some injury from what they saw and heard; yet I\nstill cleave to the stage, for a reason which, I think, you will not\ncontrovert.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"And what may that be?\"\n\n_Mr. Proctor._--\"The stage is a source of amusement--I may say, of\ngreat amusement. It drives away the vapours, raises our spirits,\nand gives an agreeable variety to life. I willingly overlook what\nis objectionable in expression and action, for the sake of the high\ngratification which a good comedy yields; and so do others. To be\ncandid, we think less about our virtue than our enjoyment. We must\nhave some sort of excitement to help us to endure the cross purposes\nand the ups and downs of life.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"I have no doubt but the great majority who\nfrequent the theatres, enjoy, even to ecstasy, the scenes which are\nexhibited, and retire from the enchanting place deeply regretting\nthat the dull uniformity of life presents no attractions half so\nexciting. They smile and laugh, and even chuckle with delight,\nwhen the intrigue of double-dealing has ensnared its victim--when\nthe lewd debauchee ogles his mistress, and by some sudden spring\nseizes her by surprise--when virtue is made to look ridiculous by\nthe tenderness of her scruples--when the doctrines and precepts of\nour holy religion are caricatured by the profane witling of the\nstage--and when vice, disgusting and appalling vice, speaks out\nits profanity, or acts its part with the adroitness of consummate\nvillainy. Then it is that 'the feast of soul' is enjoyed, and the\nspirits which have been exhausted by _ennui_, or by the monotonous\nduties of a long day's labour, are recruited, and the agreeable\nalterative of the mind takes place. O yes, the stage amuses! It\nis indeed an elysium of bliss; and if it should be closed, many\nwould weep and sigh who never wept or sighed over a remembrance of\ntheir sins; and deem that life a burden which was given, not for\nthe participation of such polluting enjoyments, but for the nobler\npurpose of deriving pure felicity from the invisible Fountain of all\ngoodness and excellence.\"\n\n_Mr. Proctor._--\"But, my good friend, must we be always weeping over\nour sins, and never allowed to partake of any pleasure but what\narises from religious pursuits?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"I presume, Mr. Proctor, you will admit that we\nought sometimes to mourn over our sins; and ought _sometimes_ to\ndevote our attention to religious pursuits, unless we reject the\nentire system of revelation as a cunningly devised fable?\"\n\n_Mr. Proctor._--\"I think, Sir, I am as firm a believer in the Divine\norigin of Christianity as yourself, though probably we may differ on\nsome high points of speculative opinion; yet I cannot perceive that\nChristianity condemns the theatre, nor am I disposed to object to\nits performances _in toto_, because an audience sometimes derives\na momentary gratification from scenes and expressions which a\nsevere moralist might condemn. I admit that the stage would derive\nsome benefit by being submitted to a purifying process, but I\nwould rather retain it as it is, with all its faults, than have it\nabolished.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"If, as Mr. Falkland appears to contend, the\nChristian religion condemns theatrical amusements, and if,\nnotwithstanding, they are innocent and rational, it then follows\nthat man was not made for the Christian religion, although that\nreligion was made for man; the scandal of such an inference, and\nits infallible support of scepticism, cannot but make it highly\ndesirable to prove that the Christian religion does _not_ condemn\nthem.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"If they are innocent! and if they are rational!\nBut I maintain they are not innocent; and, if viewed as they ought\nto be, in connection with our eternal destiny, I maintain they are\nnot rational. But to avoid anticipating arguments which may be\nafterwards adduced, I at once challenge you to bring forward proof\nfrom the Scriptures in favour of these corrupting amusements.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"I have no positive proof to adduce in favour of\nthem, as the Scriptures are entirely silent on the subject; but is\nnot that silence a strong presumptive evidence in their favour?\nDid any of the apostles ever condemn the theatrical exhibitions of\nthe times in which they lived? but would they not have done it if\nthey thought their tendency had been at variance with the spirit\nand design of that religion which they came to propagate amongst\nmankind?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Then, Sir, because they did not in their epistles,\nwhich were addressed to the converted pagans who had renounced their\nformer evil customs, condemn the gladiatorial exhibitions of Rome\nand of Greece, you think that a fair argument arises in favour of\nthem?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Why, if they had considered them unfavourable to the\nmorals of the people, they most certainly would have condemned them.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"What if the persons to whom they wrote had\npreviously renounced them?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"But we have no proof that the early Christians did\nabstain from these sources of amusement.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"There, I think, you are mistaken. We have\nincontestable evidence to prove that the early Christians not only\nabstained from them, but condemned them in the most unqualified\nterms of reprobation; and I will now, with your leave, read a\ncollection of testimonies on the subject, with which I was lately\nfavoured by a friend:--\n\n     \"'The Romans,' says C\u00e6cilius, the heathen, in Minutius,\n     'govern and enjoy the world, while you Christians are careful\n     and mopish, abstaining even from lawful pleasures. You visit\n     not shows, nor are present at the pomps; you abhor the holy\n     games--a melancholy ghastly people ye are.'\n\n     \"'True,' says Octavius, 'we Christians refrain from the\n     play-house, because of its intolerable corruptions. We cannot be\n     present at the plays without great sin and shame.'\n\n     \"Theophilus, Bishop of Antioch, who flourished about the year\n     170, in his book to Autolicus has these words:--'It is not\n     lawful for us to be present at the prizes of your gladiators,\n     lest by this means we should be accessories to the murders\n     there committed. Neither dare we presume upon the liberty of\n     your shows, lest our senses should be tinctured and disobliged\n     with indecency and profaneness. The tragical distractions of\n     Tereus and Thyestes are nonsense to us. We are for seeing no\n     representations of lewdness. God forbid that Christians, who\n     are remarkable for modesty and reservedness--who are obliged to\n     discipline and trained up in virtue--God forbid, I say, that we\n     should dishonour our thoughts, much less our practice, with such\n     wickedness as this!'\n\n     \"Tertullian, who flourished in the same century, is copious\n     upon this subject:--'We Christians have nothing to do with the\n     frenzies of the race-ground, the lewdness of the play-house, or\n     the barbarities of the bear-garden.'\n\n     \"Clement Alexandrinus, who lived about the year 200, affirms\n     that a circus and theatre may not improperly be called the\n     'chair of pestilence.'--_De P\u00e6dag._ lib. iii.\n\n     \"St. Cyprian, who lived in the third century, has spoken at\n     large upon the stage, and after having described the diversions\n     of the play-house, he expostulates in this manner:--\n\n     \"'What business has a Christian at such places as these? A\n     Christian who has not the liberty so much as to think of an ill\n     thing?--Why does he entertain himself with lewd representations?\n     Has he a mind to discharge his modesty, that he may sin\n     afterwards with the more boldness? Yes: this is the consequence.\n     By using to see these things, he will learn to do them. Why need\n     I mention the levities and impertinences in comedies, or the\n     ranting distractions of tragedy? The folly of them is egregious,\n     and unbecoming the gravity of believers.\n\n     \"'As I have often said, these foppish, these pernicious\n     diversions must be avoided. We must set a guard upon our senses,\n     and keep the sentinel always upon duty. To make vice familiar\n     to the ear is the way to recommend it. And since the mind of\n     man has a natural bent to extravagance, how is it likely to hold\n     out under example and invitation? If you push that which totters\n     already, whither will it tumble? In earnest; we must draw off\n     our inclinations from these vanities. A Christian has much\n     better sights than these to look at.'\n\n     \"St. Cyril, who lived in the fourth century, in his Catechism\n     for the newly baptized, has these words:--\n\n     \"'You have said at your baptism, I renounce thee, O Satan; I\n     renounce all thy works and all thy pomps. The pomps of the\n     devil are the diversions of the theatre, and all other the like\n     vanities; from which David begs of God to be delivered: 'Turn\n     away mine eyes,' says he, 'that they behold not vanity.' Do\n     not then suffer yourself to be led away by a fondness for the\n     entertainments of the stage, to behold there the extravagancies\n     of plays full of wantonness and impurity.'\"[17]\n\n  [17] The author is indebted to the late Rev. Mr. Simpson for these\n  testimonies.\n\nThe discussion between Mr. Talbot and Mr. Falkland was here broken\noff, but shortly afterwards resumed, as follows in the next chapter.\n\n\n\n\nTHEATRICAL AMUSEMENTS.\n\nPART II.\n\n\n\"These quotations which you have read from the ancient fathers,\"\nsaid Mr. Talbot, \"merely express their private opinion on the\nexpediency of not attending such scenes of amusement; but as they\nwere not endowed with the spirit of infallibility, their opinions\nmay be submitted to the ordeal of examination no less than your own.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Nay, Sir; these quotations do more than express\nthe private opinion of the historians from whose works they are\ntaken; they record the fact that the primitive Christians did not\nattend public places of amusement, because they knew that their\nmoral tendency was unfavourable to the cultivation and growth\nof virtue. They also prove that the stage undergoes no moral\nchange--indecent and profane in the olden times, when amusing Greeks\nand Romans; indecent and profane still--_semper eadem_.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"But, Sir, do not the expostulations of these\nwriters, and the arguments which they employ against an attendance\nat the theatres, lead us to the conclusion that some of the early\nChristians did attend them?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"No doubt, Sir, that some of the early Christians\ndid attend them; but their attendance was considered as the first\nstep to the abandonment of their religious principles--as an act\nof inconsistency, which subjected them to the censures of their\nbrethren--an approximation to the customs of the votaries of\npaganism, which, if persisted in, was visited by an exclusion from\nchurch-fellowship. This, I think, you must admit to be decisive of\nthe opinion which the pure part of the primitive Christians held\nrespecting the lawfulness and tendency of theatrical amusements.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"But, Sir, waiving the opinion of the ancient\nfathers, allow me to ask you one question: If the moral tendency of\nsuch amusements be unfavourable to private virtue, how is it that\nthere are no express prohibitions against them in the writings of\nthe apostles?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"But, Sir, do you believe that the apostles\napproved of every practice which they did not _expressly_ condemn?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Why, yes, Sir, and I think there is strong\npresumptive evidence in favour of such an opinion. Were they not\nemployed to furnish us with a code of laws for the government of our\nconduct? and is not that code perfect? If, then, there be no law\nto condemn our attendance at such places of amusement, are we not\nat liberty to believe that their silence is a tacit, though not a\npositive sanction?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"If, Sir, we adopt the principle for which you are\nnow contending, we shall be reduced to the necessity of admitting\nthat every modification of evil, which is not expressly condemned by\nthe sacred writers, is actually sanctioned by them. The absurdity of\nsuch an opinion is not more flagrant than its tendency would prove\npernicious to the welfare of society. Is the crime of gaming, or\nbull-baiting, or of forgery expressly condemned by the Scriptures?\nand yet, Sir, would you venture to appeal to the silence of the\nScriptures as a tacit sanction of these vices? Some of the vices to\nwhich human nature is addicted, in every age and in every country,\nare expressly condemned, while others, which spring out of local\ncustoms, and casual temptations, are condemned only by implication.\nAs a proof of the correctness of this assertion, nothing is said in\nScripture against the savage custom of exposing children; nothing\nagainst slavery; and nothing expressly against duelling. But is not\nthe exposing of children condemned in that charge against the Romans\nthat they were 'without natural affection?' Is there not a strong\ncensure against slavery conveyed in the command to 'do unto others\nas you would have them do unto you?' and against duelling, in the\ngeneral prohibition of murder contained in the sixth commandment?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"I admit the validity of your argument, in its\napplication to the crimes which you have mentioned, because they\nare the more refined modifications of crimes which are expressly\ncondemned; but permit me to say that I do not recollect any passages\nin the sacred volume, which by a fair implication, really condemn\ntheatrical amusements.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Then, Sir, by your permission, I will quote a few.\n'Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly,\nnor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the\nscornful' (Psal. i. 1). Does not this passage condemn our going\ninto the assemblies of the ungodly? 'But I say unto you, that every\nidle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in\nthe day of judgment' (Matt. xii. 36). Are there no idle--no profane\nwords spoken on the stage? and if it be a crime to utter them, can\nit be less than a crime to go and listen to them? 'Let no corrupt\ncommunication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to\nthe use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers'\n(Eph. iv. 29). Do no corrupt communications proceed from the mouth\nof players? and if it be a crime to advance them, can it be less\nthan a crime to receive them? 'But fornication, and all uncleanness,\nor covetousness, let it not be once named among you, as becometh\nsaints; neither filthiness, nor foolish talking, nor jesting, which\nare not convenient; but rather giving of thanks' (Eph. v. 3, 4). Are\nthere no filthy expressions--no unhallowed jesting on the stage?\nand if these vices are not to be named amongst Christians, ought\nthey to be sanctioned by them? 'For the time past of our life may\nsuffice us to have wrought the will of the Gentiles, when we walked\nin lasciviousness, lusts, excess of wine, revellings, banquetings,\nand abominable idolatries: wherein they think it strange that ye\nrun not with them to the same excess of riot, speaking evil of you'\n(1 Pet. iv. 3, 4.) Does not the apostle, in this passage, commend\nthose to whom it was addressed, for having renounced their former\nrevellings and banquetings? and does he not arm them against the\nreproaches which their exemplary conduct would bring upon them? and\ncan we suppose that, if the apostle was now on earth, he would give\nhis sanction to the practice of some modern Christians, who are to\nbe seen, now at church, and anon at the theatre?--now receiving\nthe sacrament on bended knees, and anon kindling into rapture by\nthe exhibitions of the stage?--now giving utterance to the solemn\nwords, _O God, the Father of heaven, have mercy upon us miserable\nsinners_, and anon applauding expressions and sentiments which no\nlips can articulate but the lips of impurity? And, Sir, lest we\nshould, through inadvertency, expose ourselves to the hazard of\nbeing overcome by the force of temptation, are we not commanded to\n'abstain from all appearance of evil?' (1 Thess. v. 22);--to have\n'no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather\nreprove them?' (Eph. v. 11). Are not these injunctions violated by\nthose who frequent the theatre? Are we not taught to pray, _Lead us\nnot into temptation, but deliver us from evil?_ and do we not\noffer a violence to our own belief, and an insult to our Father in\nheaven, when we pass from the attitude of prayer, into the place\nover which the evil spirit reigns in undisturbed sovereignty, and\nwhere temptations of the most seducing tendency abound?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"But, Sir, in the application of these passages\nof Scripture against an attendance on theatrical amusements, you\nhave taken for granted that their moral tendency is injurious to\nthe cultivation and growth of private and public virtue, which,\npermit me to say, without intending to reflect on your good sense,\nis a species of logical artifice, which I did not suppose you\nwould condescend to employ. It is an attempt to carry a position\nby surprise, which you should have approached openly--a jesuitical\nmanoeuvre to take the question of debate by the adroitness of a\nsheer cunning, rather than by fair argumentation. If, Sir, you had\nfirst proved that their tendency on the morals of society is, what\nyou assert it to be, injurious and pernicious, I grant there would\nbe a propriety in the application of the passages of the Bible which\nyou have made, and the contest would soon be terminated; but, as\nthat point has not been proved, and as I now challenge you to the\nproof of it, allow me to say that your reasoning has produced no\neffect.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"You are at perfect liberty to examine any\narguments which I may adduce against theatrical amusements with the\nutmost degree of severity, and to employ what terms you please when\nexpressing your opinion of their character, or of their effect; but,\nSir, you cannot expect that I shall submit to your descriptions if I\nthink them unjust. You accuse me of taking for granted what remains\nto be proved, which, you say, is not only unfair but useless. But\nI appeal to your candour if I took more for granted than what was\ntacitly admitted in proof, if not actually recorded. Has it not\nbeen admitted, that expressions are sometimes uttered on the stage\nwhich the lips of virgin modesty could not utter? If so, will you\npresume to say, that the quotation which I made does not condemn\nthem--'But I say unto you, that every idle word that men shall\nspeak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment?' Has\nit not been admitted, that expressions are uttered, and some actions\nare performed in the theatre, which have a tendency to corrupt the\nminds of the actors and actresses? and if so, will you say that the\ninjunction which commands us _to abstain from even the appearance of\nevil_, does not prohibit our witnessing such actions or listening\nto such expressions? If this be not proof against theatrical\namusements, what will you call proof? If this argument does not\nfairly apply, it is not because it has not strength to strike, but\nbecause you are endeavouring to raise the dust, that you may bear\noff your colours to prevent them being taken. But that you may not\nshout victory on your retreat, nor taunt me with unfair dealing when\nyou are going down, I will consent to clear the space, and meet you\non the question of the obvious and direct influence of the stage on\nthe morals of society.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"I grant, Sir, that the Bible censures all indecent\nand profane expressions, and that it points the severity of its\nrebuke against every action which has a demoralizing tendency\neither on the mind of the performer or the spectator; but I presume\nyou will not take upon yourself to say, that our best and most\npopular comedies come under this sentence of condemnation? There\nare two questions, I apprehend, which have an immediate claim on\nour attention--first, What is the design of comedy? and, secondly,\nWill the desired result be attained through its instrumentality?\nIn reply to the first question, I will quote the language of the\ncelebrated Dr. Blair:--'Comedy proposes for its object, neither the\ngreat sufferings nor the great crimes of men: but their follies\nand slighter vices--those parts of their character which raise in\nbeholders a sense of impropriety, which expose them to be censured\nand laughed at by others, or which render them troublesome in civil\nsociety.' And I doubt not, but with all your rancour against the\namusements of the theatre, you will agree with him in the following\nopinion which he pronounces on the tendency of such a mode of\nattack:--'This general idea of comedy, as a satirical exhibition of\nthe improprieties and follies of mankind, is an idea very moral\nand useful. There is nothing in the nature, or general plan of this\nkind of composition that renders it liable to censure. To polish\nthe manners of men, to promote attention to the proper decorum of\nsocial behaviour, and above all, to render vice ridiculous, is\ndoing a real service to mankind.' This is the design which comedy\nproposes to accomplish; and now, Sir, we will, if you please, pass\non to the consideration of the second question, Will the desired\nresult be attained through its instrumentality? By the exhibition of\nfolly and vice, in the persons of the actors and actresses, who are\nheld up to ridicule and censure, a moral effect is produced on the\naudience, who retire from such a scene, where the absurdities of the\nhuman character have been exhibited to their view, infinitely more\ndisgusted by them, than they ever felt when listening to the grave\nlecture of censure or condemnation from the pulpit. And I think,\nSir, you will admit that the worthy doctor has given us a proof of\nthe correctness of his judgment, when he said, that, 'Many vices\nmight be more successfully exploded by employing ridicule against\nthem, than by serious attacks and arguments.' And though, Sir, I\nhave too much reverence for the pulpit to treat it with contempt,\nand form too high an estimate of its moral utility in correcting the\ndisorders of society, to run it down, yet I doubt whether it _can_\nwield such a keen and powerful weapon against the folly and vices of\nthe times, as the well-regulated and well-conducted stage.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Your last remark, Sir, savours so much of\ninfidelity, that it is both offensive to my taste, and repugnant\nto my understanding; and though it does not affect the question at\nissue, yet I cannot let it pass without replying to it. The pulpit,\nSir, when it is the oracle of truth, is denominated the _power of\nGod_--that moral instrument which he uses to renew and sanctify\nour corrupt nature; and on which he has conferred the singular\nhonour of employing it as the means of subverting the idolatry\nof ancient and modern times, and of reclaiming many thousands of\nthe children of disobedience to the wisdom of the just; but has\nhe ever identified himself with the stage? has he ever employed\nthe stage to turn men from darkness to light--from the power of\nSatan to himself? O no! Did the stage ever recover Greece or Rome\nfrom their licentious and barbarous rites and ceremonies? It found\nthem corrupt, and corrupt it left them. And what has it done for\nmodern Paris, where it exists in the plenitude of its glory?\nThere you have a proof of the weakness of its strength to reform\na people, and of the charm of its power to corrupt them. Indeed,\nSir, it requires a high degree of moral corruption as the basis\nof its exhibitions, for it will be found that its performers, and\nits admirers, are alike strangers to that elevated moral purity,\nwhich brings the human spirit to some degree of resemblance to the\nimmaculate sanctity of the Divine nature. Hence, while many who\nprofess and call themselves Christians, rank amongst its advocates\nand its friends, it is a fact too notorious to be concealed, that\nthey who are a _peculiar people_, and whose moral peculiarities are\nthose which the Scriptures hold out as the distinctive evidences of\nthe Christian character, shun it, as the habitation of evil, from\nwhence they are excluded no less by the force of principle than by\nthe voice of authority. A real Christian in a theatre, animated\nand delighted with the scenes which he must behold, and with the\nsentiments and expressions which he must hear, would be as great a\nphenomenon as a stage player weeping at church when confessing his\nsins, or overpowered with gratitude when receiving, on his knees,\nthe sacramental memorials of the Saviour's death.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"I was not aware, Sir, that the accidental expression\nof an opinion, which has no bearing on the question at issue, would\nhave called forth such a spontaneous burst of disapprobation; and\nthough it would not be very difficult to turn back some of your\npointed interrogations to your own annoyance, yet as that would\nprobably consume too much of our time, we will, if you please,\nconfine our remarks in future to the subject under discussion. To my\nquestions, Sir, if you please.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Well, Sir, then to the first question. You have\ngiven such a very flattering description of the _design_ of comedy,\nthat you remind me of a certain painter who engaged to draw a\nlikeness that should represent a whole fraternity, but when he\nproduced it, it was found to resemble no one, having been sketched\nfrom fancy rather than real life. I admit that a comic writer, of\nrare and extraordinary powers, could get up a piece that would keep\nin view, through the whole of its plot, the censure and reprobation\nof the follies and vices of mankind; but have the writers of English\ncomedy done this? Did not the author from whom you have made your\nquotations speak the truth when he said, '_that the English comedy\nhas been too often the school of vice_?' And is it not so? Do\nnot the most popular plays that are acted on the English stage\nexhibit such scenes as must compel virtue, if present, to hide her\nblushing face, and wish herself away? Do they not give utterance\nto sentiments and expressions, which, to say the least, border on\nprofanity and blasphemy, and which, if admired or approved of, must\ncontaminate and defile?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"But, Sir, I hope in the ardour of your zeal against\nthe stage, you will not overlook the distinction which the wisest\nand best of men have made between the use and the _abuse of a\nthing_. I grant that certain abuses, at various periods of its\nhistory, have disgraced this department of the drama; but what\nthen? is it an argument against the thing itself, any more than\nthe impositions of priestcraft are arguments against the value of\ntrue religion? I grant you that the most obscene and licentious\ncompositions have disgraced the stage, but is the abuse of a thing\nany objection against its use? Licentious writers of the comic\nclass, as Dr. Blair very justly remarks, have too often had it in\ntheir power to cast a ridicule upon characters and subjects which\ndid not deserve it; but this is a fault not owing to the nature of\ncomedy, but to the genius and turn of the writers of it.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"It happens unfortunately, however, for your side\nof the question, that its _abuse_ has hitherto been almost the\nuniversal characteristic of comedy, while its _use_ has scarcely\never been exemplified. Indeed, I defy any one who has a regard for\npropriety to go to a theatre without hearing something to shock his\nmoral feelings.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Why, Sir, you are aware that no play can be acted\non the English stage unless it is licensed by the lord-chamberlain,\nfourteen days before it makes its appearance in public; and do\nyou not know that he is invested with full power to prohibit the\nrepresentation of any play, if he thinks it militates against the\ninterests of virtue?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Then, Sir, if I understand you, it is lawful to\nintroduce any play on the stage which the lord-chamberlain licenses?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Exactly so, Sir.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Indeed! is not this rather singular! But if a\nlicentious play should pass through the chamberlain's office without\nbeing detected, and come to be represented on the stage, what would\nbe its reception? Are you quite sure that it would be hissed off by\na British audience?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Nothing, Sir, can be a stronger proof of the respect\nwhich a British theatrical audience feels for pure virtue, than the\nwell-known opposition made to the re-appearance of K----, after his\ndisgraceful conduct.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"That determined opposition on the part of the\nmore respectable public was very gratifying; but yet I am decidedly\nof opinion, that if he had absented himself for a few months, or\nweeks, till the public feeling had somewhat subsided, he would have\nmet with a cordial reception on his re-appearance on the stage. But\nhe was precipitate, he did not dream that there could be much more\nvirtue before the scenes than behind; in this, so far happily, he\nwas mistaken. He forgot that many who will connive at the vices of\nthe stage while they remain in comparative obscurity, or are only\nwhispered abroad in private circles, dare not, out of respect to\nthe decent little observances to which they are attached, connive\nat them when they are sent out of a court of justice with a badge\nof indelible infamy hanging about their necks. His precipitancy\nwas the cause of his rejection, rather than his crime; for even his\ngreatest opponents promised him their support, if he would refrain,\nonly for a fortnight, from appearing on the boards, in deference to\nthe taste and voice of the public.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Well, Sir, after the public had expressed their\ndisapprobation of his disgraceful conduct, and compelled him to\nperform a theatrical penance, did you expect them to force him off\nthe stage for ever?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"No, Sir, I did not expect it. I know them too\nwell. The vices of the players will never be the means of excluding\nthem from the stage, if they possess the talent of pleasing the\nadmirers of the drama. These are a humane people whose mantle of\ncharity is so broad, that it will easily cover a multitude of sins;\nand though some of them, when goaded by the severe invectives\nof the press, will raise their indignant voice against the bold\ntransgressor who passes at once from a court of justice, where his\ndelinquencies have been exhibited in all their enormity, to the\nstage, the so-styled school of morals, yet the lapse of a short\ninterval will soon induce an oblivion of his offences, and the\ncharms of his acting will soon re-establish him in the favour of the\npublic. But I must now return to the question under consideration.\nIt is not, What will a theatrical audience do, when an actor is\nconvicted in a court of justice of one of the worst of crimes\nthat can be committed against the sanctity of domestic honour and\nhappiness? but, What is such an audience _accustomed to do_, when a\nlewd or profane comedy--a comedy which is the abuse of the thing--a\ncomedy which is the school of vice--is brought on the stage, and\nacted in their presence?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Why, Sir, I presume you know that the public often\nreject plays?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Yes, when they are not to their liking.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Well, Sir, then the point is decided.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Nay, good Sir, not till you have proved that their\nlewdness, their profanity, and their demoralizing tendency, was\nthe cause of their being rejected. Prove that, and you have gained\nyour point, and redeemed the audience from the heavy charge which\nI bring against it, of having uniformly given the least degree of\nsupport to the purest plays, and the greatest degree of support\nto the most objectionable. When the writers of comedy mix up with\ntheir plots incidents which we could not tolerate in virtuous life,\nand introduce characters in their scenes which we should shun as\nthe corrupters of our manners, and do this to excite ridicule and\ncontempt against the religion of our country by holding pious people\nup to obloquy, the audience have uniformly exclaimed, 'Ah, ah, so\nwe would have it! This is to our taste!' The play is again and\nagain called for. What you call the abuse of the thing, has been,\nand still is, more popular than the thing existing in what you call\nits purity. How will you account for this, unless you admit that\nthe taste of the audience is formed from the character of their\namusements, which tend to deprave and vitiate it?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Why, Sir, I admit that many who attend our theatres\nare persons of dubious virtue; yet, formerly a great play-goer, I\ncan flatly contradict this imputed propensity on the part of the\npublic to applaud a licentious play. I have always heard noble\nsentiments echoed in public applause, and, on several occasions,\nthe lurking remains of the old broad comedy received with marked\ndisapprobation. And whatever be the opinion of those who do _not_ go\nto the theatre, these facts will be corroborated by all who _do_.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"You say that all who go to plays corroborate\nthe facts that noble sentiments are always applauded, and obscene\nexpressions are marked with disapprobation. Now, Sir, I can flatly\ncontradict this assertion, though not from personal observation,\nyet from undoubted testimony. I grant that fine passages, delivered\nin an eloquent style, and which breathe the noble sentiments of\npatriotism, and valour, and benevolence, and indignation against\nsome _unpopular vice_, are heard with pleasure; but the self-same\naudience, which makes the house ring with its acclamations on these\noccasions, not only silently sanctions but likewise loudly applauds\nprofanity and indecency at other times. If this be not the case, how\nis it that the plays, which are the school of vice, still appear on\nthe stage, and still retain their hold on popular favour?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"What plays do you refer to?\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Why, Sir, _The Hypocrite_ is one.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"_The Hypocrite!_ What! do you object to _The\nHypocrite_?--A comedy which was applauded by royalty, and in which\na striking example is afforded of the attempt of fanaticism to\nundermine the principles and well-being of society for its own\nindividual advantage, under the specious garb of religion! Surely,\nyou must be a very fastidious person indeed, to find anything\nobjectionable in that most excellent comedy! I can hardly think you\nare serious.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"The design of that comedy is to hold up personal\npiety to ridicule and contempt, by associating it with the weakness\nof the intellect, the vulgarity of unpolished manners, and the\nvices of the human character; and though the writer makes an effort\nat the conclusion to redeem it from such an imputation, yet such\nis its obvious tendency, and such is the effect which it is known\nto produce on an audience. But as I wish to shape my objections\ninto a tangible form, allow me to say that the introduction and\nexposure on the stage of any person making pretensions to elevated\npiety is, of itself, an objectionable feature, and more calculated\nto excite prejudice against all professions of religion, than to\ninduce the hypocrite to throw off the mask. Is this favourable to\nthe cultivation and growth of virtue? It may be of the virtue of a\ntheatrical audience, which reaches not the maturity of its growth\ntill it has acquired the art of caricaturing righteousness, after it\nhas been accustomed to make a mock of sin; but it is destructive of\nthat pure religion which teaches us to avoid all 'foolish talking\nand filthy jesting;' and to correct our personal imperfections,\ninstead of making sport with the vices of others. I have read this\ndisgusting comedy, and I do not hesitate to say, that its indecent\nallusions and profane language, are enough to corrupt any mind; and\nthat the woman who can retire from the theatre after the curtain\ndrops with a desire to see it performed again, must have lost all\nthat refined delicacy of feeling which forms the greatest ornament\nof her sex.\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Stop, Sir! I cannot allow this libel to be\npronounced, without entering my protest against it.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"No, Sir, it is not a libel. The allusions, the\nlanguage, and some of the actions of that play, are more becoming\na house of ill-fame than the school of virtue, as you wish me\nto believe the play-house is; and I am conscious that no decent\npersons, in any rank of life, would tolerate such allusions or\nactions in their families. Allow me to ask one question, What\nopinion would you form of a female who would consent to read that\ncomedy in the presence of an indiscriminate assemblage of young\npeople?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Of course, Sir, I should not solicit her to do it.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"But suppose she was solicited to do it, and\nsuppose she did it without faltering and without blushing, what\nopinion would you form of her modesty, or of the tone of her mind?\nWould you like that female to be either your mother, your wife, your\nsister, or your daughter?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Perhaps not.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"So I presume; for, as the poet says--\n\n    'Immodest words admit of no defence,\n    For want of decency is want of sense.'\n\nIf, then, you would not like to hear a female read that play in a\nprivate party, especially if that female was your own daughter, how\ncan you attempt to justify your conduct in wishing her to go and see\nit performed?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Why, there is a little difference between the two\ncases.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Yes, I grant there is a little difference between\nthe circumstances of the two cases; but, Sir, I appeal to your\ncandour and to your judgment, whether that comedy, when acted on\nthe stage, can promote the growth of virtue, which would have a\ndemoralizing effect if read in a private circle?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"In a theatre, each one is lost in the mass of the\naudience, and hence no immediate effect is produced.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Then, Sir, how can the stage, when it exists\nin its purity, promote the growth of virtue, and how, when it is\nabused, does it become the school of vice, if no immediate effect is\nproduced by the sentiments and actions which are there delivered and\nperformed?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"I mean, Sir, that a female does not sustain that\ninjury in the opinion of others, who goes to see this comedy\nperformed, which she would, if she read it to a promiscuous\nassembly.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"I grant it, Sir; but will her imagination sustain\nno injury by the polluting impressions which it will receive? Will\nher moral taste sustain no injury by the obscene sentiments and\nallusions which she will hear? Will she retire as pure from all\ncorrupt associations, as she was when she first entered the theatre?\nWill her memory carry away no expression which you would rather she\nwould forget?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"But, Sir, when people become familiar with the\nstage, none of these evil effects are ever felt, which you imagine\nmust be the consequence of their attendance.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"They may not be felt so forcibly as at first,\nbecause by habit the taste becomes reconciled to them, which proves\nthat the stage lowers the high tone of virtue, and brings it down\nso softly and so imperceptibly on a level with impurity, that\neventually its more disgusting forms and expressions merely excite\nthe passing smile or the burst of laughter.\n\n    'Vice is a monster of such frightful mien,\n    As to be hated, needs but to be seen;\n    Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,\n    We first endure, then pity, then embrace.'\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"It is no use, Sir, to argue against facts. I have\ngone to the theatre without being injured by it; and I have known\nmany of my friends who have never been injured by it.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"It may be so; but would you like a son or a\ndaughter to acquire a passion for theatrical amusements? And would\nyou suffer them, if they had acquired it, to go alone?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"No, Sir, I should not like my children to become\n_passionately_ fond of the theatre, though I should not object to\ntheir occasional attendance, yet I would not suffer them to go\nalone.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Not like them to become passionately fond of an\namusement, which is intended and calculated to promote the growth\nof their virtues! Surely, good Sir, you don't wish their virtues\nto be stunted for want of nutriment; and though I can easily\nconceive that the expense attending this source of gratification\nand moral improvement, may form one formidable objection against\nits repeated indulgence, yet, can money be better laid out, than on\nthe cultivation of our children's virtuous principles and habits?\nSuppose, for example, you have a son who is somewhat inclined to an\nevil course--one, over whose mind the grave lectures of morality\nwhich the clergy deliver have lost their influence--who is rather\nprone to treat parental authority with contempt; would you not\nwish to see him cherish a passion for theatrical exhibitions,\nwhich, according to the opinion of Mr. Proctor, and in which\nopinion you concur, are designed and adapted to recommend virtue\nand discountenance vice; and thus prove, by an appeal to the\nsenses, rather than by a process of reasoning, that virtue is\nits own reward, and vice its own tormentor? If he should feel no\ndeep interest in these exhibitions, it is not likely that they\nwill produce any more powerful effect on his mind, than the grave\nlectures of morality which he instinctively abhors; but if his\npassions are strongly excited, and he returns to this school of\nwisdom and of virtue, _con amore_--if he cannot refrain from going,\nwithout doing violence to his feelings--if he long for the hour of\nevening dress, and for the agreeable alterative of mind, which is to\ndivert him from the dull, monotonous duties of his station--if he\nenter into the spirit of the comedy, which usually makes a libertine\nthe most attractive character in the piece--or if the spirit of that\ncharacter enters into him--do you not suppose that he will soon be\nreclaimed from vice, and be so smitten with the charms of virtue,\nas to follow her through evil and through good report? And suppose\nseveral such young men should meet in the lobby of a theatre, which\nyou know, Sir, is not impossible; and suppose they should sit\ntogether during the play, and should retire together, after the\ncurtain falls, and the last charms of the comic muse have passed\nfrom the eye and the ear, do you not think that they will very\nnaturally begin to resolve on amending their evil course, and as\nnaturally resolve to become chaste, and temperate, and domesticated\nin their habits? Of course you cannot for a moment imagine that they\nwill retire from this school of virtue to the tavern or the brothel!\nNo, Sir! The comic muse would stand in their way, and dispute\ntheir passage, even if they should have a secret predilection for\nsuch haunts; as a dumb ass once reproved the madness of a certain\nprophet, on whose mind no other agent of persuasion could operate!\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"Satire is no argument, Sir.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"But it often puts forth a biting one, from under\nthe folds of its concealment; yet, as you seem to dislike it, I will\ndismiss it, and return to the more grave form of debate. Permit me,\nthen, to ask you, if the company into which the young are introduced\nat a theatre, does not form a very powerful objection against it?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"This is an objection against theatrical amusements,\nwhich I have been expecting to make its appearance for some time;\nand now it is out, I am not unwilling to meet it. I will then\nconfess, 'that the English box lobbies are too much disgraced by\nthe open display of female prostitution,' and that too many of the\nbaser sort of our own sex frequent the theatre; yet, as the wisest\nand the best are always to be found in attendance on the comic muse,\nwe may very easily keep with them, and thus avoid that contagion\nof evil, to which you imagine we are necessarily exposed. We know\nthat vice, like every other marketable commodity, will be offered\nfor sale in all great public assemblages. But, Sir, can you see the\nvast majority of an audience rivetted on the scenic representation,\nwithout confessing that many a youthful passion is preserved\nfrom the _out-of-doors_ temptation to vice, by this intellectual\noccupation of his time within? London, and all large towns, are,\nby reason of their congregated numbers, hotbeds of vice; you know\nlicentiousness would find other haunts, and not be one whit limited\nby the suppression of the theatre; it would be hard, indeed, that\nvirtue should imprison itself, because vice frequented the same\nresort; on that principle we might not walk the great streets of the\nmetropolis, in broad day light, because of the 'polluted' neighbours\non all sides.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Then you admit that the theatre is one of the\nhaunts of vice; and yet you say that the wisest and the best are\nalways to be found in attendance there, _and from choice_! How odd,\nthat the wisest and the best of our wise and good men and women,\nyoung and old, should choose to go where the most profligate and\nlicentious resort! Surely, you will not adduce their conduct on\nthis point, as a conclusive argument in favour of their superior\nwisdom, or their superior love of virtue! You say, if we go, we may\nkeep with them! But, how shall we know the wisest and the best from\nthe most depraved, in such a promiscuous throng as usually crowd a\ntheatre?--From instinct? or from some secret sign which, like that\nof the Masonic order, is concealed from every one but the initiated?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"When I go to the theatre, if I go alone, I keep\napart from others; and if I go in company, I keep with them; so that\nI have no intercourse with the general audience.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Very possibly; but do all who attend the theatre\nadopt the same judicious maxim?\"\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"They may if they choose, and if they do not, they\nalone are to blame.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"Yes, they may! but do they? No, Sir, they do not!\nIs it not there that the evil spirits of impurity spread their\nnets for thoughtless and unsuspecting youth? Is it not there that\nhe often picks up an acquaintance, who leads him, after the play\nis concluded, to the tavern--to the gaming-table--and to the house\nof ill-fame? Is it not there, that the profligate female practises\nher arts of seduction,[18] that he learns a profane language, and\nfamiliarizes himself with vice in its most disgusting forms? Is it\nnot to this school of virtue--to this resort of the wisest and the\nbest--to this elysium of bliss--to this paradise of excellence--that\nmany of the young of both sexes have ascribed their ruin? Wonder,\nO ye heavens, and give ear, O earth! The school of virtue teaching\nvice!--the resort of the wisest and the best the haunt of the\nmost licentious!--the elysium of bliss the common receptacle of\noutcast misery!--where iniquity reigns, as in the high place of\nits dominion, and on which thousands look in all the bitterness of\nanguish, as the spot where they fell from their original purity and\nhonour to degradation and crime!\"\n\n  [18] An intelligent gentleman, who had served the office of\n  constable in a large midland town, once remarked to the author,\n  \"I observed the number of prostitutes was considerably increased\n  very soon after the opening of the theatre; many also coming from\n  neighbouring towns during the theatrical season.\" Strange, indeed,\n  if the stage be the school of virtue, that these pests of society\n  should always be found existing near it! When we see the vultures\n  flying towards any particular spot, there we may expect to find\n  death and corruption.\n\n_Mr. Talbot._--\"You can paint, Sir.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"But not the theatre as it is. That's impossible.\nI cannot describe the evils, the contaminating evils, to which\na young person is exposed who visits this haunt of vice--this\ndwelling-place of sin--this temple of lewdness, of whose priests\nand priestesses 'it is a shame even to speak of those things which\nare done of them in secret'--this Augean stable of infamy, which\nno waters have ever been able to cleanse. You say, that while the\nyouth is within the theatre he is preserved from the temptations\nwhich are out of doors--a truism no one will doubt; and so he is,\nwhen in a gaming-room, and so he is when in a tavern; but, Sir, is\nhe not, when coming away from the theatre, exposed to the out-door\ntemptations, and very often prepared, by what he sees and hears,\nto yield more easily to them. The following fact, which is too\nwell attested to be denied, lets us into the awful secret of the\ntendency of theatrical exhibitions; and if it were necessary, I\ncould adduce many instances of the most promising young men, and of\nthe most amiable females, who, by frequenting a theatre, have lost\ntheir character; blasted their prospects of happiness for life, and\nbrought down the gray hairs of their parents with sorrow to the\ngrave:--\n\n\"'The robberies committed daily in the streets, during the\nrepresentation of the _Beggar's Opera_, were beyond the example of\nformer times; and several thieves and robbers confessed in Newgate,\nthat they raised their courage in the playhouse by the songs of\ntheir hero, Macheath, before they sallied forth on their desperate\nnocturnal exploits. So notorious were the evil consequences of its\nfrequent representation become, that the Middlesex justices united\nwith Sir John Fielding in requesting Mr. Garrick to desist from\nperforming it, as they were of opinion that it was never represented\non the stage, without creating an additional number of real\nthieves.' Thus we see the debt of gratitude which the morality of\nthe public soon contracted with this agent of its reformation, who,\nfor sixty-three nights in succession, during the first season of his\nlabours, delivered his maxims of wisdom, and his lessons of virtue,\nwhich, by some peculiar fatality, became the means of corrupting\nthe audience to a most alarming extent; but to hold the stage\nresponsible for this, would be, of course, a breach of the law of\ncharity! 'The second season of this opera was as productive as the\nfirst; nor were the provincial stages without their gleanings from\nthe poet's harvest; it was acted fifty nights at Bath and Bristol.\nNot only Ireland, Wales, and Scotland, but Minorca, and other\ndistant regions, saw it in their theatres; while its songs were\neverywhere to be read on fans, handkerchiefs, and fire-screens.'\nWherever this thief-maker went, he was received with raptures by the\nadmirers of the drama; they sung his praises and gave him the homage\nof their affection as the idol god of their theatrical adorations,\nand he had, like ancient Moloch, the high gratification of seeing\nmany of his devoted worshippers doomed to an untimely destruction.\nAnd yet, Sir, with such facts staring you in the face--with such\nconfessions of convicted guilt--you have the temerity to maintain\nthat the theatre is favourable to the cultivation and the growth of\npublic and private virtue! Can you hope to gain proselytes to your\nopinion? Do you imagine that we are to be duped into the admission\nof an assertion which no argument can support, which recorded facts\nso unequivocally disprove, and which the worst men, in common with\nthe best, reject as an insult offered to the obvious dictates\nof their understanding? Do you suppose that we have reached the\ndotage of our existence, when the intellect, paralyzed by some\nextraordinary visitation of Heaven, or worn out by the intensity of\nits own labours, is to sit down at the feet of absurdity, to receive\nthe monstrous extravagancies of convicted falsehood as the lucid and\nresistless enunciations of oracular truth? No, Sir. A general belief\nis gone abroad, and it exists no less firmly amongst many of the\nadmirers of the drama, than amongst its most determined opponents,\nthat while the stage may be vindicated as a source of amusement,\nan attempt to vindicate it as the handmaid of virtue is no less\ndisreputable to the understanding, than it is to the moral taste of\nthe advocate, who, however dexterous he may be in his pleadings,\nlabours under the disadvantage of appearing in court, after the\njudges have taken the verdict of an honest jury.\"\n\n_Mr. Proctor._--\"I am now, Sir, decidedly of your opinion on this\npoint; though I must confess I have often enjoyed a good play. The\nstage, in its present state, amuses many, and gratifies their taste,\nbut it certainly does defile the imagination, and too often pollutes\nthe heart; and where one young person receives any moral good, very\nmany, I do believe, are corrupted and ruined. It may be defended as\na source of amusement, but it is no handmaid of virtue; it is a very\ndemon in the art of seduction. I had many qualms of conscience, when\nI did go to the theatre; but it is now more than two years since I\nentered one, and I must confess, that the present discussions have\nsatisfied me, that I have acted a wise and a safe part by abstaining\nfrom going; nor will I ever go again, or allow any child of mine to\ngo. In fact, I think it would be a public good, to shut up all the\ntheatres in the country.\"\n\n_Mr. Falkland._--\"My respected friend, I assure you, I am highly\ngratified to hear from your lips, such a candid confession and\nsuch a noble resolve; and I think my formal antagonist in these\ndiscussions, on cool reflection, will admit, that a passion for\ntheatrical amusements had better be repressed than encouraged; as it\nis always hazardous, and sometimes fatal, especially to the young\nand incautious.\"\n\n\n\n\nUNITARIANISM RENOUNCED.\n\n\nThe power of early impressions and education is universally\nadmitted; and when erroneous views have been imbibed from infancy,\nand become associated with everything that is hallowed in our\ndomestic recollections, the influence exercised by them on the mind\nis so strong as very generally to maintain undisputed authority\nthroughout life. Truth will sometimes, however, assert her\nsupremacy, and succeed in producing conviction, even where she has\nto contend with the most deep-rooted feelings and long-cherished\nprejudices. These remarks are suggested by the history of Mr.\nMacfarlane, an intelligent and pious young man, whom I met at the\nhouse of Mr. Proctor, on the occasion of the discussion narrated\nin the foregoing chapters. I had frequently heard of him from a\nfriend, of whose church he was a member, and been led to take a\ngreat interest in him from the account which had been given me of\nhis religious history and that of his sister. This I shall now\nproceed to narrate, as exhibiting the progress, from the frigid zone\nof Unitarianism, to the warmth and sunshine of pure evangelical\nreligion.\n\nMr. Macfarlane's father was a wealthy merchant in the town where\nI resided, universally esteemed for his amiable character and\nunsullied integrity. Descended from ancestors who had borne a\ndistinguished part in the struggles for civil and religious liberty\nduring the seventeenth century, he was himself the son of pious\nparents, but their death, within a short period of each other, while\nhe was but a child, deprived him of the advantages which he might\nhave derived from their example and instructions. Left to the care\nof a maternal uncle, whose sentiments were of no decided order,\nhe grew up to manhood with no one to guide him in his religious\nbelief; and having, on his first entering into business, formed an\nintimacy with some zealous Unitarians, he imbibed their opinions,\nand regularly attended the ministry of one of their most celebrated\npreachers. He was too eager in the pursuit of wealth to devote much\ntime to speculative inquiries, and of too retiring a disposition\nto take any part in discussion when theological topics became the\nsubject of conversation; but he cheerfully and conscientiously\nsupported the benevolent institutions connected with his\ndenomination, which he thought the most enlightened and intelligent\nin the kingdom. While he admitted the truth of the Christian\nreligion, he thought its records so ambiguous, or so corrupted in\nthe early ages, that they ought not to be implicitly received. \"I\nwill believe nothing,\" he often used to say, \"which I cannot fully\ncomprehend; and I feel myself as much at liberty to dispute the\nopinion of an apostle, when he speaks on any speculative doctrine,\nas I do to examine the opinion of any other man.\" He rejected the\ndivinity of Jesus Christ as indignantly as a Christian would the\ndivinity of the pagan deities--often expressed his surprise that any\nenlightened man could be brought to believe in the doctrine of the\natonement--and regarded the belief in the reality of a supernatural\ninfluence over the human mind, as one of the corruptions of\nChristianity, which exposed it to the ridicule and contempt of\ninfidels.\n\nBut though a decided Unitarian, he did not condemn those who\ndiffered from him, believing that the Supreme Being is altogether\nregardless of our speculative opinions, if we do justice, love\nmercy, and walk humbly with him. \"If we are virtuous in this life\nwe shall be happy in the life to come,\"--was with him a favourite\nsaying. He was the living personification of the social virtues; and\njustly esteemed for his kindness, his generosity, his integrity,\nand universal benevolence. Mr. Macfarlane, Senior, was a widower,\nwith two children, a son and daughter, who, at the time I speak\nof, were between twenty and thirty years of age. The son was in\nbusiness with his father, and the daughter managed the household\naffairs. Miss Macfarlane was a young lady of amiable temper, retired\nin her habits, fond of reading, and devoted to the promotion of the\nhappiness and comfort of her father and brother. As she had a good\ndeal of leisure at her disposal, she was employed as the almoner of\nher father's bounty; and took much pleasure in this work of mercy.\n\nShe was somewhat religiously inclined; but as the system of\nreligion under which she was educated possessed no power to\ninterest the heart, her religion was confined to a cold assent to\na few speculative opinions, and the observance of some external\nceremonies. She occasionally read the Bible, but from her religious\ntraining she yielded no submission to its authority; and, as a\nnatural consequence, she was strongly prejudiced against the\nevangelical sentiments of orthodox Christians. Though she had\nseveral friends belonging to their number, and among others Miss\nReynolds, a young lady of decided piety, yet even with her,\nnotwithstanding their great intimacy, she invariably declined to\nenter into conversation on the subject. She usually accompanied\nher father and her brother on the Sabbath to the Unitarian chapel,\nwhere the celebrated Dr. R---- preached, to whose ministry they\nwere all much attached. On one occasion he delivered a discourse\nfrom the beautiful words of the psalmist:--\"Thou wilt shew me the\npath of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right\nhand there are pleasures for evermore\" (Psalm xvi. 11). After an\neloquent dissertation on the nature of the Deity, and the assistance\nafforded by Him to those following the arduous path of virtue,\nhe concluded thus:--\"Supposing the ideas which I have set before\nyou to be no more than the speculations of a contemplative mind,\nsuch as were wont of old to be indulged by the philosophers of the\nPlatonic school, still they would deserve attention, on account\nof their tendency to purify and elevate the mind. But when they\nare considered in connection with a revelation which we believe to\nbe Divine, they are entitled to command, not attention only, but\nreverence and faith. They present to us such high expectations as\nare sufficient to determine every reasonable man to the choice of\nvirtue, to support him under all his present discouragements, and\nto comfort him in the hour of death. Justly may they excite in our\nhearts that ardent aspiration of the psalmist:--'My soul thirsteth\nfor God, for the living God; O! when shall I come, and appear before\nhim?' But with this wish in our hearts, never, I beseech you, let us\nforget what was set forth in the first part of this discourse;--that\nin order to arrive at the presence of God, _the path of life_ must\npreviously be shown to us by him, and that in this path we must\npersevere to the end. These two things cannot be disjoined--a\nvirtuous life and a happy eternity.\"\n\nAs they were conversing together in the evening of the Sabbath,\na reference was made to this discourse, when young Macfarlane\nexpressed the high degree of pleasure which it had given him. \"I\nnever,\" he remarked, \"heard a more interesting sermon. What a\nsublime prospect does Christianity open before us! I wonder how any\nintelligent person can reject it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said his father, \"it was a very judicious sermon. I was much\ndelighted with it. We have something to look forward to when it\nshall please God to remove us by death; for as I have often told\nyou, _If we are virtuous in this life, we shall be happy in the life\nto come_.\"\n\n\"But, father,\" said the son, after a short pause, \"if only the\nvirtuous can attain to a state of felicity in heaven, as we were\ninformed this morning, what will become of the wicked?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell; and I think that Dr. R---- displayed his accustomed\ngood sense in making no reference to them.\"\n\n\"But, father, we know that the majority in every age, and in every\ncountry, are wicked; and it strikes me, though I confess I have\nnever thought on the subject before, that if the Deity condescended\nto reveal a system of religion, to promote the present and future\nhappiness of his creatures, he would reveal one that is adapted to\nthe moral condition of the majority, rather than to that of the\nselect few.\"\n\n\"We have nothing to do with others; it is enough for us to know,\nthat if we are virtuous in this life, we shall be happy in the life\nto come.\"\n\nThe subject was now dropped till after their father had retired\nto rest, when it was resumed. \"Your remark on the sermon we heard\nto-day,\" said Miss Macfarlane to her brother, \"I think is a very\njust one. It certainly demands attention. If the virtuous only can\nbe saved, the great majority of the human race must perish.\"\n\n\"Very true; and we know that many who become virtuous in old age,\nhave been dissipated in their youthful days. Can such persons expect\na state of future felicity as confidently as though they had always\nbeen virtuous? And, after all, what is virtue? It is simply a line\nof conduct that runs parallel with the requirements of the society\namongst which we live, and which we know varies so much in different\nnations and amongst different people, that what some call a virtuous\naction, we should condemn as an outrage on the feelings of humanity.\nA Hindoo applauds the virtue of the eldest son, who sets fire to the\npile which is to consume his deceased father and living mother; but\nwere he to do such a deed here, he would be execrated as a monster,\nand amenable to the law. Can we suppose that the Supreme Being will\naward a state of future happiness to a Hindoo, for an action for\nwhich he would punish an European, by excluding him from heaven?\nImpossible!\"\n\n\"And beside,\" said Miss Macfarlane, \"how shall we know when we have\nacquired that _exact degree_ of virtue which will entitle us to\nexpect a state of felicity in the life to come? The more I think on\nthe subject, the more I am perplexed. What shall we do, for I feel\nthe subject too important to be dismissed?\"\n\nAfter some further conversation, they resolved to examine the\nScriptures, to see if they could gain any information; and\nprovidentially they turned to the fifth chapter of Paul's Epistle\nto the Romans. There they read the following verses with deep\ninterest:--\"For when we were yet without strength, in due time\nChrist died for the ungodly.... God commendeth his love towards us,\nin that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.... For if,\nwhen we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his\nSon, much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life.\"\n\"Here we find,\" said Mr. Macfarlane, \"the apostle speaking of the\nsalvation of _the ungodly_, of _sinners_, and of _enemies_.\" They\nproceeded in their examination, and perceived, from many passages\nwhich they met with in other epistles, that the current language of\nthe Scripture plainly and unequivocally proves, that the revelation\nof mercy was intended to benefit the guilty and depraved as well as\nthe virtuous.\n\nOne passage particularly arrested their attention in the second\nchapter of St. Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians--\"And you hath he\nquickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins; wherein in time\npast ye walked according to the course of this world, according to\nthe prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh\nin the children of disobedience.\" On reading these verses, Mr.\nMacfarlane remarked:--\"We are to remember, that at the period when\nChristianity was first promulgated by the apostles, the whole of\nthe Gentile world was sunk into a state of the grossest ignorance,\nsuperstition, and vice; and though some of its most celebrated\nphilosophers and statesmen were distinguished for their love of\nvirtue, yet the immense majority of the people were addicted to\nalmost every species of gross immorality. If, then, a state of\nfuture felicity is reserved only for the virtuous, and no provision\nis made for the salvation of the wicked, the labours of the apostles\nmust have been restricted to the few who had kept themselves from\nthe moral corruptions of the age in which they lived. But such an\nopinion receives no sanction from this passage, which speaks of the\nsalvation of those who had their conversation in times past in the\nlusts of their flesh, 'fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of\nthe mind; and were by nature the children of wrath, even as others.'\"\n\nOn turning their attention to the brief delineation which the\napostle has given of his own character before his conversion to the\nfaith in Christ, they were struck with his declaration respecting\nthe design of our Lord's mission. \"This is a faithful saying, and\nworthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world\nto save sinners; of whom I am chief. Howbeit for this cause I\nobtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ might shew forth all\nlong-suffering, for a pattern to them which should hereafter believe\non him to life everlasting.\" \"You perceive,\" said Mr. Macfarlane to\nhis sister, \"the apostle says, that Christ Jesus came into the world\nto save sinners; and saved the chief of them, as a pattern for the\nencouragement of others who may deem themselves equally guilty, to\nhope in the mercy of God.\"\n\n\"We thus see,\" said Mr. Macfarlane, \"that the epistles prove that\nJesus Christ came into the world to save sinners from a state of\nfuture misery, and to fit them for heaven; but then comes the\nquestion, What degree of dependence ought we to place on their\ntestimony? May they not have become corrupted in the course of time?\nor may not the writers of them have committed some mistake?\"\n\n\"So, brother, we have been taught to believe, but it is possible\nthat we may be mistaken. However, as we cannot now, by any process\nof inquiry, decide on the genuineness of the passages which we have\nbeen examining, let us turn our attention to the gospels, and see if\nthey exhibit the same views on this subject as the epistles. Because\nwe may fairly infer, that if the whole of the Bible is written\nby the inspiration of the Almighty, we shall find a continuity\nand harmony of thought running through the various parts of it,\nand especially on that paramount question which now engages our\nattention.\"\n\n\"As it is now getting very late,\" Mr. Macfarlane observed, \"we will\nnot go into that question to-night; but I will contrive to get\nhome to-morrow rather earlier than usual, when we will pursue our\ninquiries.\"\n\n\"My mind, dear brother, is painfully excited by the discoveries we\nhave already made, as they have convinced me that our theory of\nbelief is in direct opposition to that of the apostles, who were\ninitiated into the Christian faith by the oral instructions of Jesus\nChrist.\"\n\n\"Yes, this I feel. But still the discovery should not distress us;\nit should rather excite our gratitude; for if we find, on more\ncareful inquiry, that we have been holding false opinions, we can\nrenounce them, and adopt the true system of belief.\"\n\nThey continued their investigations of Scripture from evening\nto evening, sometimes together, sometimes apart, and made rapid\nprogress in the knowledge of Divine truth.\n\n\"I have hitherto thought,\" said Mr. Macfarlane, as he sat with\nhis sister one evening, \"that Jesus Christ came as a teacher, to\ninstruct us how to attain to a state of future happiness, and to\ninculcate on us, by the purity of his example, the cultivation of\nthe social virtues. However, on a careful examination of the New\nTestament, I feel very much struck with the express reason which He\ngave to his apostles, for his coming into the world--'Even as the\nSon of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to\ngive his life a ransom for many' (Matt. xx. 28). He certainly knew\nwhat he came to do--and he says he came to die--to die voluntarily,\nby giving his life, not giving it as an act of martyrdom, but as\na ransom to redeem many. Now this must refer to the _many_, in\nsome condition of danger; not to any select few of the amiable and\nvirtuous, in no danger.\"\n\n\"I also,\" remarked his sister, \"feel very forcibly impressed with\nthe reason which Jesus Christ assigns for his going to visit\nZaccheus, who appears to have been before his conversion a great\nsinner. 'For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that\nwhich was lost' (Luke xix. 10). There is nothing about teaching,\nas the direct import of his mission, but seeking after sinners to\nrescue them from the danger of perishing. This harmonizes with\nthe statement of the apostle Paul, which has already engaged our\nattention.\"\n\n\"Very true. And if we take for our guidance the undisputed axiom,\nthat facts determine and explain theory, we may, by a careful\nexamination of the narratives which are reported by the evangelists,\nmake some safe progress in the inquiry we are now pursuing as to\nthe design of the mission of Jesus Christ. You have been turning\nyour attention to the conversion of Zaccheus, and I have been\nturning mine to that of the thief on the cross, both ranked among\nthe chief of sinners; but both were converted and saved by faith\nin Christ. The malefactor, when dying, made his appeal to Jesus,\nsaying, 'Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom' (Luke\nxxiii. 42). How prompt and benign is the answer, 'Verily I say unto\nthee, To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise!' What a solace this\npromise must have been to the poor sufferer--a bright and soothing\nprospect in the midst of his agonies! And with what authority Jesus\nspeaks--assuming the right of fixing the final destiny of this dying\ncriminal, and of advancing him to the honour of associating with him\nin the celestial paradise! He must have been something more than\nman to speak thus, and to assume such a prerogative, on such an\noccasion.\"\n\n\"Such a conviction,\" observed Miss Macfarlane, \"forced itself very\nstrongly on my mind, when reading the Gospel of John, particularly\nthe following passages, which never attracted my attention before:\n'For the bread of God is he which cometh down from heaven, and\ngiveth life unto the world.... And Jesus said unto them, I am the\nbread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that\nbelieveth on me shall never thirst.... And this is the will of him\nthat sent me, that every one which seeth the Son, and believeth on\nhim, may have everlasting life; and I will raise him up at the last\nday.... I am the living bread which came down from heaven. If any\nman eat of this bread, he shall live for ever: and the bread that I\nwill give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world'\n(John vi. 33, 35, 40, 51). 'As the Father knoweth me, even so know I\nthe Father: and I lay down my life for the sheep.... I and my Father\nare one' (John x. 15, 30). We here see that he claims an equality\nwith his Father, which would have been an act of blasphemy to have\ndone if he were only a man; he lays down his life of his own accord,\nfor the benefit of man; asserts that the possession of everlasting\nlife is made dependent on our believing on Him; and says, that if we\ndo so, He will raise us from the grave at the last day.\"\n\n\"You have compressed within a very narrow compass, a series of\ntruths which now appear novel to us both, though we must often have\nseen them when reading the New Testament; and which most certainly\nare of immense importance, demanding our most serious attention.\nHitherto we have regarded Jesus Christ as a mere man, though one\nof a superior order--surpassing all other men in intelligence and\npersonal excellencies; but I begin to regard him as God in the form\nof man, as on such an hypothesis, all his sayings and doings, I\nbelieve, will be found to harmonize. On coming home this evening, I\nstepped into a bookseller's shop, and asked for the best work on the\ndivinity of Jesus Christ. I bought the one recommended, and here it\nis--_The Scripture Testimony to the Messiah_, by the Rev. Dr. J. P.\nSmith. Let us then postpone all further discussion on the subjects\nof our present inquiry, till we have carefully read Dr. Pye Smith's\nbook. When we have done this, we shall be better qualified to pursue\nour inquiries, and arrive at some satisfactory conclusion. There\nare three leading questions we have to attend to--_First_, What is\nthe testimony of the sacred writers as it relates to the person of\nJesus Christ?--is he a mere man, or does he unite in his person the\nDivine with the human nature? _Second_, What is the express purpose\nfor which he came into the world?--was it to teach the lessons of\nwisdom and of virtue, enforcing his instructions by the purity of\nhis example? or was it for the purpose of redeeming sinners from\nsome fatal danger? And, _third_, Are his sufferings expiatory--the\nmeritorious cause of human salvation? or must we look upon them as a\ncontingent evil, inseparably connected with his mysterious history?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Miss Macfarlane, \"these three questions will include\neverything we want definitively settled; and I hope the Spirit of\nwisdom from above will guide us in our researches, to understand\nwhat is revealed to us in the Bible. I will take, if you please,\nthe Doctor's second volume, which I see is an examination of the\nnarratives given to us by the evangelists.\"\n\n\"And I will go through his third volume, which gives us the\ntestimony of the apostles; and when we have done this, we will\nexamine together his first volume, which is a record of what the\nprophets predicted concerning him.\"\n\nThe absence of Mr. Macfarlane, Senr., for a few weeks, on his\nannual visit to a brother who resided in Yorkshire, gave them an\nopportunity of devoting their attention more uninterruptedly to the\nimportant inquiry in which they were now engaged. As they advanced,\nthey felt the evidence in confirmation of the divinity of Jesus\nChrist, and his vicarious death, gradually increasing in clearness\nand force, till they arrived at the full conviction that he was the\nSon of God, on an equality with his Father, though appearing on\nearth as the Son of man, and giving his life as a ransom to redeem\nthe guilty and worthless.\n\nThey now began to feel anxious in behalf of their father, who was\nliving in the rejection of the essential truths of the Scriptures,\nunder the delusive spell of Unitarian error. They, however, deemed\nit advisable to proceed with caution, lest he should peremptorily\nrefuse to have any discussion whatever on the subject. On the\nSabbath after his return, they excused themselves from going with\nhim to chapel, which astounded him; but he had too much respect for\nthe right of private judgment to attempt to impose any restraint. In\nthe evening, as they were conversing together, he said, \"Why did you\nleave the intelligent preaching of our learned minister, to hear the\nmysterious doctrines of Calvinism enforced? Have you been as much\npleased as you were with the excellent discourse we heard the Sunday\nbefore I left home?\"\n\n\"The discourse which we then heard,\" replied his son, \"we thought\nvery excellent; but we were so much struck with the remark of Dr.\nR----, that the felicities of heaven are reserved only for the\nvirtuous, that, on reflection, we could not agree with him; because\non such an hypothesis the vast majority in every age, and in every\ncountry, would be consigned over to a state of hopeless misery.\"\n\n\"And do you now think that any other but virtuous people will ever\nbe received into heaven?\"\n\n\"On searching the Scripture, which we have done with\ndiligence during your absence, we find that the ungodly--that\ntransgressors--that those who are enemies to God by wicked\nworks--that the children of disobedience--and that the chief of\nsinners, may be saved. This new view of the revelation of mercy,\nwhich is sanctioned by the current language of the Bible, appears to\nus more consistent with the benevolence of the Supreme Being, and\nmuch better adapted to the real character and condition of the great\nmass of mankind, than the statement of Dr. R----.\"\n\n\"By your permission, Papa,\" said Miss Macfarlane, \"I will read Dr.\nDoddridge's 'Paraphrase and Improvement of one of our Saviour's\nParables,' which I think is so excellent, and so much in point, that\nit will afford you as much pleasure as it has given me.\"\n\n\"I have no objection to your reading a quotation from Dr. Doddridge,\nbecause I have always considered him a moderate, as well as a very\nlearned man. I think he is mistaken in his views of some of the\nspeculative truths of revelation; but I like him as a practical\nwriter.\"\n\nThe parable is contained in the fifteenth chapter of the Gospel\nby Luke, and the paraphrase runs thus:--\"But [Jesus] for the\nencouragement of these few penitents, as well as to rebuke the\ncensorious and uncharitable Pharisees, spake to them this parable,\nand said, What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose\none of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine, that were feeding\ntogether in the pastures of the wilderness, and go from place\nto place in search after it, and having at length found it, he\nlayeth it on his shoulders, greatly rejoicing, as a man in such\ncircumstances naturally would? And when he cometh home, he calleth\ntogether his friends and neighbours, and says unto them with great\npleasure, My friends, you may now rejoice with me; for my labour\nand search have not been in vain, but I have found my sheep which\nwas lost. And as he thus is more delighted with the recovery of the\nsheep which he had lost, than with the safety of the rest, which\nhad not wandered, so I say unto you that greater and more sensible\njoy will be in heaven among the blessed and benevolent spirits that\ndwell there, over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety and\nnine just persons which need no repentance, or such a universal\nchange of mind and character.\n\n\"How graceful and lovely does our Lord appear, while thus opening\nhis compassionate arms and heart to those wretched outcasts, for\nwhose souls no man cared! Who can choose but rejoice at this jubilee\nwhich he proclaimed among them, and at the cheerful attention which\nthey gave to these glad tidings of great joy? May we who are his\nfollowers never despise the meanest, or the worst of men, when\nthey seem disposed to receive religious instruction, but rather\nexert ourselves with a distinguished zeal, as knowing that the joy\nof the heavenly world, in their recovery, will be in some measure\nproportionable to the extremity of their former danger.\n\n\"Let us often recollect the charity and goodness of these perfected\nspirits, who look down from their own glory with compassion on\nmortals wandering in the paths of the destroyer, and who sing\nanthems of thankfulness and joy, when by Divine grace they are\nreclaimed from them. Let every sinner be touched by a generous\ndesire that he who has been in so many instances the offender and\nburden of the earth, may become the joy of heaven by his sincere\nconversion.\"\n\n\"You know, my children,\" said old Mr. Macfarlane, \"that I have\nendeavoured to train you up in the paths of virtue, and to give you\nwhat I conceive correct views of religion; but if you on examination\nfeel dissatisfied with any opinions which I have inculcated, you\nought most certainly to renounce them. You have the same right to\nthink, and judge, and decide for yourselves, as I have; and I feel\ntoo much affection for you to throw on the path of your inquiry\nthe slightest shadow of opposition. I know you are virtuous; and\nif I see you happy, I shall be satisfied. You will proceed in your\ninquiries after truth with caution--weigh with the greatest nicety\nthe evidence which may be submitted to you; as many opinions, when\nthey first strike our attention, appear very specious and plausible,\nwhich will not endure the ordeal of a critical investigation. I\ncannot give you better advice than that which the apostle gave to\nthe believers of Thessalonica, 'Prove all things; hold fast that\nwhich is good.'\"\n\n\"To be candid, my dear father,\" said his son, \"the result of the\ninvestigation which we have been pursuing with close, and I may say\nprayerful, attention, is a firm belief in the supreme divinity of\nJesus Christ; and also in the reality and efficacy of the atonement\nhe made in behalf of sinners by his vicarious death.\"\n\n\"I certainly regret that you should adopt such a belief, which, I\nhave always told you, is a corruption of Christianity.\"\n\n\"No, father, it is a belief which owes its origin to the concurrent\ntestimony of the sacred writers. If the sacred writers, and if Jesus\nChrist himself had made no statements on this subject, the question\nof his divinity would never have been agitated, neither would the\nquestion of his atonement for the sins of the world. If, then, it\nbe an error, it is one for which they are responsible; they assert\nthe fact of his divinity so clearly, that I feel compelled to do\none of two things--either impeach their integrity, or admit his\ndivinity. To give you a specimen. The prophet Isaiah says, 'His name\nshall be called Wonderful, the MIGHTY GOD;' the apostle Paul says,\n'He was GOD MANIFEST IN THE FLESH;' and Jesus Christ himself, who\nknew who and what he was, asserts his EQUALITY with his Father,\nin _power_, in _knowledge_, and in his claims on the homage and\nlove of his disciples. Would the prophets and apostles have used\nthese expressions if they had been Unitarians believing in Christ's\nexclusive humanity?\"\n\n\"You must not form your judgment from a few isolated passages of the\nBible, which are susceptible of a different interpretation.\"\n\n\"I admit this; but, in the first place, Dr. Pye Smith, and other\nmen of learning, have proved, that the most correct interpretation\nof the passages I have now quoted, is the orthodox interpretation;\nhowever, waiving that debateable point, would any Unitarian, if left\nto express his own opinion of the person of Jesus Christ, employ\nterms which should allow any one fairly to infer that he is a Divine\nIncarnation?\"\n\n\"Why, no, I should think not.\"\n\n\"Then, why have the sacred writers done it? But to proceed: in the\nnext place--these isolated passages, dear father, are in exact\nharmony with the general statement of all the sacred writers. Surely\nwe cannot suppose that the very men who were employed as the agents\nof a Divine revelation, would be allowed to entrap us into the\ndouble crime of idolatry and blasphemy, by compelling any one who\nadmits their integrity, to bow down and do homage to Jesus Christ\nas to God. There is one fact in the history of our Saviour, which,\nin my opinion, may set at defiance the most ingenious and subtle\ncasuist that ever made an effort to subvert or mystify human belief.\nIn addressing his opponents, he adopted a style of speech which\nstirred up their wrath, and made them accuse him of blasphemy for\nmaking himself God, that is, by trying to make them believe he was\nGod. Now, father, I put this plain, common-sense question, Would\nany good man, especially one so good as Jesus Christ, when speaking\nof himself, employ expressions which should convey to others the\nidea that he was God in the form of man, to whom all men are to\npay homage, and on whom all who hope to be saved are to depend for\nsalvation and eternal life?\"\n\n\"There is a great deal of ambiguity in the language of the\nScripture, which, as the apostle Paul says, is hard to be\nunderstood.\"\n\n\"That I admit; but such an admission does not affect the question\nbefore us; which is this--Would any man of intelligence and virtue,\nwhen speaking of himself, use any expressions which should induce\npeople to believe that he was God? In fact, would not such an\nattempt, if made, as has happened occasionally in modern times, be\nconsidered a proof of insanity? The rejection of the divinity of\nJesus Christ would indeed reduce me to a very serious dilemma. In\nthe first place, I must impeach the integrity of the sacred writers,\nwhich would compel me to reject the entire system of revelation,\nas a gross imposition on human credulity; and, in the next place,\nI must look on Jesus Christ as an insane person, or a blasphemer.\nI see no alternative between universal scepticism and the devout\nreception of the doctrine of the divinity of Christ and his\natonement.\"\n\n\"I certainly should prefer what is called orthodoxy to universal\nscepticism; but I shall never be able to bring my mind to receive\nwhat I cannot comprehend; and this a believer in Christ's divinity\nand atonement is compelled to do.\"\n\n\"This, my dear father, is one of the delusive objections to the\northodox faith, under which we have too long taken refuge. Why, is\nnot a Unitarian compelled to believe what he cannot comprehend?\nFor example, do you not believe in the eternal existence of God--a\nglorious self-existing Being, who lives by the power of his own\nvolition, with whom there is no variableness neither shadow of\nturning?\"\n\n\"True; though I must confess it never struck me before. This\nstaggers me. Well, my dear children, our difference on points of\nspeculative belief will make no alteration in our mutual attachment;\nyou will remain, I have no doubt, pure and virtuous, as you always\nhave been; and I trust we shall together participate in the\nfelicities of heaven, when our earthly course is finished, even if\nwe should never, as we once did, believe exactly alike.\"\n\nIn the course of the following week, Miss Macfarlane received a\nvisit from Miss Reynolds, her pious friend already referred to, who\nwas not more astonished than delighted by seeing her at the chapel\nin ---- Street, on the preceding Sabbath. After a little desultory\nconversation, Miss Reynolds said, \"We were rather surprised to see\nyou and your brother at our chapel on Sabbath; but I hope we shall\nhave the pleasure of seeing you there again.\"\n\n\"Your surprise,\" replied Miss Macfarlane, \"is very natural. Yes, you\nwill see us again, as we have both decided to attend Mr. ---- in\nfuture. The system of Unitarianism, in which we have been educated,\nwe have discovered is delusive--a fatal perversion of the theory of\nrevealed truth; and though it may suit the virtuous part of society,\nwho have no perceptions of the evil of sin, yet, as it makes no\nprovision for the salvation of sinners, it cannot afford peace to a\nwounded conscience.\"\n\n\"And has my dear Eliza at length discovered that she is a sinner!\"\n\n\"I have not only discovered it, but I have felt it; and I still feel\nit. You know how I have repelled such a charge in time past; but I\ncan repel it no longer. My conscience bears testimony to its truth.\nI cannot accuse myself of having violated any of the laws of social\nlife, but I perceive that I have broken the law of God, and stand\nguilty in his sight.\"\n\n\"As this is a new discovery, will you tell me how you made it?\"\n\n\"The first circumstance which excited our attention was a very\nexcellent sermon, preached a short time since by Dr. R----, on\nthe felicity of heaven, which he said was reserved only for the\nvirtuous. When conversing together on the subject, in the evening\nof the Sabbath, my brother said to Papa, If the virtuous only can\nattain a state of felicity, what will become of the wicked, who\nwe know constitute the great bulk of society in every age and in\nevery country? As his reply gave us no satisfaction, we began\nto search the Scriptures, which soon convinced us that even the\nchief of sinners could be saved. The subject of inquiry appeared\nto us no less important than it was novel; it deeply engaged our\nattention, and we pursued it with intense application. Dr. Pye\nSmith's _Scripture Testimony to the Messiah_ settled our belief;\nand now we feel compelled to withdraw from all religious fellowship\nwith those who refuse to acknowledge the divinity of Jesus Christ.\nKnowing, from your testimony and that of others, that your excellent\npastor stands very high in public estimation, we decided on hearing\nhim, and I trust that the impression which his discourse made on our\nminds will never be effaced. He has given to us, if I may use such\nan expression, the clue of a clearer discovery on some important\nbranches of revealed truth; and now we can perceive beauties in\nthe sacred volume which lay concealed from our eye, and we can now\nunderstand many passages which had ever before appeared obscure and\ninexplicable. But at times I feel a depression of spirits which\nI cannot remove; yet it does not proceed from any regret at the\nstep we have taken, or any mistrust in the truthfulness of our new\nbelief, but from a keen sense of my personal unworthiness of the\nDivine favour.\"\n\n\"I am rejoiced, dear Eliza,\" replied Miss Reynolds, \"to hear you\nutter such sentiments. God is dealing graciously with your soul.\nHe wounds to heal. He has convinced you of the evil of sin, and\nunveiled before you that abyss of danger, to which you were exposed,\nso as to prepare you for the manifestations of his favour, beaming\non you through the mediation of the Lord Jesus Christ.\"\n\n\"But I fear that the Saviour will not look on me with an eye of\npity, as I have so often insulted him by denying his divinity, and\nthe efficacy of his death as an expiation for human guilt. I am\nnow astonished how I could reject doctrines which are so plainly\nrevealed in the Bible; and sometimes the guilt of my conduct appears\nso great, that I am more disposed to despair of mercy than to\ncherish the hope of obtaining it.\"\n\n\"If you still persisted in denying his divinity, and rejecting the\natonement which he has made for sin, you might despair of mercy; but\nif you admit these essential doctrines of the Christian scheme of\nsalvation, you may plead the promises of grace with confidence. The\nRedeemer will execute judgment in the last day upon ungodly sinners\nfor all the hard speeches which they have spoken against him, if\nthey die in a state of confirmed impenitence; but if they repent\nof their evil deeds and hard speeches, he will, as a faithful and\nmerciful High Priest, have compassion on them, will intercede for\nthem, and will save them.\"\n\n\"I now receive these doctrines as essential parts of the system of\nrevealed truth; but yet I sometimes feel a recurrence of my former\nprejudices against them, which causes me unutterable distress. When\npleading the atonement as the foundation of my acceptance with God,\nI am tempted to mistrust its efficacy; and when my heart begins to\nglow with warm affection for the Redeemer, it is suddenly chilled\nand suppressed by the influence of early opinions and associations.\nThey have taken such a firm hold of my imagination, that I cannot\ndisengage myself from them; and I fear they will always continue to\nperplex and depress me.\"\n\n\"That does not surprise me. It is no easy thing for the human mind\nto disengage itself from the influence of early opinions, even\nafter they have been renounced; but the Lord has laid help upon One\nwho is mighty, and whose grace will be found sufficient for you.\nI would advise you to read the Scriptures with close and devout\nattention; but your greatest dependence for deliverance from your\nearly associations should be placed on prayer. For the judgment may\nbe convinced of the truth by a logical process of investigation and\nreasoning, even while the heart is unimpressed by it; God having\nreserved to himself the power of making the truth effectual to the\nsalvation of them that believe, which power he exercises in answer\nto prayer. The language of the psalmist is very applicable to the\npresent state of your mind--'Unto thee, O Lord, do I lift up my\nsoul. Shew me thy ways, O Lord; teach me thy paths. Lead me in thy\ntruth, and teach me: for thou art the God of my salvation; on thee\ndo I wait all the day. Remember, O Lord, thy tender mercies, and thy\nloving-kindnesses: for they have been ever of old. Remember not the\nsins of my youth, nor my transgressions: according to thy mercy\nremember thou me, for thy goodness' sake, O Lord.'\n\n\"There is one part of the system of revealed truth,\" continued Miss\nReynolds, \"which has not yet engaged your attention, and as it is\none of vital importance, I cannot avoid alluding to it. The part to\nwhich I now refer, is the agency of the Divine Spirit, by which we\nbecome strengthened in our inner man, to receive the truth in the\nlove of it, and to discharge the high and sacred obligations which\ndevolve on us. By your permission, I will read to you an extract\nfrom a book which I happen to have brought with me:[19]--\n\n\"'As we are indebted to the Spirit for the first formation of the\ndivine life, so it is He who alone can maintain it, and render it\nstrong and vigorous. It is his office to actuate the habits of grace\nwhere they are already planted; to hold our souls in life, and to\n'strengthen us, that we may walk up and down in the name of the\nLord.' It is his office to present the mysteries of salvation; the\ntruths which relate to the mediation of Christ and the riches of his\ngrace, in so penetrating and transforming a manner, as to render\nthem vital operating principles, the food and the solace of our\nspirits. Without his agency, however intrinsically excellent, they\nwill be to us mere dead speculation--an inert mass: it is only when\nthey are animated by his breath, that they become spirit and life.\n\n\"'It is his office to afford that anointing by which we may know\nall things; by a light which is not merely directive to the\nunderstanding, but which so shines upon the heart, as to give a\nrelish of the sweetness of Divine truth, and effectually produce\na compliance with its dictates. It belongs to him 'to seal us to\nthe day of redemption,' to put that mark and character upon us,\nwhich distinguishes the children of God, as well as to afford a\nforetaste, as an earnest of the future inheritance. 'And hereby,'\nsaith an apostle, 'we know that we are of God, by the Spirit which\nhe hath given us.' It is his office to subdue the corruption of our\nnature, not by leaving us inactive spectators of the combat, but by\nengaging us to a determined resistance to every sinful propensity,\nby teaching our hands to war, and our fingers to fight, so that the\nvictory shall be ours, and the praise his. It is his office also to\nhelp the infirmities of saints, who know not what to pray for as\nthey ought, by making intercession for them 'with groanings which\ncannot be uttered.' He kindles their desires, gives them a glimpse\nof the fulness of God, that all-comprehending good; and by exciting\na relish of the beauties of holiness, and the ineffable pleasure\nwhich springs from nearness to God, disposes them to the fervent and\neffectual prayer which availeth much. In short, as Christ is the\nway to the Father; so it is equally certain, that the Spirit is the\nfountain of all the light and strength which enable us to walk in\nthat way.'\"\n\n\"I assure you, my dear Matilda, both my brother and myself feel\ndevoutly thankful to the God of all grace, for rescuing us from the\nfatal delusion of Unitarianism, which we conscientiously renounce\nas an anti-scriptural system, no less derogatory to the honour of\nGod, than inapplicable to the moral condition of man--a system\nwhich flatters the pride of the heart, but which makes no provision\nfor the relief of a wounded conscience; and which, by placing the\nhope of final blessedness on the attainment of personal virtue,\nsupersedes the necessity of the Saviour's death and mediation, which\nconstitute the most prominent and essential parts of the grand\nscheme of redemption.\"\n\n  [19] See a _Treatise on the Work of the Holy Spirit_, by the\n  celebrated Robert Hall, of Leicester.\n\nAfter the lapse of a few months, Mr. and Miss Macfarlane were\nadmitted as members into the chapel in ---- Street, of which the\nRev. Mr. ---- was pastor. They were received into communion amongst\ntheir Christian brethren, with the utmost degree of cordiality\nand affection, and are still living, the faithful witnesses of\nthe truth as it is in Jesus. They had many virtues adorning their\ncharacter when they were called Unitarians, but now they carry\ntheir virtue to a greater height, by deriving their motives for\nits practice from the authority of God, rather than the praise of\nman. While, therefore, they feel it to be their duty still to add\nto their \"virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge, temperance; and to\ntemperance, patience; and to patience, godliness; and to godliness,\nbrotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, charity;\" they are\nfully conscious of their innumerable defects, and wait in humble\nexpectation of eternal life, not as a reward for their good deeds,\nbut as a sovereign and unmerited favour.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PATH OF TRUTH FORSAKEN.\n\n\nIf all who make a public profession of religion remained faithful\nunto death, we should be led to form such a high opinion of the\nsteadfastness of the Christian character, that we should never\ndread any change of feeling or of principle. But, alas! who has\nnot seen the most ardent zeal grow cold--the most fervent devotion\ndegenerate into a lifeless formality--and the most spotless\nintegrity become corrupted by the maxims of the world? Who has\nnot seen the most eager stopping short in their course; and some,\nwho once bade fair to occupy stations of honour and usefulness in\nthe church, break away, either suddenly or gradually, from all\ntheir religious connections, to mingle again with the workers of\niniquity, and place themselves in the seat of the scorner? What more\nmelancholy sight than this can be presented to the real Christian?\nand how can he sufficiently deplore such a calamity? In plaintive\naccents he often says, \"O that my head were waters, and mine eyes\na fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain\nof the daughter of my people!\" But there are circumstances which\nsometimes render this melancholy occurrence peculiarly affecting.\nIf the renegade from the faith be a near relative, or an intimate\nfriend--one with whom we have taken sweet counsel, and walked to the\nhouse of God in company--one who rejoiced over us \"when first we\nknew the Lord\"--who poured the soothing words of consolation into\nour minds when we first felt the deep convictions of guilt--who\nwas our guide and counsellor--and whom we loved with an ardent and\ntender affection--how much more intense is the pain of such an\ninfliction; and how applicable that noble passage of Robert Hall to\nsuch an event:--\"Where shall we find tears fit to be wept at such\na spectacle? or, could we realize the calamity in all its extent,\nwhat tokens of our compassion and concern would be deemed equal to\nthe occasion? Would it suffice for the sun to veil his light, and\nthe moon her brightness, to cover the ocean with mourning, and the\nheavens with sackcloth? Or were the whole fabric of nature to become\nanimated and vocal, would it be possible for her to utter a groan\ntoo deep, or a cry too piercing, to express the magnitude and extent\nof such a catastrophe?\"\n\nIn the previous chapter I have described the influence of truth\nprevailing over long-cherished feelings and deeply-rooted\nprejudices, and the substitution of correct evangelical views for\nthe erroneous tenets of Unitarianism. The history I am now about\nto record is of a different description, and presents a melancholy\ncontrast to the former, exhibiting the abandonment of the faith\nafter a fair and apparently sincere profession, and teaching us the\nnecessity of constant labour and watchfulness, if we wish \"to make\nour calling and election sure.\"\n\nHenry Beaufoy was the only son of poor but respectable parents, who\nresided in the beautiful village of Brookcombe in Devonshire. This\nvillage remained for a long series of years in a state of spiritual\ndarkness, till it was visited by some of the local preachers of the\nMethodist Connexion. At first, when they declared the glad tidings\nof salvation amongst the people, they were insulted and reproached;\nand the few who received them became a by-word and a proverb\namongst their ignorant and bigoted neighbours. But regardless of\nall opposition--bearing patiently every species of reviling--and\ndemonstrating by their gentleness of spirit, that they knew how to\nreturn good for evil, they ultimately succeeded in subduing the\nprejudices of ignorance and the violence of bigotry, and established\na flourishing society.\n\nIt happened here, as in many other places where the introduction\nof the gospel has been opposed, that some of the chief of the\nopponents were the first to feel its renovating power. Among this\nnumber the parents of Henry Beaufoy held a distinguished station.\nAt first they, in common with many others, entertained strong\nprejudices against the preachers, and endeavoured to persuade others\nfrom attending their ministry; but at length their curiosity was\nawakened, and they went to the chapel. They listened--the word\ncame with power--they felt the deepest contrition for their past\nsins, especially their sin of opposing and ridiculing the gospel\nof Christ; and eventually became no less distinguished for their\nattachment, than they had been for their enmity to the faith. Their\nson Henry was about twelve years of age, when this moral change\ntook place in his parents, and though he felt somewhat surprised at\nthe suddenness of the transition from the most determined hostility\nagainst the Methodists (as they were reproachfully termed), to the\nmost cordial attachment, yet he was too young and too thoughtless to\nexamine into the causes of it. He generally accompanied them to the\nlittle chapel, which was erected under the brow of a hill; and as\nhe was fond of music, and had a fine voice, he assisted in leading\nthe psalmody of the congregation. No material change, however,\ntook place in him, till after he had attained his eighteenth year;\nwhen, being on a visit to Plymouth, he went to hear the Rev. Samuel\nBradburn, who was one of the most celebrated and one of the most\nuseful ministers of his day. The text from which he preached on that\noccasion was selected from Heb. iv. 12--\"For the word of God is\nquick and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing\neven to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints\nand marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the\nheart.\" Young Beaufoy was struck with the colloquial simplicity\nof his style of address, no less than by the force of his\nargumentative reasoning; but when he directed his bold and masterly\nappeals to the consciences of his hearers, his heart was deeply\nwounded, and, like the Philippian jailor, he could not refrain from\nsaying, \"What shall I do to be saved?\" On his return home, the\nunusual gravity of his manners, his more frequent attendance at the\nvillage chapel, his habit of reading the Bible, and of retirement\nfor the purposes of devotion, led his parents to indulge the hope\nthat their Henry was become a new creature in Christ Jesus, and\nafter the lapse of a few weeks, they had the satisfaction of hearing\nan account of his conversion from his own lips.\n\nIf it be possible to excite in the soul of a pious parent a feeling\nof joy approximating to the pure unmingled bliss of the heavenly\nworld, it is when his child comes to him to state the fact, and\ndetail the manner, of the great spiritual change which has taken\nplace in his heart. It is then that the prayers of the godly father\nare turned into praises--that the deep and tender anxieties of the\nvirtuous mother begin to cease, as they then can recognize in their\nson or daughter, a fellow-heir of the grace of life, with whom they\nexpect to live for ever and ever.\n\nIt was about this period that I first became acquainted with the\nBeaufoy family. I had gone to Devonshire for change of air for a few\nweeks, and took up my abode in the village of Brookcombe, where I\nlodged in the house of the father and mother of young Beaufoy. I was\nmuch pleased both with them and their son, the latter of whom used\nfrequently to accompany me on my excursions into the surrounding\ncountry. On these occasions we used to have long conversations\ntogether, in which he displayed an intelligence far above what\nmight have been expected from his position in life, and this,\njoined to his amiable temper and pleasing manners, led me to take\na great interest in him. On leaving Brookcombe, I suggested that\nhe should occasionally write to me--a proposal which he received\nwith much satisfaction, and we maintained for a number of years a\nclose correspondence. Shortly after parting with him, however, an\nevent occurred which materially changed his prospects in life. The\nsame intelligence and amiable qualities which had won my heart,\nrecommended him to the notice of a wealthy citizen of London, who\ncame to visit his patrimonial estate in the neighbourhood, and he\ngave him the offer of a lucrative situation in his employment. The\noffer was accepted, and he prepared to leave the scenes of his\nyouth. His pious mother, who dreaded the temptations of London\nas much as she would have dreaded the plague, said to him on his\ndeparture, \"My Henry, I am sorry you are going to leave us. I\nwish you could have remained amongst us, and continued the solace\nand comfort of your father and myself. But when you are far away,\nexposed to the snares and dangers of the great city, I shall have no\nsleep at night, for I shall lie awake to pray for you; and I shall\nhave no peace by day, for I shall be always trembling for you, my\nchild.\"\n\n\"Oh! mother,\" said Henry, whose heart was full of the thought of\nparting, and whose fortitude began to fail at the sight of his\nmother's tears, \"do not weep. God can keep me from the temptations\nof the city as well as the temptations of the village; and I have no\ndoubt but I shall escape them. I'll come and see you once a-year,\nand then we will rejoice together.\"\n\n\"But how can I endure the thought of looking on you, my child, only\nonce in the year, on whom I have gazed these one and twenty years\nwith so much delight! My eyes will be dim with sorrow before the\nfirst year is up.\"\n\n\"But I will write, mother, once a-month.\"\n\n\"But letters can't speak as I have heard you talk for nearly twenty\nyears. I wish the gentleman had never come amongst us. He has broken\ndown the fence of our union, and taken away the first-fruits of our\nwedded happiness, and what have we left to make up for our loss? But\nI know I must be resigned--yet I have not Abraham's faith. The Lord\nbless you, and keep you, and bring you back to your father's house\nin peace, that we may bless you before we die.\"\n\nHenry set off in company with the gentleman who had taken him\nunder his patronage, and though he felt the pang of separation to\nbe violent, yet he bore it with firmness, and, turning away his\nthoughts from the scene of grief which he had just left, he began to\namuse himself with the varied objects which presented themselves to\nhim in the course of this his first journey to the metropolis.\n\nOn arriving in London, he took lodgings in the City Road, in\nthe house of Mr. Jordan, whom the reader will remember as the\nworthy landlord of Mr. Lewellin.[20] This was shortly after the\nreturn of the latter from the country, on recovering from the\ndangerous illness which had produced so important a change in\nhis moral character. From residing together in the same house, a\nclose intimacy sprang up between Mr. Lewellin and young Beaufoy,\nwhich was much strengthened by the similarity of their religious\nsentiments. Though belonging to different evangelical bodies, they,\nnevertheless, zealously co-operated together in the advancement of\nall the various schemes instituted by Christian benevolence, for the\npromotion of the spiritual and temporal happiness of our fellow-men.\nMr. Beaufoy, who had received his first religious impressions\namongst the Wesleyan Methodists, and imbibed all their peculiar\nopinions, very naturally chose to attend their chapel. They received\nhim with their usual kindness, and for several years he grew in\ntheir esteem and confidence, as a young man of superior intelligence\nand decided piety. For a considerable time I both corresponded with\nyoung Beaufoy, and also, on one or two occasions, when in London,\nI called on him, and invariably met with the warmest reception. I\nfrequently held conversations with him on the subject of religion,\nand from the deep interest which he seemed to take in the subject,\nI believed that he had indeed become a decided Christian. But how\ndeceitful sometimes are appearances, and how cautious ought we to\nbe in forming conclusions from mere external circumstances, however\nfair the prospect may be which they present!\n\n  [20] Vol. i. page 12.\n\nHenry Beaufoy possessed a mind admirably qualified for business,\nand his abilities, in this respect, enabled him to make rapid\nprogress in the counting-house of his employer, where he soon\nfilled a lucrative and responsible situation. About five years\nafter his first arrival in the metropolis, he married a young lady\noccupying a good position in society, but who made no decided\nprofession of religion. She attended the chapel because she had been\naccustomed to do so from her earliest childhood, and felt attached\nto the people amongst whom her parents lived and died; but she had\nno clear perceptions of the nature or design of the gospel, nor\nhad she ever felt its enlightening or renovating power. She was\nhandsome, amiable, and intelligent, but she did not possess _the\none thing needful_; and though her habits and associations were of\na religious nature, yet being destitute of its pure and heavenly\nspirit, she became a snare to her husband, by drawing off his mind,\nby imperceptible degrees, from things that are unseen and eternal,\nto those that were visible and temporal.\n\nMr. Beaufoy's income was, as already mentioned, considerable, which,\ntogether with the fortune he had with his wife, enabled him to live\nin a style far above his early expectations; but he had too much\ngood sense to involve himself in debt, and too much regard for his\nparents to allow them to be in difficulties, while he had abundance.\nHe often used to say, when in his native village, \"I covet wealth\nthat I may enjoy the luxury of doing good;\" and when Providence\ngranted him his desire, he partook of this source of gratification\nto a very large extent. His regular remittances to his parents\nexceeded their wishes; while his liberality to the poor, and every\nreligious institution with which he stood connected, raised him high\nin the esteem of his Christian brethren. But, alas! his spirituality\ndid not keep pace with his prosperity; nor did the fervour of his\ndevotional spirit equal the degree of his diligence in business.\n\nIn compliance with custom, he spent the first few weeks after his\nmarriage amidst scenes of gaiety and pleasure--in receiving and\nreturning the visits of his friends and associates; and though he\nfound an apology for this course of life in the example of others,\nyet he felt it to be injurious to the religious tone of his mind,\nand longed to return to his more settled religious habits. Had Mrs.\nBeaufoy possessed a similar spirit, this incursion into the land of\nthe enemy would not have been productive of any essential injury;\nbut as she was now treading on her native soil, and moving in an\nelement congenial to her taste, she succeeded in estranging her\nhusband from the simplicity of a religious life, and induced him\nto adopt the habits of the men of the world. The prayer-meeting,\nin which his voice had often been heard, leading the devotion\nof others, was now deserted for dinner and evening parties. The\nsacredness of religious conversation with those who loved and feared\nthe Lord, was exchanged for the vain and trifling conversation of\nthe votaries of fashion; and though on the Sabbath-day he was seen\nin his pew, yet the marked seriousness and peaceful serenity of his\ncountenance was supplanted by the knitted brow, or the listless\nand inattentive air. The society of his former religious friends,\nincluding Mr. Lewellin, now became less agreeable to him than that\nof some gay worldlings, into whose company he was frequently thrown.\nHis letters to myself also were shorter and more reserved; but I\nwas still far from suspecting the dangerous nature of the career on\nwhich he was now entering. Thus while retaining a name and a place\namongst the members of the church, he was rapidly receding from the\npurity and fervour of the Christian spirit.\n\nOne of the earliest symptoms of apostasy from the pure faith of\nChrist, is a fastidiousness of hearing, which few preachers can\nplease. The truth as it is in Jesus is tolerated on account of the\nform or the manner in which it is presented; and the messenger is\nadmired more than the message which he delivers. Though we would not\ncondemn a predilection for the more graceful and the more eloquent\nappeals of the pulpit, nor insinuate that a correct taste is a\n_prima facie_ evidence of a heart in a state of departure from God,\nyet it requires no lengthened argument to prove that when the truths\nof the gospel are not loved and received for their own sake, and on\naccount of their beneficial tendency, it is a decisive proof that\nthe tone of the mind is injured; and that, notwithstanding the\noutward appearance of devotion which may be kept up by a professor,\nhe is not walking in the fear of the Lord, nor in the comfort of\nthe Holy Ghost. He may have his favourite preachers; but if the\ntruth which they preach is not esteemed when it is delivered by men\nequally zealous, and equally devoted to God, though not equally\ngifted, we are supplied with a melancholy symptom of his being in a\nbacksliding state. It was this spirit of preference for the learning\nof Paul--for the eloquence of Apollos--and for the peculiar charms\nof Cephas, amongst the members of the church of Corinth, that the\napostle regards as an evidence of their indifference to Christ; and\nwhich he adduces as a proof that a corrupt leaven was then working\namongst them. \"For while one saith, I am of Paul; and another, I\nam of Apollos,\" is it not a convincing proof, that the speaker is\nmore delighted with the correctness of the language which a preacher\nemploys, than the purity of the doctrines which he preaches?\n\nMr. Beaufoy, on his settlement in London, gave a decided preference\nto the most evangelical and the most experimental preachers in his\nConnexion; but now he began to admire the most fanciful and the\nmost florid, to whom he listened as an amateur does to a piece of\nmusic--more for the gratification of his taste than the spiritual\nimprovement of his mind; and as he could not always hear them, he\nbegan to absent himself from the chapel when they were not expected.\nHis habit of attendance at length became so irregular, that some\nof his Christian brethren, who had watched with great anxiety\nthe progress of his defection, felt it their duty to have him\nadmonished; and they deputed an aged elder, in whom dwelt the spirit\nof wisdom and of grace, to visit him.\n\nThe manner in which reproof is received often developes the\nreal temper and disposition of the mind, and supplies us with\na good criterion to form a correct judgment of character. \"Let\nthe righteous smite me,\" said the Psalmist, when reviewing the\nimperfections of his conduct, \"it shall be a kindness; and let him\nreprove me, it shall be an excellent oil, which shall not break my\nhead.\" And it is by the kind admonitions and the gentle reproofs\nthat we timely receive from those of our friends who watch over\nus, that we are often indebted, under the Divine blessing, for our\nspiritual prosperity, and to which we may trace our recovery from\nthat state of religious declension, to which we are so fatally prone.\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Mr. Beaufoy to his venerable friend, in whose company\nhe had formerly passed many a pleasant hour, \"I think I am at\nliberty to attend where and when I please, without being subject to\nthe inquisitorial interference of others. And though you are pleased\nto say, that my late conduct has given my best friends reason to\nfear that I am not so spiritual as when they first knew me, yet you\nwill permit me to say that I am the best judge on that subject.\"\n\n\"You certainly,\" replied the venerable elder, \"are at liberty to\ngo where you please; but I hope you will not go away from Him who\n'hath the words of eternal life;' and are at liberty to go when you\nplease; but do not forget the Divine injunction which commands us\nto 'consider one another, to provoke unto love and to good works;\nnot forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of\nsome is.'\"\n\n\"I hope I shall not, Sir; but I must be permitted to consult my own\ntaste in the choice of the preachers on whose ministry I attend,\nwithout being censured for any decrease in the spirituality of my\nmind. If I do not talk quite so much on religious subjects as I\nonce did, that is no proof that I feel less; as we become reserved\non these high and awful considerations in proportion as we are\nimpressed by them.\"\n\n\"The Psalmist says,\" replied the elder, \"'While I was musing the\nfire burned; then spake I with my tongue.' I know you are displeased\nwith me, my brother, for the language which I have addressed to you;\nand I assure you, that your displeasure gives me greater sorrow than\nthe cause of my visit, inasmuch as it convinces me that your heart\nis not right with God. I have but a few years to live, and perhaps\nonly a few hours; and as I may not live to repeat a visit which\nis as unacceptable to you as it is painful to myself, I cannot\nleave you without giving you and Mrs. Beaufoy a message from the\nLord--'Take heed, lest there be in you an evil heart of unbelief, in\ndeparting from the living God.'\"\n\n\"I have no doubt, Sir, but your motives are good, and that you deem\nthe solemn admonition of the apostle necessary; but you will permit\nus to form our own judgment on the propriety of its application.\"\n\nThe venerable elder then arose, took his young brother by the hand,\nand wept; and after struggling for some moments to subdue the\nfeelings which were agitating his breast, he said, \"My brother, I\nfear that you have departed from the Lord, and that his Spirit has\ndeparted from you; but let us kneel together at the throne of grace,\nas we used to kneel when the light of his countenance shone upon\nyou, and pray for its return.\" He then knelt down, and offered up\na solemn and affecting prayer, which bespoke the fidelity of his\naffection for his erring brother. When he arose, he received the\ncold thanks of courtesy for his labour of love, and retired under a\nstrong presentiment that he should see his fellow-member's face no\nmore. And so it proved; for his feeble frame had received a shock\nthat evening from which he had not strength to recover. He hastened\nhome as fast as his tottering limbs would carry him--partook of\nhis frugal meal--read the twenty-third Psalm, and, in company with\nhis pious housekeeper (for he had buried his wife about six weeks\nbefore this affliction came upon him), he knelt down, and closed the\ntoils of the day in the hallowed exercise of communion with God.\nOne petition he presented which he had never been heard to utter\nbefore--\"And if, Lord, it should please thee to call thy servant\nthis night, I thank thee that I am at last enabled to adopt the\nlanguage of Simeon--'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in\npeace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.'\" This petition was\nexpressed with an energy of voice which indicated the animation of\na mind feeling its near approach to the prize of its high calling\nof God in Christ Jesus. He retired to bed at his usual hour, but he\nwas restless and feverish; and about midnight he rang the bell. His\nhousekeeper entered his room, and on drawing aside the curtain of\nhis bed, heard him say,\n\n  \"O! the pain, the bliss of dying.\"\n\nHe requested her to fetch his pious medical friend, who speedily\narrived, but it was only to confirm his old servant's worst fears.\nThe dying elder now related to the doctor, as a member of the same\nchurch with himself, the particulars of his visit to Mr. Beaufoy. \"I\nknow,\" he said, \"I am dying, and that in a very few hours I shall\nsee the King in his beauty; but death hath lost its sting, and I\nhave lost my fears. I have long waited for my salvation, and now it\nis come. I die in full and certain hope of a joyful resurrection\nto eternal life. Give my dying love to my dear wandering brother,\nand tell him that the language of the prophet is so impressed on my\nmind, that I cannot leave the body without expressing a desire that\nhe will meditate on it. 'Thine own wickedness shall correct thee,\nand thy backsliding shall reprove thee; know, therefore, and see,\nthat it is an evil thing and bitter that thou hast forsaken the Lord\nthy God, and that my fear is not in thee, saith the Lord God of\nhosts.'\" He now gently waved his hand as he repeated the triumphant\nlanguage of the apostle:--\"O death, where is thy sting? O grave,\nwhere is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength\nof sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory\nthrough our Lord Jesus Christ;\" and reclining on the bosom of his\nfriend, he had one strong convulsive struggle, and then expired with\na smile settled on his venerable countenance.\n\nThe sudden death of this devout elder, who had been for more than\nfifty years an ornament to his Christian profession, produced a\npowerful sensation through the whole Society; and many attended his\nfuneral as an expression of the esteem and veneration in which they\nheld his character. Deep and heartfelt was the sorrow expressed on\nthe countenance of the assembled throng on that occasion, and every\none seemed to mourn as though he had lost a father or a brother.\nOn the following Sabbath, his funeral sermon was preached in the\nchapel by the Rev. Mr. R----, from the words, \"The hoary head is\na crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness\"\n(Prov. xvi. 31). After a correct delineation of the character of\nthe deceased, he described the closing scene of his life. \"He\nwas,\" said the preacher, \"not only a good, but a devout man, and\npre-eminently endowed by the God of all grace, with a double portion\nof the spirit of wisdom and understanding. Tremblingly alive for\nthe honour of his Master's cause, he would often weep when it was\nendangered by the inconsistent conduct of its professed friends;\nand it was to an extraordinary excitement occasioned by a visit of\nmercy to a fellow-member, that we may ascribe his sudden decease.\nHis tender and sympathetic spirit yearning over the object of its\nsolicitude, was thrown into an agitation from which his feeble frame\nnever recovered. Having finished the work assigned him, he sunk\nbeneath the weight of his own grief, but not till he had assured\nhis mourning friends that he died in full and certain hope of a\njoyful resurrection to eternal life. Be ye followers of him, who\nthrough faith and patience is now inheriting the promises; and be\non your guard, lest, in departing from the living God, you should\nbring down the gray hairs of some venerable elder with sorrow to\nhis grave, whose love may impel him to manifest a care for your\nsoul.\" Mr. Beaufoy heard this discourse, but it was evident by his\nrestlessness, and the indignant look which he cast towards the\npreacher, that his pride was mortified, by the allusions which were\nmade to him.\n\nFidelity on the part of a minister is essential, not only to his\nhappiness, but his usefulness; yet when he permits his feelings to\noverpower the dictates of prudence, he is in danger of frustrating\nthe design he wishes to accomplish. He should declare the word of\nlife without fear; but in administering reproof, he should never be\nso personal in his remarks or allusions, as to turn the eyes of an\naudience on the individual who may deserve it. By the adoption of\nsuch a course no one would feel secure from attack, when he comes to\nhear the message of grace; nor is it likely that the offender will\nbe reclaimed from the error of his way, when he finds himself made\na spectacle of reproach in the presence of his brethren. Instead of\nrelenting, he will be hardened; and may be induced to abandon the\nplace which the angel of mercy visits with his healing power, rather\nthan remain to receive instruction and reproof. A minister should\nalways combine the wisdom of the serpent with the harmlessness of\nthe dove; and while he desires to be faithful in the pulpit, he\nshould be solicitous to guard against all appearance of personality.\n\nWhen the power of vital religion is declining in its influence over\nthe mind of a professor, and he begins to cherish feelings and adopt\nhabits which are opposed to the purity of his avowed principles,\nhe will not be able to endure the close appeals of the pulpit.\nPrudence will often keep him from making any complaints against the\ngeneral fidelity of the ministry, even while his heart is writhing\nunder it; and his habits of intimacy with his Christian brethren\nwill sometimes prevent him from leaving a society with which he\nhas formed a close and a sacred union; but when the principle of\napostasy has gained ascendency over his conscience, and he begins to\ntreat the friendly remonstrances and admonitions with contempt, he\nwill soon discover some justifiable cause of offence, and retire in\ndisgust, if not in wrath.\n\nThus it was with Mr. Beaufoy. Stung to the quick by the allusions\nwhich the preacher made to the visit of the venerable elder, and\nthe supposed cause of his sudden death, he left the chapel in the\ngreatest indignation; and the following morning, he sent his arrears\nof subscription to the managers, requesting, at the same time, that\nthey would consider him as no longer a member of their church.\n\nOn being informed of her husband's abandoning his connection with\nthe Wesleyans, Mrs. Beaufoy was rather pleased than disappointed,\nas she hoped she would now have greater scope for sharing in the\namusements of the gay world. Both thought it right, however, still\nto attend some place of worship, and thus keep up the appearance\nof respect for the public services of religion. Where to go, was\na question which they could not easily determine; but as some of\ntheir friends, whose acquaintance they had lately made, attended a\nSocinian meeting in E---- Street, they resolved to go there on the\nfollowing Sabbath. This sudden transition, from the fervid devotion\nof Methodism, to the frigid apathy of Socinianism, produced no\nunpleasant impressions on the mind of his wife, but Mr. Beaufoy was\nnot quite prepared for it. His heart was become hardened through\nthe deceitfulness of sin, yet he still believed in the essential\ndoctrines of Christianity, which retained their dominion over him,\nthough they had lost their original power of impression. They\nwere both struck with the gracefulness of the preacher's manner,\nand admired his elocution; but Mr. Beaufoy could not renounce\nthe divinity, or the atonement of Christ, nor could he regard\nthe doctrine of regeneration as a corruption of the gospel. Mrs.\nBeaufoy thought that every modification of Christianity was equally\nacceptable to God, but Mr. Beaufoy was capable of distinguishing\ntruth from error; and while she adopted for her creed the poet's\nstanza,\n\n    \"For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight;\n     His can't be wrong, whose life is in the right,\"\n\nhe was convinced that no man ought to be considered a Christian, who\nrejected the leading doctrines of revelation.\n\nAt length, when expressing his abhorrence of some of the daring\ncharges which he heard advanced against the orthodox faith, and\nwhich he considered as tending to universal scepticism, she replied,\n\"Well, my dear, you can very easily retain your own opinions, and\nyet attend on Mr. B----'s ministry, because he cannot force you\nto believe against the dictates of your own judgment, and if you\nsometimes hear them controverted, that circumstance ought not to\ndisquiet you. As your belief is founded on evidence, and matured by\ndeep reflection, you are in no danger of being carried about with\nevery wind of doctrine, but may fairly calculate on your ability\nto hold it fast, amidst all the efforts which may be employed\nto destroy or disturb it.\" \"Very true,\" he replied, \"I like the\nmorals of Socinianism better than the doctrines. Well it shall be\nso;\"--and so it was. They took their pew, and occupied it; and as\nthe only restraint which had kept them for a long time from a more\nextended course of gaiety was now removed, they began to walk more\nopenly in the ways of their own heart, and in the sight of their\nown eyes. Hitherto they had kept up some semblance of religion,\nbut now they began to conform to the customs of the world, and to\navail themselves of the various sources of gratification which its\npleasures and amusements afford. Family-prayer, the last vestige of\ntheir former habits of devotion, was now entirely neglected. The\nBible, which they once revered as their guide to everlasting life,\nwas thrown aside; and though Mr. Beaufoy could not forget that he\nhad been a religious man, yet he wished others to believe that now\nhe was a more happy one.\n\nIt has been very justly observed, that when we begin to think\nlightly of error we are in great danger of being corrupted by it;\nand the experience of all ages proves, that if a professor hold\nthe truth in unrighteousness, he is ultimately given up to believe\na lie. That there have been many departures from evangelical\nprinciples in modern times no one will presume to deny; but if they\nwere closely examined, it would be found that they were preceded\nby a neglect of private prayer, watchfulness, self-diffidence, and\nwalking humbly with God; and every one may perceive that they are\nfollowed with similar effects. It has been acknowledged by some\nwho have embraced the Socinian system, that since they entertained\nthose views they have lost even the gift of prayer. Perhaps they\nmight draw up and read an _address to the Deity_; but they could\nnot pray. Where the principles of the gospel are abandoned, the\nspirit of prayer and all communion with God will likewise depart.\nThe confession of Peter, that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God,\nis thought to be that which our Lord denominates the rock on which\nhe would build his church. We are sure that the belief of this\narticle of faith was required as a test of Christianity; and who\ncan look into the Christian world with attention, and not perceive\nthat it still continues the key-stone of the building? If this\ngive way, the fabric falls. Relapses of this nature are infinitely\ndangerous. He that declines in holy practice has to labour against\nthe remonstrances of conscience; but he that brings himself to think\nlightly of sin, and meanly of the Saviour (which is what every\nfalse system of religion teaches), has gone far towards silencing\nthe accusations of this unpleasant monitor. He is upon good terms\nwith himself. The disorder of his soul is deep, but it is of a\nflattering nature. The declension of serious religion in him is no\nless apparent to others than the physical decay of the body in a\nconsumption, where in each case the party himself frequently has no\nsuspicion of his danger.\n\nAs Mr. Beaufoy had no family, the love of accumulation had less\ndominion over his mind than the passion for display, which had taken\nan earlier possession of his mind than he himself was aware of, and\nto its fatal tendency may be attributed, in a great measure, all the\nevils and misery of his subsequent life.\n\nOn this subject we may here quote the words of a judicious\nwriter:--\"We need not affect singularity in things indifferent,\nbut to maintain a constant endeavour to follow in the train of\nfashion, is not only an indication of a vain and little mind, but is\ncertainly inconsistent with pressing towards the mark for the prize\nof the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. The desire of making an\nappearance has ruined many people in their circumstances--more in\ntheir characters--and most of all in their souls. We may flatter\nourselves that we can pursue these things, and be religious at\nthe same time; but it is a mistake. The vanity of mind which they\ncherish destroys everything of a humble, serious, and holy nature,\nrendering us an easy prey to the temptations which are thrown in\nour way. A Christian's rule is the revealed will of God; and where\nthe customs of the world run counter to this, it is his business to\nwithstand them, even though in so doing he may have to withstand\na multitude--yea, and a multitude of people of fashion; but if we\nfeel ambitious of their applause, we shall not be able to endure\nthe scorn which a singularity of conduct will draw upon us. Thus\nwe shall be carried down the stream of this world; and shall either\nfall into the gulf of perdition, or if any good thing should be\nfound in us towards the Lord God of Israel, it will be indiscernible\nand useless.\"\n\nMr. Beaufoy's amiable disposition, and admirable conversational\npowers, made his society courted by an extensive circle of\nacquaintances. Balls, parties, and theatres now consumed the hours\nof the evenings which were once devoted to reading, meditation,\nand prayer; and not unfrequently the sanctity of the Sabbath was\nviolated by excursions to the country. It was just after they had\nmade an engagement to take an excursion on the Thames on the ensuing\nSabbath, that Mr. Beaufoy received a letter from his aged mother,\nwhom he held in the highest veneration, and from whom he wished to\nconceal the fact of his apostasy. It breathed a spirit of gentle\nreproach and remonstrance, and opened to his view her agony of mind,\noccasioned by the intelligence of the defection of her beloved son\nfrom the paths of righteousness:--\n\n     \"BROOKCOMBE, _12th July, 18--_.\n\n     \"MY DEAR HENRY,--You know I always dreaded your going to London,\n     and now, if what I hear be true, I have cause for my fears. A\n     friend called on us the other day, and told us that you had\n     left our Society and become a Socinian. I don't know much about\n     Socinians, but I understand they say that Jesus Christ is\n     nothing more than a man, and that we must not expect 'redemption\n     through his blood, or the forgiveness of sins through the riches\n     of his grace,' but from our own good works. And have you, my\n     Henry, forsaken that Saviour whom, unseen, you loved when you\n     lived at home with us? and have you made a shipwreck of that\n     precious faith which once filled you with so much joy and peace\n     in believing? and have you departed from the ways of the Lord\n     for the pleasures of sin, which are only for a season? We have\n     had no rest since we received these awful tidings, and the\n     spirit of your poor dear father is so broken with sorrow, that\n     he has not had a smile upon his countenance since. And can\n     you, my dear Henry, leave the Saviour who once had compassion\n     on you, and did such great things for you, as you so often told\n     us of? If you leave him now, how will you be able to stand\n     before him, when he comes with 'ten thousand of his saints, to\n     execute judgment upon all; and to convince all that are ungodly\n     among them of all their ungodly deeds which they have ungodly\n     committed, and of all their hard speeches which ungodly sinners\n     have spoken against him?' O let me entreat you to return to the\n     Lord with weeping and supplication, and he will yet have mercy\n     upon you, and heal all your backslidings; he will accept you\n     graciously, and love you freely. I cannot give you up, no, I\n     cannot! You are my child, and I cannot endure the thought of\n     living separated from you in another world. Let me hear from\n     you directly, and tell me if you are as happy, and as holy, and\n     as spiritually-minded now, as when you first believed in the\n     Lord Jesus Christ. Your father joins me in love to you and dear\n     Sophia, and in beseeching both of you to consider the error of\n     your ways ere it be too late. --Your affectionate mother,\n\n     AMELIA BEAUFOY.\"\n\nThis letter shook the unhallowed purpose of his soul, and neither\nhe nor his wife could venture on their excursion up the river. It\nbrought over their imagination the scenes of departed bliss--revived\nrecollections which were sacred and subduing--and plunged Mr.\nBeaufoy into deep mental agony. Mrs. Beaufoy, however, was of a more\nheedless turn of mind, and endeavoured to assuage her husband's\ngrief by saying, \"You know you still believe the gospel;\" but she\nhad no power over the anguish which was consuming his happiness.\n\"Yes,\" said he, \"I do believe it, or this letter would not disquiet\nme. I have departed from the Lord, and I am gone past recovery.\nMine is no common apostasy. My doom is fixed. My end will be awful.\nWhere, ah! where can I go when he cometh 'to execute judgment upon\nall?' Yes, I do believe the gospel. I feel I do. I believe it, and\ntremble. Its terrors are upon me. The piercing language of the\nprophet has been following me ever since the death of that holy\nman, whose warning voice I despised, and now they enter as fire\ninto my bones: 'Thine own wickedness shall correct thee, and thy\nbackslidings shall reprove thee: know, therefore, and see, that it\nis an evil thing and bitter that thou hast forsaken the Lord thy\nGod, and that my fear is not in thee, saith the Lord God of hosts.'\"\n\nThe Lord employs various means to recover his people from a\nbacksliding state; and though for a season he compels them to feel\nthe evil and the bitterness of their sin, yet he finally restores\nunto them the joy of his salvation. When, however, an apostate has\nbeen given up to the hardness of his heart, neither the language of\nmercy, nor the terrors of judgment will produce any other effect\nthan that of accelerating the dreadful catastrophe. He goes on from\nbad to worse, till at length he comes to the fearful end of his\ncareer. Thus it was with Mr. Beaufoy. The extreme agony into which\nhe was thrown by the simple appeals of his mother's letter gradually\nabated; but he felt it necessary to adopt some new and extraordinary\nexpedients, to gain some small degree of tranquillity. His\nattachment to his wife was strong, and it had gained such ascendency\nover him that he refused to leave his home except she accompanied\nhim; but now a melancholy gloom was cast over all his pleasant\nthings, and those from which he had extracted the sweetest comforts\nof life became as bitter as wormwood to his taste. Though he\nforbore, at this early stage of his mental anguish, to reproach her\nas the cause of his apostasy, yet he secretly laid the sin to her\ncharge, and began occasionally to feel that her society aggravated\nthe evil, which her kindness prompted her to attempt to alleviate.\nHe became reserved, refused to attend any place of worship, and\noften stayed from home to a very late hour. At first Mrs. Beaufoy\nhoped that another sudden change would take place, and bring back\nthe domestic happiness of former times; but at length she was\nawakened to a full discovery of the extent of the misery by which\nshe was surrounded. Her husband was no more the interesting and\naffectionate companion of her retired hours--no more the attentive\nand fond lover. He became now a thoroughly dissipated character,\nrarely returned home till long after his wife's eyes had become\nheavy by watching for him; and when he did, it was only to exhibit\nhis own disgrace, and torture her feelings. She would sometimes\nventure to remonstrate with him, and hang over him with all the\naffection of former days, when he would relent, and pledge himself\nto change his course; but he had lost the power of self-control,\nand felt compelled to seek for ease from the anguish of his spirit\namidst scenes of convivial mirth and folly.\n\nThe whirl of dissipation and the riot of intemperance are expedients\nto which many resort when trouble comes upon them; but they increase\nthe evils sought to be removed; for though a temporary exhilaration\nof the spirits may be produced, and the fearful forebodings of\nfuture woe driven away for a short season, it is only to make them\nreturn with redoubled force to inflict keener anguish. A voice is\nsometimes heard speaking from the celestial glory, saying, \"Call\nupon me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee;\" but that voice\ncannot be heard amidst the revelling and excitement of a theatre or\ntavern. It speaks to the penitent sinner when he is alone--bowed\ndown beneath his burden and despairing of help. Retire then, thou\npoor backslider, from the haunts of evil--and yet hope for mercy.\nThy guilt is great, thy wound is deep, but there is virtue in the\nbalm of Gilead when applied by the great Physician. Go, then, into\nthy closet, shut the door, confess thy sins, shed the penitential\ntear, and implore forgiveness. Here others have acknowledged their\niniquities, and here they have obtained consolation. Your case\nmay be desperate, but it is not hopeless; and though you may be\ntempted to despair, yet resist those whisperings of Satan, which, if\nlistened to, would seal your final doom.\n\n[Illustration: JAMES GODWIN\n\nW. L. THOMAS.\n\nMR. BEAUFOY'S EMOTION ON RECEIVING HIS MOTHER'S LETTER.\n\nVol. ii. p. 261.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE FRUITS OF APOSTASY.\n\n\nAs many months had now elapsed since either Mr. or Mrs. Beaufoy\nhad been to any place of worship, the latter availed herself of\nan opportunity which occurred to allude to it, when her husband\nreplied, \"I wish you to go, Sophia, for it is enough that one of us\nperish.\" Dreading the return of his paroxysm of agony, she diverted\nhis attention from the subject, and endeavoured to soothe and cheer\nhis spirits. She so far succeeded as to bring over his countenance\nthe pleasant smile of former times, but little did she imagine\nthat this pleasing sign was so soon to be obliterated. The servant\nentered the parlour with a letter, which she gave to her master. He\nplaced it on the table and sat musing for some minutes. He wept,\nthough unconscious of the tear that involuntarily trickled down his\ncheek, and sighed, as if unconscious that any ear was listening. He\nagain took the letter--pressed it to his lips, and wept, and sighed\nagain, as though he thought himself alone. \"Yes, my mother, I know\nthy hand, and if thou knewest the agony of my heart, thou wouldst\npity me.\" He opened it; but he had not read many words before he\nstarted from his seat, as if wounded by an invisible hand, then,\nwith firmly pressed lips, perused the letter, threw it on the floor,\nand was retiring abruptly from the room, when he recognized his\nwife. \"What's the matter, Henry?\" she exclaimed, as she attempted to\nfollow him. \"Read that,\" he sternly replied, pointing to the letter,\nand, suddenly, walking to the door, left the house. Mrs. Beaufoy,\nwith trembling hand, picked up the letter and read as follows:--\n\n     \"MY DEAR HENRY,--Your father is no more: he died last night,\n     just as the clock was striking eleven. He ne'er smiled on us\n     after he heard that you had forsaken the Lord, and he went to\n     the grave mourning. He said just before he died, 'Tell my dear\n     boy, for he is still my son, that my last tear was shed on\n     his account.' When I wiped off the big tear that was rolling\n     down his cheek, he became composed for a few minutes, and then\n     prayed, 'O Lord God, heal the backslidings of thine Ephraim,'\n     and died before he could finish the supplication.\n\n     \"And now, my son, you have broken your father's heart, I grieve\n     to say it, and, I believe, will bring down my gray hairs with\n     sorrow to the grave. O! consider your dreadful state, and how\n     fearful to think of, should you be suddenly cut off in it!\n     Remember your dear father's last words.\n\n     \"I feel quite unable to write you a longer letter to-day. If you\n     can come down to the funeral, I need not say how glad I should\n     be to see you; if not, may the Lord reclaim and bless you.\n\n     \"I know you love Sophia, and I wish you to love her; for she has\n     been a kind wife to you, and a most attentive daughter to your\n     father and myself, but I fear she has been a snare to you. If\n     she had feared the Lord she would have kept you from evil. May\n     the Lord bless and reclaim you both.--Your bereaved mother,\n\n     \"AMELIA BEAUFOY.\"\n\nOn reading this communication, Mrs. Beaufoy's conscience smote\nher, and she wept long and bitterly. Then perusing it anew, she\nexclaimed, \"Cruel charge! A snare to my husband! the cause of his\nbeing led astray! cruel charge! Is it not enough for me to bear his\nunkindness, without having to endure such reproaches?\" She threw\nthe letter from her, and rose, endeavouring to cast off the load\nof sorrow which oppressed her spirit. \"I cannot endure it. I am of\nall women the most miserable. I have no one to share my grief. Oh\ndeath!--no!--I am not prepared to die.\" She resumed her seat, and\nthough the letter possessed a sting sharper than that of a scorpion,\nshe took it, read it again, and again it wounded her. \"If she had\nfeared the Lord she would have kept you from evil.\" \"Cruel charge! I\nhave tried to keep him, but could not.\" She paused, then could only\nejaculate, \"Woe is me!\"\n\nThe ringing of the bell announced the return of Mr. Beaufoy; but\nhis dark, lowering look bespoke the inward conflict. On taking his\nseat his eye caught sight of the letter near the place where he had\nthrown it down a few hours before. Moving back, as if from an adder,\nhe said, \"Have you been reading it?\"\n\n\"Yes, Henry, I have.\"\n\n\"And what do you think of the charges?\"\n\n\"They are cruel.\"\n\n\"Rather say, they are just, though severe.\"\n\n\"You know that I have often attempted to reclaim you.\"\n\n\"But did you not first lead me astray? Till I knew you I was a\nhappy, because a religious man; but from that ill-fated hour when,\nenticed by your influence and example to abandon the house of prayer\nfor the theatre and ball-room, I have had no mental peace. I have\nforsaken God, and he, in anger, has forsaken me.\"\n\n\"But why recriminate on me the guilt of your own sin? You have\nwithdrawn from me your love and your society, and will you now in\nexchange give me your reproaches? If we have sinned together, and\nprovoked the Lord to anger, let us now kneel together before his\nmercy-seat, and together confess our sins, and implore forgiveness.\"\n\n\"You may pray and obtain mercy, but I cannot; no, I cannot.\"\n\n\"The Lord waits to be gracious.\"\n\n\"Yes, to the penitent, but my heart is too hard to feel penitential\nsorrow.\"\n\n\"But is not the Redeemer exalted to give repentance?\"\n\n\"To _you_ he will give it, but not to _me_. I have fallen away,\nand incensed justice renders it impossible to renew me again to\nrepentance, for I have crucified the Son of God afresh, and put him\nto an open shame.\"\n\n\"But justice relents when a sinner prays, and mercy\"--\n\n\"Oh! speak not of mercy.\"\n\n\"But mercy rejoiceth over judgment.\"\n\n\"Yes, but when mercy is rejected, as in my case, justice avenges\nthe insult in a terrible form. Let us change the theme, Sophia. I am\ntoo full of agony to dwell on it. It awakens recollections that I\nwish to banish for ever. It is like handling the deadly weapon which\nis to extinguish life.\"\n\n\"The blood of Christ, dear Henry, cleanseth from all sin.\"\n\n\"But I have counted the blood of the covenant wherewith he was\nsanctified an unholy thing.\"\n\n\"But, Henry, is He not still able to save to the uttermost all that\ncome unto God by him; and have you sinned beyond his recovering\ngrace?\"\n\n\"I know my doom,\" he curtly replied.\n\nIt is not always in our power to ascertain the precise moment when\nthe Divine Spirit begins the good work of grace in the heart,\nnor yet to say what specific means he employs to effect it, but\nsometimes an unpremeditated effort to convey instruction, or\nwarning, or consolation to another, is made to re-act on the speaker\nto produce the great change. Thus it was in the experience of Mrs.\nBeaufoy. She felt the force of her own remarks, and when reflecting\non them, at a subsequent period, she could not but yield to their\ninfluence. The charge brought against her, of having led her husband\nastray, she _now_ admitted to be just. But what an admission! to\nbe not merely accessory to his apostasy, but the primary cause\nof it--not merely a partaker of his guilt, but the means of its\ncontraction and its accumulation. Her sin, which had been concealed\nfrom her, _now_ started up in all its aggravated form and appalling\naspect. \"Yes, 'tis true; if I had feared the Lord, I might have\nkept him from going astray, and we might have been walking in his\ncommandments and ordinances blameless. I enticed him from the paths\nof righteousness, and into what an abyss of misery are we both\nplunged! I remember the night when I first induced him to leave the\nhouse of prayer to accompany me to the theatre, and I remember the\nanguish of his spirit after our return. I then told him that he\nwould not injure his principles by yielding sometimes to the customs\nof the world, but alas, I was deceived! I alone am to blame, and\nif I could suffer alone, I would patiently endure the terrible\ninflictions of justice I have merited. But alas! I have raised the\nstorm which has long since laid waste all our domestic felicity, and\nwhich is now threatening a deluge of wrath! Where, O where, can we\ntake refuge from the impending evil!\"\n\nAs she was thus bemoaning her unhappy state, she thought of her\nlong-neglected Bible, and taking it from the book-case, she pressed\nit to her lips and prayed for grace to understand and feel its\ninstructive and consolatory truths. On turning over its pages, her\neye caught the following passage, which in a few moments mitigated\nin a slight degree the agitation of her mind--\"And a man shall be\nas an hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest; as\nrivers of water in a dry place; as the shadow of a great rock in a\nweary land.\" But as there are\n\n  \"No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels,\"\n\nso there is\n\n  \"No cure for such, till God, who makes them, heals;\"\n\nand though her distressed spirit was lifted up above the\noverwhelming flood, yet it was still enveloped by the gloom of\ndesponding fears. She attempted to pray, but her heart was too\ntightly bound by mental anguish to give vent to her grief. Hitherto\nshe had borne her sorrows with an unbending spirit, and usually wore\na placid aspect when in the company of her husband or her other\nfriends; but now her countenance was changed, and it was evident her\nsoul was in trouble.\n\n\"You appear unhappy,\" said her husband, one day, on finding her in\ntears; \"is it on my account or your own?\"\n\n\"I am unhappy on your account, Henry, and I am unhappy on my own;\nand I know not where to go for relief. I feel the justice of our\ndear mother's charge, though I deemed it cruel at the time. I have\nindeed led you astray, and am the guilty cause of all the misery\ninto which we are both plunged. If I could suffer alone, it would be\nan alleviation of my anguish, but I cannot. O, Henry, return with\nme to the Lord, from whom we have departed, and as we have sinned\ntogether, and now suffer together, let us enter his presence, and\nconfess our guilt; and then his anger will be turned away, and he\nwill comfort us.\"\n\n\"_You_ may obtain mercy, Sophia, but _I_ cannot; yours have been\nthe sins of ignorance, but mine have been committed against the\nclearest light and the deepest conviction of their aggravated guilt.\nYou may plead the promises of the Bible, as a sinner under the\nfirst convictions of sin; but I bear upon me the reproach of having\nforsaken the God of my mercies; and while there are no obstructions\nin the way of your access to the throne of grace, that throne is\nguarded by a flaming sword which turneth every way to keep me off\nfrom touching the sceptre of mercy. I know my doom, and I deserve\nit.\"\n\nHe continued in this frame of mind for many months; and though he\nabandoned the society of his former companions, and the haunts of\nevil which he had been accustomed to frequent, yet no arguments,\nhowever weighty, or entreaties, however urgent, could induce him\nto revisit a place of worship, or resume his practice of family\ndevotion. At length an insidious disease, which had long been\nundermining his constitution, began to manifest itself, and it was\nevident that his course in this world was fast coming to an end.\nHe was urged to try change of air; and with this view he proceeded\nwith his wife to the pleasant village of Parkdale, from which I\nwas somewhat surprised, shortly after my return from Fairmount, to\nreceive a letter written by Mrs. Beaufoy, earnestly beseeching me to\ncome and see her husband, as she feared he had not long to live, and\nhad expressed a wish to see me. My intercourse with Mr. Beaufoy had\nbeen completely suspended for some years past. As already mentioned,\nhis letters first became shorter and more reserved, and at length\nceased altogether. On one occasion that I called on him in London,\nhis manner was so dry, and expressed so little cordiality, that I\nfelt convinced my visit was disagreeable, and, consequently, never\nrepeated it. On hearing, however, of his lamentable defection from\nthe path of truth, I deemed it my duty to address two or three\nletters to him on the subject; but to none of these did I receive\nany answer. When at Fairmount, Mr. Lewellin informed me that he\nhad seen nothing of Mr. Beaufoy for a long time, as latterly he\nhad become quite estranged from his early friends, and established\nhimself in the midst of gay and irreligious society. On receiving\nthe above communication, I at once resolved to proceed to Parkdale,\nabout forty miles distant, in the earnest hope that I might be of\nsome benefit to Mr. Beaufoy, whom, notwithstanding all the past\ncoolness between us, I still continued to regard with considerable\ninterest. On my arrival, I found that I had been anxiously expected\nby his wife, who appeared to be much relieved at seeing me, and\nafter a short conversation, led me to her husband's room. He\nreceived me with strong expressions of affection, and regret for\nhis past rudeness and neglect. \"O! Mr. ----,\" he exclaimed, \"this\nis indeed kindness to come and see a poor dying wretch, whose\nconduct has been so deserving of censure. I have been a wicked man,\nan undutiful son, and a renegade from the faith; and now I feel a\ndagger thrust through my heart, which can never be removed.\"\n\n\"Dear Sir,\" I replied, \"there is one Physician who can remove it,\nand one specific that can heal the wound.\"\n\n\"I know it. I do not doubt his power, as that would be an insult\nto his omnipotence; but I cannot believe in his willingness. No, I\ncannot!\"\n\n\"But which is the greatest insult, to doubt his ability to save to\nthe uttermost, or his willingness? Has he not said, 'Him that cometh\nunto me I will in no wise cast out?'\"\n\n\"But, Sir, the passage which you have now quoted, is addressed to\nsinners under the first convictions of sin, and not to apostates who\nhave fallen from their former steadfastness. My doom is fixed, and\nyou have only to read the words of the prophet to know its nature.\n'Because I have purged thee, and thou wast not purged, thou shalt\nnot be purged from thy filthiness any more, till I have caused my\nfury to rest upon thee.'\"\n\n\"But why, my friend, should you appropriate that awful passage to\nyour condemnation, when you live under a dispensation of grace,\nwhich has made provision for the salvation of the chief of sinners?\"\n\n\"I do it, Sir, because I know and feel that it is a debt of justice\nwhich I owe to the insulted grace of Heaven. That passage is the\nonly one in the Bible on which I can dwell with any degree of ease.\"\n\n\"But can you derive any mental ease from reflecting on a passage\nwhich denounces indignation and wrath?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, because then I sink to the level of my condition, and\nsilently approve the equity of the sentence; but when a promise\nof mercy recurs to my mind, its involuntary stirrings to embrace\nit throw me into a more agonized state of feeling. But I do not\ncomplain. I deserve all I suffer, and all I have to suffer, and I\nwill submissively bear the indignation of the Lord, because I have\nsinned against him.\"\n\n\"May you not hope, that this spirit of submission to the righteous\nmanifestations of the Divine displeasure, is a proof that you are\nnot totally abandoned by him; for if that were the case, you would\nfeel disposed, either to impeach the goodness, or murmur against the\njustice of God?\"\n\n\"No, Sir, I am not abandoned by him! If I were, I should enjoy the\nfatal ease of _unfelt_ guilt. I am held in bondage, I am alive\nto the peril of my state, and am compelled by the irresistible\nconvictions of my conscience to admit the equity of my condemnation,\nbut I dare not hope for any symptoms of returning mercy. Returning\nmercy! No, mercy is clean gone for ever.\"\n\n\"Nay, my friend, the mercy of the Lord endureth for ever; he\ndelights in it, and I have no doubt but the Sun of Righteousness\nwill break in upon the midnight darkness of your soul, and cheer you\nwith the returning light and bliss of hope.\"\n\n\"O! speak not to me of mercy or of hope! You do but agonize me with\nfresh tortures.\"\n\n\"But will you not admit that God _can_ turn away his anger from you,\nand comfort you?\"\n\n\"I admit, Sir, that all things are possible with God, which are in\naccordance with his purity and his justice; but I do not think that\nhe can renew me again unto repentance, because I have crucified to\nmyself the Son of God afresh, and put him to an open shame. I wish,\ntherefore, you would allow me to remain undisturbed by any allusions\nto mercy, as such allusions bring to my recollection joys that are\npast, never to be recalled, and plunge me deeper and deeper in the\nabyss of mental agony. O that I had passed from the nuptial altar\nto a premature grave! then I should have been resting in peace; but\nI will not reproach. May my sad doom operate as a warning to others\nagainst a departure from God.\"\n\nI was much distressed at this scene, but still did not abandon\nhope; and, therefore, at the urgent solicitation of Mrs. Beaufoy,\nconsented to remain with them for a few days. His disorder continued\nto increase, and on the morning after my arrival, he consented that\nhis mother should be sent for--a proposal which he had hitherto\nalways rejected, as his attachment to her, which was sincere,\nmade him averse to occasioning her any alarm. On receiving the\nintelligence of his illness, which had hitherto been concealed from\nher, she hastened to Parkdale. Her son, on hearing of her arrival,\nsaid to his wife, \"Conceal from my dear mother the state of my mind;\nshe cannot help me, and if she knows that I die in despair, she will\nnever taste another drop of comfort in this vale of tears.\" As she\nentered the room, he raised himself on his bed and embraced her, and\nthey wept in silence together for some minutes.\n\n\"And why, my son,\" she remonstrated, \"did you not let me know of\nyour illness before now? I would have come and nursed you as I used\nto do long ago.\"\n\n\"I hoped that I should recover, mother, and I was unwilling to alarm\nyou.\"\n\n\"Well, my son, I hope the Lord is dealing graciously with your soul\nnow you are in the dark valley?\"\n\n\"He is dealing righteously.\"\n\n\"Yes, my child, he always deals righteously; but is he dealing\ngraciously?\" A long pause ensued.\n\n\"But why are you silent, my son? Tell your mother how the Lord is\ndealing with you.\"\n\n\"He is dealing righteously with me, and it is our duty to bow in\nsubmission to His will.\"\n\n\"I am happy to hear that you are resigned to His will; that is\na proof that He is dealing graciously. May the Lord continue to\nbless you, my dear child, and may He lift upon you the light of his\ncountenance and give you peace.\"\n\nOn resuming her inquiries next day, she asked him, \"Have you a good\nhope through grace, of being presented faultless before the presence\nof the Lord with exceeding joy?\"\n\n\"To throw off the veil of concealment which I wished to rest over\nthe state of my mind, I confess, my dear mother, that I have no\nhope.\"\n\n\"No hope, my child! Not one cheerful beam of hope! Is the Lord's arm\nshortened, that he cannot save? or is his ear heavy, that he cannot\nhear?\"\n\n\"No; he is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever; and it is his\nimmutability that plunges me into despair.\"\n\n\"How so, my dear son?\"\n\n\"He is immutable in his threatenings against those who depart from\nhim.\"\n\n\"And is He not immutable in his promises of mercy to those who\n_wish_ to return?\"\n\n\"But there are no promises of mercy that suit my case.\"\n\n\"No promises! Why, don't you recollect what our blessed Lord said,\n'Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out?' And don't you\nrecollect what Paul says, 'Wherefore he is able also to save to the\nuttermost all that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to\nmake intercession for them?'\"\n\n\"Oh, mother, I have gone away from Him who hath the words of eternal\nlife.\"\n\n\"Then come back; He will not cast you out. Does the shepherd refuse\nto take back the lamb into his fold, which has happened to stray\nfrom him?\"\n\n\"But I have no strength to return.\"\n\n\"But you can pray; and as the shepherd goes to look after the\nstrayed lamb, when he hears his bleating, so our blessed Lord will\nhave compassion on you who may be out of the way, and will not\nsuffer you to perish, if you wish to return to him. Don't despair\nof mercy, my son, while our blessed Lord lives to intercede for the\nchief of sinners.\"\n\nThese tender appeals coming from the lips of his mother, reduced his\nspirit to a more composed state, and for the first time he wept.\nWhen she saw his tears, she wept with him, and said, \"I am glad to\nsee you weep; it is the first sign of returning mercy.\"\n\n\"Mercy! no!\" he replied; \"mercy, I fear, will return no more! I have\ndespised and insulted mercy, and am consigned over to the offended\njustice of Heaven. It must be a miracle of mercy to recover me from\nthe ruin I have brought upon myself.\"\n\n\"Very true, my child; and mercy often performs a miracle of grace;\nand if you look by faith to Christ, he will recover you, and he will\nput a new song into your mouth, 'even praise unto our God: many\nshall see it and fear, and shall trust in the Lord.'\"\n\nOn the evening of the day following his mother's arrival, as we were\nall standing round his bedside, she asked him if he yet felt more\ncomposed, or if he could indulge a good hope of future happiness.\n\n\"Composed, mother! No, I am in perfect anguish, and expect to be\nlost.\"\n\n\"But he who raiseth the whirlwind, and directeth the storm, is the\nGod of salvation; and though he allow all his waves and his billows\nto go over you, yet he will command his loving-kindness in the\ndaytime; and when the thickest darkness of the night comes upon you,\nthen his song shall be with you, and your prayer shall be unto the\nGod of your life.\"\n\n\"O mother, I am about to leave you, and you, my wife; and I leave\nyou with a full conviction that we shall never meet again. A few\nhours will decide the long-agitated question--\n\n  'Am I his, or am I not?'\n\nI wish you would retire and leave me, nor suffer any one to disturb\nme, as I wish to be alone for a little. I shall ring the bell when I\nam prepared to see you again.\"\n\nWe withdrew to an adjoining room, when his mother said to his\nafflicted wife, \"This is a solemn moment. You are about to lose a\nhusband, and I a son; but if it should please the Lord to visit him\nwith the light of his reconciled countenance, I trust we should then\nbe enabled to bow down in submission to his sovereign will.\" I then,\nat their request, knelt down and prayed, as Elijah prayed when he\nbesought the Lord to send forth the rain of heaven to refresh the\nparched lands of Israel. When I had finished, old Mrs. Beaufoy said,\n\"Let us go and see if there be yet any signs of returning mercy.\"\n\"But,\" said her daughter-in-law, \"perhaps he is now wrestling with\nthe Lord, and if we go we may disturb him and ruffle his spirits.\"\nSuch, however, was the yearning of his mother's heart, that she\ncould not refrain from going to listen, if, peradventure, she might\nhear something to comfort her. She heard him repeat again and again,\n\"Lord Jesus, have mercy upon me! Lord, save, or I perish!\"\n\nJust as she was returning to inform us that the silence of\ndespondency was broken by the voice of prayer, the bell rang, and\nwe entered the room together. \"Well, my child,\" said his mother, \"I\nhope the Lord is now dealing graciously with you.\" \"He is dealing\nrighteously; and against the equity of his conduct I can raise no\nobjection. He is just when he takes vengeance.\"\n\nAfter a long pause, during which time the terror of unabated agony\nwas depicted in every countenance, he raised his down-cast eyes\ntowards heaven, and, with a feeble voice modulated to the subduing\ntenderness of the expression, he said--\n\n    \"Yet save a trembling sinner, Lord,\n     Whose hope, still hovering round thy word,\n     Would light on some sweet promise there,\n     Some sure support against despair.\"\n\nHe now became exhausted, and reclining his head on the pillow, fell\nasleep, and slept several hours. When he awoke, he was composed and\ncalm, and said, \"My sleep has been refreshing to me.\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said his mother, \"that your soul is refreshed, as well as\nyour body.\"\n\n\"I am more composed than I ever expected to be, but I am not happy.\nMy composure is no less a source of terror than my former agitation,\nas I know that the cessation of pain is sometimes an indication\nthat the disorder is approaching a fatal termination, even when the\npatient may be anticipating his recovery.\"\n\n\"But, my friend,\" said I, \"the terror you feel under your composure,\nis a proof that you are unwilling to seize a premature hope; and\nmay be regarded as an evidence, that the Lord who refused to appear\nin the whirlwind, in the earthquake, or in the fire, is graciously\nappearing in the still small voice of love.\"\n\n\"Oh, my old and tried friend, my sins appear too great and too\naggravated to be forgiven.\"\n\n\"But, Henry, the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin; and\nHe is sent, not only to proclaim liberty to the captive soul, but to\nheal the broken-hearted.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" he exclaimed, \"I would believe. Lord, help my unbelief.\"\n\nDeath was now rapidly approaching; and having pressed the hands of\neach of us, he reclined his head on his wife's bosom, and fainted\naway. On recovering from this fit, which lasted several minutes,\nhe once more opened his eyes, and casting a mournful look on us,\nsaid, \"I die an unworthy and guilty sinner at the foot of the cross;\nbut will He permit me to perish when crying to Him to save me?\nImpossible!\" he exclaimed; and then, as if having exhausted all his\nstrength by this last effort, his head fell back on the pillow, and\nhe expired.\n\nThus died Henry Beaufoy, who, in his youthful days, bade fair to\nexhibit, in after life, an example of the beauty and consistency\nof the Christian character; but having been seduced from the paths\nof wisdom and of piety, he entered upon a career of evil, which\nat length brought him to a premature grave. His submission at the\nlast to the visitations of Providence, as an infliction which he\ndeserved; and the avowal he made, when yielding up the ghost, gave\nto his surviving friends _a hope_ that he died in the Lord, and is\nat rest from his sorrows; but still gloomy shadows would sometimes\nfall upon their spirits, and they often sighed and wept over his\nmemory, as of one who had come short of the kingdom of heaven.\n\nAs female influence is so powerful, and has often been employed to\nseduce the man who fears the Lord, from the paths of righteousness\nand the ways of peace, let him be on his guard when about to form a\nconnection for life, and not suffer beauty and accomplishments to\nbecome a substitute for decided piety. He may think that he shall\nbe able to withstand every ensnaring art, and every fond entreaty,\nand that he shall ultimately gain over his wife to the obedience of\nfaith; but in this he may be deceived, and have cause to mourn over\nthe consequences of his imprudence, when it is too late. But if a\nman should violate the sanctity of the Divine law, and marry a woman\nwho is not decidedly pious, let her be on her guard, lest she become\nthe cause of his moral ruin. Let her beware of enticing him to a\ntheatre, or an evening party, when his inclinations would take him\nto the house of prayer--let her beware of manifesting a spirit of\nindifference or hostility to the practice of family devotion, which\nhis conscience constrains him to observe. She may not regard such\nproceedings as wrong, or likely to prove injurious to the reputation\nor the happiness of her husband, but she may be mistaken; and if her\npersuasions or her indifference should prove successful, as is too\noften the case, she may be called to feel the bitter consequences\nof her folly and her guilt, amidst the wreck of domestic happiness.\nShe may suppose, that the religion of her husband, like her own,\nhas nought to do with the inner man of the heart, and that it may\nbe thrown aside, and resumed, as caprice may dictate, but she is\nmistaken; and if she should induce him to abandon it for a season,\nshe may live to be stung by his reproaches, and tortured by her own,\nwhen he is brought to suffer the due reward of his deeds.\n\nFrom the preceding sketch, which has been taken, not from the\nconceptions of my own fancy, but the facts of real life, we may\nsee that it is an evil thing to forsake the Lord God; and though\nhis tender mercy may stoop to recover the backslider just as he\nis sinking into despair, yet he seldom throws the light of his\ncountenance over the death-bed of such an individual. I am aware\nthat some employ the partial and the final apostasy of professors,\nas an argument to prove that our perseverance in religion is quite\nprecarious and uncertain, depending solely on ourselves, without any\nregard to the counsel of Jehovah. That it does depend on ourselves,\nI admit--but not solely. We are to walk in the ways of the Lord;\nbut he has promised to uphold our goings, that our footsteps slip\nnot. We are to cleave to him with full purpose of heart; but he\nhas promised never to leave us, nor forsake us. We are commanded\nto keep ourselves in the love of God, looking for the mercy of our\nLord Jesus Christ unto eternal life; but he has promised to keep\nus by his power through faith unto salvation. We know that the\nbeginning of the work of grace in the heart, is to be ascribed to\nthe immediate operations of his power; and it is to be viewed as\nthe commencement of a continued series of operations, which will\nultimately issue in the salvation of the soul. And though the faith\nof some may be overthrown, \"nevertheless, the foundation of God\nstandeth sure, having this seal, the Lord knoweth them that are\nhis. And, let every one that nameth the name of Christ depart from\niniquity.\" His designs will be accomplished, but accomplished in a\nnatural way. They do not supersede the necessity of our exertions.\nThey do not suppose that we are passive machines, acted on by\nsome supernatural power; but living agents, endowed with a Divine\nprinciple, which works within us \"both to will and to do.\" They\ndo not relax our obligations to watchfulness--to prayer--to an\navoidance of evil--and to the cultivation of the spirit and habits\nof devotion, but increase them; and the reciprocal influence of our\nexertions, and of the concurrence of Divine strength, is so nicely\nbalanced in the purpose of grace, that while we are compelled to\nascribe to God the honour of our preservation and final salvation,\nyet we are made responsible for every act of transgression and\ndisobedience. \"Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth, take\nheed lest he fall\" (1 Cor. x. 12).\n\nOne of the chief causes of decay in religion, is our forgetting\nthat the means necessary for first bringing us to God, are no less\nessential for retaining us steadily in a close walk with him. To\nwatch and pray was no less the duty of the disciples, when they had\nleft all for Christ, than when they first approached his presence,\nand sought his pardon and love. He has prayed that we may be kept\nfrom the evil of the world; but we must look for an answer to this\nprayer--in our choice of good, and rejection of evil--in the control\nof our passions--and in the integrity and uprightness of our conduct.\n\nIt has been observed, that apostasy begins in the closet; secret\nprayer is at first carelessly performed--then occasionally\nomitted--and then entirely neglected. When this is the case,\nthe religious taste becomes fastidious--a roving habit is often\nindulged--the customs of the world are yielded to, and the principle\nof sin, which once lay dormant in the heart, rises up with renewed\nstrength, and breaks forth in open manifestations of evil. This\nprocess in moral degeneracy may be slow or rapid, according to the\ndegree of influence which circumstances may be permitted to supply,\nbut when it has once begun, it is always going on; and though it\nmay not be in our power to assign the _primary_ cause, yet too much\nsecular prosperity is generally one of the most operative. The\nmore a Christian is indulged with temporal blessings--the higher\nhe or his family rises in the world--the more he ought to have his\nheart glowing with love and gratitude to God. But so inveterate\nis the depravity of human nature, that uninterrupted prosperity\nimperceptibly deadens the best affections of the soul, which\nbecomes so completely engrossed in worldly objects and pursuits,\nthat religion is rarely thought of but on Sabbath, and even then it\nis entangled and mixed up with the things of time and sense. When\nprosperity comes thus to act on a person who possesses only the form\nof godliness, while destitute of its power, its fatal effects may be\nlooked for with almost perfect certainty.\n\nAnother cause of the evil which we are so often called to deplore\nis the indulgence of a speculative turn of mind in matters of\nreligion. We are commanded to search the Scriptures--to prove all\nthings, and hold fast that which is good. When this investigation\nis pursued from a pure motive, and a spirit of prayer attends\nit--keeping the mind in a teachable and devotional frame--the\ngreatest benefit will be the result. But when once the Word of God\nis treated with levity--when liberties are taken with it--when\none part of it is impugned as mysterious, another rejected as\napparently contradictory--when its doctrines are denounced, as\nincomprehensible, and its precepts objected to, because they are\ntoo unaccommodating to the habits of the age--an evil spirit enters\ninto the heart, which first corrupts it and then entangles it in a\nlabyrinth of error. This spirit of unbelief commences its operation\nby reducing the magnitude of the evil of sin; the necessity and\nthen the reality of the atonement is rejected; prayer is considered\nuseless; the influence of the Holy Spirit in the renovation and\nsanctification of the heart is denied; and then the apostasy becomes\ncomplete.\n\nBut one of the most prevalent causes of this evil is an adoption of\nthe principles and a compliance with the customs of the world. There\nare some customs which exist amongst us to which we must conform;\nbut there are others from which we are commanded to abstain. We may\nmingle with the men of the world in business, and also in social\nlife; but we are to have \"no fellowship with the unfruitful works of\ndarkness, but rather reprove them.\" We may, in common with others,\nhave our social enjoyments, and partake of the innocent recreations\nof life, without sustaining injury to our morals or our Christian\nreputation; but if we venture to cross the line which separates the\nlawful from forbidden ground--if we form habits which the spirit\nof the gospel condemns, and venture into those places of amusement\nto which the children of folly are so much attached--though we\nmay not immediately feel their corrupting influence, yet we shall\nbecome bitterly sensible of it at last, when the evil is beyond\nour control. We may silence the remonstrances of conscience, by\nresolving not to depart from the ways of righteousness, and may\naffect to treat with contempt the kind admonitions of our more\npious friends; but by no species of artifice shall we be able to\nform a junction between the spirit of Christ and the spirit of\nthe world; or retain the fervour of devotion within the walls\nof an assembly-room or a theatre. The experiment has been often\nmade, and the result always proves morally disastrous. In some\ninstances the professor has passed from all connection with pure\nspiritual religion, into a state of confirmed indifference or avowed\nhostility; in others, he has retained the form, while he has lost\nthe spirit of devotion, and the closing scene of his life has been\noccupied by the most heart-rending reproaches and the bitterest\nlamentations of misery and woe.\n\nAs apostasy from the faith and purity of the gospel, from whatever\ncauses it may proceed, invariably inflicts on the apostate, when\nawakened to a clear perception of his sin and danger, the most awful\nand agonizing mental sufferings, I wish to do all that is in my\npower to arrest his progress ere it be too late, and lead him back\nto the source of pure felicity, which he has forsaken. I would ask\nhim if the gaieties, the follies, and the amusements of the world,\nafford him such substantial happiness as he once enjoyed, when he\nwalked in the light of God's countenance? I would ask him if he does\nnot often regret the exchange he has made? and as often condemn\nhimself for his folly and ingratitude in having made it? I would ask\nhim if he does not wish to return once more to taste that the Lord\nis gracious--once more to feel that Christ is precious--once more to\npartake of the peace which passeth all understanding--and to live,\nas in the early days of his profession, in the sublime anticipations\nof eternal glory? I would ask, Have you never made the attempt? As\ntime advances, are you not gradually sinking into a state of mental\ndejection, from which you see no chance of being delivered? I do not\npropose these questions to inflict fresh torment, or increase the\nanguish which presses upon your guilty conscience, but to induce\nyou to return to the Lord from whom you have departed, that you may\nagain experience his loving-kindness, and that your prayers, mingled\nwith songs of praise, may again ascend to the God of your salvation.\n\nIn illustration of this subject, I shall here conclude by quoting\nthe following from a deceased divine:--\"If you ask, But how am I\nto return? how am I to regain my long-lost peace? I answer, In the\nsame way in which you first found rest to your soul, namely, by\nrepentance towards God, and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ.\n\n\"In general, I may observe, the Scriptures assure us of the\nexceeding great and tender mercy of God, and of his willingness to\nforgive all those who return to him in the name of his Son. It is\nnecessary that we be well persuaded of this truth, lest instead of\napplying as supplicants, we sink into despair. If a sinner, newly\nawakened, be in danger of this species of despondency, a backslider\nis still more so. His transgressions are much more heinous in their\ncircumstances than those of the other, having been committed under\ngreater light and against greater obligations; and when to this is\nadded the treatment which his conduct must necessarily draw upon him\nfrom his religious connections, he may be tempted to relinquish all\nhopes of recovery, and consider himself as an outcast, both from\nGod and man. Unhappy man! Thy sin may be great, and the language\nof an awakened conscience may suggest, Who can heal me? Yet do not\ndespair. 'Hear what God the Lord will speak. He will speak peace\nunto his people and to his saints: but let them not turn again to\nfolly.'\n\n\"There are circumstances which may render it almost impossible for\nforgiveness to be exercised amongst men; and therefore men are ready\nto think it must be so with respect to God. 'But with the Lord there\nis mercy, and with him there is plenteous redemption.' He will not\nonly pardon, but pardon abundantly: 'for his thoughts are not as our\nthoughts, nor his ways as our ways. For as the heavens are higher\nthan the earth, so are his ways than our ways, and his thoughts\nthan our thoughts.--The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth\nfrom all sin.--If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to\nforgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.'\nThe threatenings against the unpardonable sin itself do not affect\nthe truth of these merciful declarations: for that sin is all along\ndescribed as excluding repentance, as well as forgiveness. The party\nis supposed to be given up to hardness of heart. If, therefore,\nwe confess our sin with contrition, we may be certain it is not\nunpardonable, and that we shall obtain mercy through the blood of\nthe cross.\n\n\"But the great question is, How we shall repent of our sins, and\nreturn to God by Jesus Christ. Undoubtedly it is much easier to\nget out of the way, than to get in again; to lose the peace of our\nminds, than to recover it. Sin is of a hardening nature; and the\nfarther we have proceeded in it, the more inextricable are its\nentanglements. But, however this be, we either do desire to return,\nor we do not.\n\n\"If my reader be in such a state of mind, it is with a mixture of\nhope and tenderness that I attempt to point out to him the means of\nrecovery.\n\n\"I would recommend you to embrace every possible season of\nretirement for reading the Holy Scriptures, especially those parts\nwhich are suited to your case, and accompany your reading with\nprayer. God's Word hid in the heart is not only a preservative\nagainst sin, but a restorative from its evil effects. It both wounds\nand heals; if it rebukes, it is with the faithfulness of a friend,\nor if it consoles, its consolations will melt us into contrition.\n\n\"Read especially those parts of Scripture which are addressed to\npersons in your situation, as the second chapter of Jeremiah; or\nthose which express the desires of a returning sinner, as the\ntwenty-fifth, thirty-second, thirty-eighth, fifty-first, and\nhundred and thirtieth Psalms. You may not be able to adopt all this\nlanguage as your own; but, nevertheless, it may be useful. To read\nthe genuine expressions of a contrite heart, may produce at least a\nconviction of the disparity between the frame of mind possessed by\nthe writer and yourself; and such a conviction may be accompanied\nwith a sensation of shame and grief.\n\n\"It is also of importance that you read the Scriptures _by\nyourself_. To read a portion of them in your families is right, and\nought not to be neglected; but there is a great difference, as to\npersonal advantage, between this and reading them alone. Your mind\nmay then be more at liberty for reflection; you can read, and pause,\nand think, and apply the subject to your case.\n\n\"It is of still greater importance to unite prayer with it. Reading\nthe Word of God and prayer are duties which mutually assist each\nother: the one furnishes us with confessions, pleas, and arguments,\nwhile the other promotes solemnity and spirituality of mind, which\ngoes farther towards our understanding of the Scriptures than a\nlibrary of expositions.\n\n\"It was in one of these seasons of retirement that David put up this\npetition, 'I have gone astray like a lost sheep; seek thy servant,\nfor I do not forget thy commandments.' He seems to have had in his\nthoughts the condition of a poor wandering sheep, that had left the\nflock and the rich pastures where it was wont to be led, ranging\nrather like a native of the woods, than one who had been used to\nbe led, and fed, and protected by an owner. Bewildered by its own\nwanderings, entangled in the thorns and briars of the wilderness,\nand exposed to beasts of prey, it feels its forlorn condition, and\nbleats after the shepherd and the flock! Is there nothing in this\nthat may suit your case? Yes, thou art the man! Thou hast gone\nastray like a lost sheep, got entangled in thine own corruptions,\nand knowest not how to find the way back; yet it may be thou hast\nnot utterly lost the remembrance of those happy days before thou\nwert led to deviate from the right path. Let thy prayer then be\ndirected, like that of the psalmist, to the good Shepherd of the\nsheep: 'Seek thy servant.'\n\n\"Prayer is a religious exercise which is necessary to accompany\nall others. 'In every thing by prayer and supplication, with\nthanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God.' Solemn\napproaches to God are adapted to impress the mind with a sense of\nsin, and to inspire us with self-abhorrence on account of it. It was\nby a view of the holiness of God that Isaiah felt himself to be a\n'man of unclean lips;' and it was by conversing with the Lord that\nJob was brought to abhor himself, and repent in dust and ashes. The\nvery exercise of prayer carries in it an implication that 'our help\nmust come from above;' a truth which in all cases it is absolutely\nnecessary for us to know, and with which, in this case especially,\nwe cannot be too deeply impressed. We easily get out of the way; but\nif ever we return to it, it must be by His influence, who restoreth\nour souls and leadeth us in the paths of righteousness for his\nname's sake.\n\n\"To tell a person who is out of the way, that he has no help\nin himself, and that if ever he get in again it must be by the\nrestoring grace of God, may seem to some people paradoxical and\ndisheartening; but it is a truth, and a truth which, if properly\nunderstood and felt, would go farther towards our recovery than we\nat first may apprehend. Paul found that 'when he was weak then was\nhe strong,' and many others have found the same. The more we are\nemptied of self-sufficiency, the more sensibly shall we feel our\nweakness, and the more importunately implore that the Lord would\nsave us, and restore us.\n\n\"This was the way in which we at first found rest for our souls,\nand this must be the way in which we recover it. An awakened sinner\nfrequently labours hard after peace, without being able to obtain\nit. Wherefore? 'Because he seeks it not by faith, but by the\nworks of the law.' In all his labours there is a large portion of\nself-righteous hope, or an idea that God will pity him on account\nof his endeavours to please him. But if ever he obtain peace, it\nmust be by utterly despairing of all help from himself; and falling,\nas a sinner entirely lost, into the arms of sovereign mercy. This is\nwalking in the good old way, which brings rest to the soul; and the\nsame sense of our insufficiency which is necessary to find rest in\nthe first instance, is equally necessary to find it on all future\noccasions.\n\n\"We may pray from year to year, and all without effect. It is\nonly the 'prayer of faith' that succeeds; the distinguishing\ncharacteristic of which is a sense of there being no help in us,\nand a laying hold of the mercy and faithfulness of God, as revealed\nin the gospel. David for a time _groaned_, and even _roared_,\n'by reason of the disquietness of his heart;' but he obtained no\nrelief from this. On the contrary, he sunk deeper and deeper into\ndespondency. At length he betook him to another manner of praying:\n'Out of the depths cried I unto thee--and thou heardest my voice!'\nWe find him here pleading the exceeding greatness of God's mercy,\nand the plenteousness of his redemption. Here he found rest for\nhis soul! Jonah also for a time was in much the same state. With a\nconscience so far awakened as to deprive him of all enjoyment, he\nretired to the bottom of the ship; and, wearied with the load of\nhis guilt, slept away his time. Even the horrors of a tempest did\nnot awaken him. At length being roused and reproved by heathens,\nand marked out by lot as the guilty person, he confesses who he is,\nand what he had done, and advises them to cast him into the sea.\nHumanity struggles for a time with the elements, but in vain; he\nmust be cast away. Think what must have been his state of mind at\nthis time! He is thrown into the deep, is swallowed by a fish, and\nretains his reason even in that situation; but no light shines upon\nhis soul. Conceiving himself to be on the point of death, his heart\nsighed within him, 'I am cast out of thy sight!' But ere the thought\nhad well passed through his mind, another struck him, 'Yet will I\nlook again towards thy holy temple!' He looked, and was lightened:\n'Out of the belly of hell cried I unto thee, and thou heardest my\nvoice! When my soul fainted within me, I remembered the Lord; and my\nprayer came in unto thee, into thine holy temple.'\"[21]\n\n  [21] The author is indebted to a work of the late Rev. A. Fuller for\n  the quotation with which this chapter closes.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FARM-HOUSE KITCHEN.\n\n\nIn the parish of Woodford, about twenty miles from the town where\nI resided, there were a few cottages, pleasantly situated on an\neminence which commanded a beautiful and extensive view of the\nsurrounding country. They were principally occupied by the peasantry\nwho were employed on the neighbouring farms. No less than five\nchurch spires could be seen rising in the distance, from amongst the\ntrees, of different parishes; but they were too remote for the aged\nand the infirm to visit, and the more robust and healthy were also\nvery ready to plead the length of the way as an excuse for their\nnon-attendance at public worship.\n\nMr. Annesley, a Dissenting minister in the village of Woodford,\non passing this hamlet one summer evening, had his attention\narrested by an interesting looking young man, about the age of four\nand twenty, who appeared to be in the last stage of a decline.\nHe presented to him a few religious tracts, which the young man\nreceived with an air of indifference; but when informed that they\nwere intended to prepare him for that world into which he was likely\nsoon to enter, he seemed pleased, and said, \"That is what I want,\nSir.\" This young man, who was the son of a respectable farmer, lived\nabout two months after the first interview Mr. Annesley had with\nhim; and died avowing his entire dependence on the death of Jesus\nChrist for eternal life: blessing God in the most simple and ardent\nterms, for his goodness in sending to him at the eleventh hour a\nknowledge of the way of salvation.\n\n[Illustration: JAMES GODWIN\n\nW. L. THOMAS.\n\nBRINGING IN THE LAST LOAD OF CORN.\n\nTHE REAPERS' HYMN OF PRAISE.\n\nVol. ii. page 285.]\n\nAfter his death, the old farmer, his father, when lamenting that\nthey enjoyed no religious advantages in that remote part of the\nparish, very readily consented to have his large kitchen licensed\nfor preaching; and Mr. Annesley engaged to give them a sermon\non Tuesdays every week. When he commenced his labours he had to\npass through the ordeal of mockery and contempt. Sometimes he was\ninsulted by the poor rustics, when attempting to explain to them the\nmysteries of the kingdom of heaven; but by visiting them in their\nown cottages, and displaying a kind and affectionate disposition,\nhe gained their confidence and esteem, and they pressed to hear him\nwith devout and earnest attention.\n\nHaving resolved to make an excursion to Woodford, and pay a visit to\nthis rural place of worship, of which I had often heard, I took my\nseat in the coach, one afternoon in the month of September, as far\nas the village of Woodford, from which it was a walk of three miles\nto the farm-house. The weather was unusually hot for the season of\nthe year; but towards the evening, the cool breezes which sprung up\nmade me enjoy my journey exceedingly.\n\nAfter getting down from the coach, I quitted the village by a cross\nroad, and then turned aside into a fine shady lane. On passing by\na farm-yard, I observed an extraordinary rush of men, women, and\nchildren, and being anxious to know the cause of it, I advanced into\nthe yard, where I saw a group marching before the last load of com,\nwhich they were bringing from the field, and singing the following,\nas a harvest hymn of praise:--\n\n    \"But now his hand hath crown'd our toil,\n     We joy like those that share the spoil,\n         The harvest home to bear:\n     With shouts the laughing pastures ring;\n     With grateful hearts we reapers sing\n     The praise of heaven's eternal King,\n     Through whose paternal care we bring\n         The produce of the year.\"\n\nI tarried some time, intermingling my feelings with those of the\nenraptured swains, and participating with them in this feast of\ninnocent delight; but on looking at my watch I found that I must\nhasten onwards, or I should be deprived of the higher gratification\nof witnessing a more interesting and a more important sight. On\nproceeding up the lane that led to the rural temple of devotion,\nI occasionally heard the harmony of Zion's strains, which became\nmore distinct and impressive as I drew nearer, till at length I was\nenabled to catch the following words which the congregation were\nsinging:--\n\n    \"Shall I beneath thy gospel stay,\n       And hear the call of grace;\n     And at the awful judgment-day,\n       Be banish'd from thy face?\"\n\nI got into the passage just as Mr. Annesley arose to pray, but I\ndid not choose to advance, lest I should disturb the devotions of\nthe little assembly. While standing there, two ladies approached\ntowards the door, and, like myself, waited in silence till the\nprayer was ended, when we all entered together. Our appearance\nexcited considerable attention, but whenever we had taken our seats,\nevery eye was attentively directed towards the minister. To one\nwho has been accustomed to offer up his prayers and his praises,\nin the fixed and appropriate language of our national liturgy--and\nto listen to the enunciation of life and immortality within the\nwalls of a church--the scene of rustic simplicity exhibited in this\nfarm-house kitchen must have appeared very singular. Mr. Annesley\nstood in a corner of the room, his Bible lying open before him on\na small round deal table, the family clock ticking behind him; his\nrustic audience was variously disposed of--some sitting on the\ndresser to his right, others in the chimney-corner to the left, the\nmajority on forms in front of him, and a few bending forwards from\nthe passage, being incapable of gaining admission. As they were\nsinging the hymn which intervenes between the prayer and sermon, an\nexpression which I had recently met with came to my mind, and with\nsuch force, that no external decoration was wanted to render\neither the place or the truth more acceptable to my taste--\"A\nreligion without a Saviour, is the temple without its glory, and\nits worshippers will all desert it.\" Just as the minister read his\ntext, the countenances of several changed; all were attentive, and\nappeared to have forgotten the toils and the fatigues of labour,\nwhile listening to the discourse, which was founded on the following\nwords of Jesus Christ:--\"But there are some of you that believe\nnot\" (John vi. 64). He had not been speaking long, before my spirit\ninvoluntarily said, \"Here is religion with a Saviour, and wherever\nhis truth is preached, there he condescends to dwell.\"\n\n[Illustration: J. GODWIN.\n\nW. L. THOMAS\n\nTHE FARM-HOUSE KITCHEN.\n\nVol. ii. page 286.]\n\nThe sermon delivered was simple, perspicuous, and well calculated to\nfix the attention of the audience. The figures of illustration and\ndescription were selected from the rural scenes and occupations with\nwhich the congregation were familiar; and from the looks, the tones,\nand the actions of the speaker, it was evident that he was really\nin earnest, and desired to impress his hearers with his own views\nand feelings. When expostulating with those who did not believe, he\nsuddenly paused, his eyes, more than half suffused with tears, told\nmore forcibly than language could express, how deeply he felt; while\nhis lips, quivering with tremulous anxiety, gave utterance to the\ninterrogation--\"_Why won't you come to Jesus Christ, and be saved?_\nDo you think you need no Saviour? Impossible! Do you imagine that\nhe is unable to save you? Do you suppose he is unwilling to save\nyou? Impossible! Do you think you are in no danger of being lost?\nDo you imagine that the misery of a lost soul is less terrible than\nthe Scriptures represent it? or that the happiness of a redeemed\nspirit is less joyous? Impossible! _Why then won't you come to\nJesus Christ, and be saved?_\" No profound arguments were employed\nin pressing on the attention of his rustic audience these pointed\nquestions, and yet they came with an almost irresistible force.\nAs the people were retiring, I heard some of them saying to one\nanother, \"Ah! why don't we come to Jesus Christ, and be saved?\"\n\nBeing seated nearly opposite the two ladies who entered along with\nme, I could not avoid noticing the behaviour of one of them, which\ncontrasted strongly with the simple and devout attention of the\ncottagers. Sometimes she listened with apparent seriousness, but\nmore than once the smile of contempt and the look of scorn seemed to\ngather on her countenance; and at one part of the sermon, when the\npreacher was speaking of the entire depravity of the human heart,\nshe made an effort to leave, but was apparently prevented from doing\nso by her friend. When, however, this simple question fell from Mr.\nAnnesley's lips, she became still and thoughtful, and I observed\ntears fall from her eyes, an unconscious response to the earnest\nappeals of the preacher.\n\nAfter service I introduced myself to Mr. Annesley, who insisted\non my spending the night at his house. On our talking over the\noccurrences of the evening, I mentioned what I had noticed in the\nconduct of one of the ladies, and expressed my belief that her heart\nwas penetrated by what she had heard. \"If, Sir,\" he remarked, \"that\nlady should be converted, she will be a living witness of the truth\nof the gospel of Jesus Christ, and afford a strong corroborative\ntestimony of its Divine origin. I have,\" he added, \"no personal\nacquaintance with her; nor was I aware that she was present this\nevening, till I saw her leaving at the conclusion of the service,\nbut I have long known her character; she resides at Hollyton, a\nvillage about a mile and a half distant, and, I believe, is one\nof the most agreeable women you could meet with in society, but\nshe is a professed infidel; and though most of her relatives and\nfriends are religious, she will rarely consent to attend any place\nof worship with them. She says that the scheme of salvation is a\ncunningly devised fable, got up by the priesthood, and palmed upon\nour hopes and fears by the policy of our rulers; and unhesitatingly\navows that it is the duty of every person, who feels a proper\nrespect for the dignity of the human species, to employ all his\ninfluence to dissipate the delusion. She will not, I understand,\nenter into any discussion on the Christian religion, because, she\nsays, no evidence could induce her to believe it--no, not if she\nhad seen the miracles performed which are ascribed to Christ and\nhis apostles--and often quotes the inconsistent conduct of its\nprofessors, to show that its moral tendency is unfavourable to\nthe growth of virtue. The lady who accompanied her is of a very\ndifferent stamp, and a pious member of the church. I presume her\ninfluence has induced Mrs. Farrington to attend our meeting this\nevening. I trust that she may yet be led to see and repent of her\nerrors.\"\n\n\"I am mistaken,\" I remarked, \"if her scepticism has not received its\ndeath-blow to-night. She will be thinking soon about coming to Jesus\nChrist to be saved.\"\n\n\"Amen. The Lord grant that it may be so.\"\n\nI then referred to the interesting scene I had witnessed on my\nway to the farm-house, and was informed by Mr. Annesley that the\nlabourers whose festivities I had witnessed, belonged for the\nmost part to his regular congregation at Woodford, and were in\nthe employment of Farmer Hopkins, one of the most esteemed and\ninfluential members of his church.\n\nThe next morning, as we were sitting at breakfast, a note was handed\nto Mr. Annesley from Mrs. Farrington, requesting that he would be so\nkind as call on her in the course of the forenoon. She added, that\nshe understood he had a clerical friend with him at present, whom\nshe had observed at the meeting on the previous evening, and that\nshe would feel much gratified if he would accompany him.\n\n\"Your discourse,\" I observed, \"has already borne fruit.\"\n\n\"I trust so,\" he replied. \"You will of course go with me on this\nvisit to Mrs. Farrington's. I have never been in her house, and I\nshould like to have a friend with me, more especially as she seems\nanxious for it herself.\"\n\nI would have excused myself, on the ground that I had already been\nlonger absent from home than I had intended; but my objections\nwere overruled, and I consented to remain another night with Mr.\nAnnesley, and return to town next morning. In the course of the\nforenoon, we proceeded to Mrs. Farrington's, and were received by\nher with the utmost courtesy. She mentioned that she had recognized\nme the previous evening as a clergyman in ----, whom she had once\nheard preach, and on her way home she had learned that I was to be\nthe guest of Mr. Annesley for the night. She endeavoured to assume\nher accustomed ease and sprightliness of manner; but still I felt\npersuaded that she was labouring under strong mental depression,\nwhich she was anxious to conceal. The conversation turned on the\nscenery around us, which had now assumed the beautiful autumnal\ntinge; and when Mrs. Farrington pointed to a double row of fine elm\ntrees, whose thick and extended branches overshadowed a lovely walk\nin the front of her cottage, I could not refrain from repeating the\nfollowing lines of Cowper:--\n\n                              \"Meditations here,\n    May think down hours to moments. Here the heart\n    May give a useful lesson to the head;\n    And learning wiser grow, without his books.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Mrs. Farrington, \"to quote from the same author--\n\n    'Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,\n    Have ofttimes no connection. _Knowledge_ dwells\n    In heads replete with thoughts of other men;\n    Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.'\"\n\n\"Very true,\" said Mr. Annesley, \"and hence we sometimes see those\nwho are endowed with the greatest intellectual talents, and enriched\nwith the largest stores of knowledge, acting the most foolish parts\nin the drama of life, and terminating their career without any hope\nof a blissful immortality.\" This allusion to a future world, threw\na shade over the countenance of Mrs. Farrington, and more than once\nshe endeavoured with difficulty to suppress a sigh.\n\n\"We have high authority for saying,\" I remarked, \"that it is not\ngood for the soul to be without knowledge; but considering the\nrelation in which we stand to God, and our condition as sinners\nagainst his righteous government, there is no knowledge so essential\nto our happiness, as a knowledge of his character, and the way in\nwhich his favour is to be conciliated. Without this, we are left\nin absolute uncertainty respecting our final destiny, which must be\nperplexing and alarming, in proportion as we seriously meditate on\nthe capabilities of the human soul to suffer or enjoy in a future\nstate of existence. Hence arises the desirableness of a revelation\nof the will of God; and the advantage of having such a revelation,\nwhen made, committed to writing, that it may be preserved from the\ncorruption and uncertainty to which oral tradition is necessarily\nexposed. This revelation we have in the sacred Scriptures; its\npurity and adaptation to our moral condition are strong internal\nevidences of its genuineness; and I am at a loss to conceive how\nany one can reject it, without destroying his own peace of mind. It\ndelineates our character, as guilty, depraved, and unhappy, with the\nmost perfect accuracy; and points our attention to a Saviour, who\ncame to save and to bless us, and to fit us for a nobler life than\nwe can ever live on earth.\"\n\nMrs. Farrington became deeply affected, burst into tears, and\nleft the room, but soon after returned, offering as an apology\nfor her weakness and her rudeness, as she termed it, an excessive\nnervous irritability under which she was then labouring. After a\nmoment's pause, Mr. Annesley said:--\"Pray, Madam, is not your mind\nnow powerfully affected by those religious truths which you once\nrejected as the fallacious opinions of man?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir,\" she replied, \"it is, and has been since I heard you\npreach last night in Farmer Rogers' kitchen. I have hitherto\nrejected the gospel as a cunningly devised fable, and generally\nlooked with pity or contempt on those who embraced it, but then I\nwas convinced of its divinity, and by the force of an evidence which\nI had not previously examined.\"\n\n\"What fresh evidence of the divinity of the gospel,\" said Mr.\nAnnesley, \"did you receive last night, for I do not recollect\nadvancing any?\"\n\n\"The evidence of experience,\" she replied, \"for the gospel came\nnot in word only, but in power, and I could no longer resist it.\nCuriosity led me to that sequestered house of prayer; and at first\nI was disposed to treat the whole affair with contempt. The pride\nof my heart rose up against the statement which you gave us of the\nentire depravity of our nature, and I should have left in disgust,\nhad not my friend prevented me; but when you proposed that simple\nyet important question, '_Why won't you come to Jesus Christ, and\nbe saved?_' I felt as though an arrow had pierced my soul, and from\nthat hour till now, I have been suffering the agonies of a wounded\nspirit. I could get no sleep last night, reflecting on my condition;\nand early this morning I despatched a messenger to your house,\nwith the note which you received. I feel deeply obliged for the\npromptness with which you and Mr. ---- have responded to my request,\nin coming to see me.\"\n\n\"But,\" inquired Mr. Annesley, \"as the interrogation you refer to was\nno direct proof of the Divine origin of the gospel, how came it to\nproduce such a conviction in your mind?\"\n\n\"I have been revolving that question, and it has created some strong\ndoubts of the correctness of my present belief; but yet now I can no\nmore reject the gospel as false, than I could before receive it as\ntrue. That interrogation came with a power which was superhuman, and\nits impressions on my heart bore the stamp of the same agency; and\nnow, Sir, the only question which I wish resolved is this: May I be\npermitted to hope that that Saviour whom I have so long rejected,\nand so often and so grossly insulted, will ever condescend to cast\none tender look of compassion on me?\"\n\n\"In the conversion of a sinner,\" said Mr. Annesley, \"it pleases God\nto display his sovereignty, no less than his power and his grace;\nand hence he generally accomplishes it in a way which compels us\nto acknowledge his direct and immediate agency. Had he chosen to\nconvince you of the Divine origin of that system of truth, which you\nhave so long rejected, by the slow and rational process of a logical\nargument, your judgment might have been convinced, while your\nheart remained unaffected by its awful and sublime communications;\nbut by convincing you of your guilt, and of your danger, and of\nthe necessity of a Mediator and a Saviour, he has rendered that\nargumentative process unnecessary, in compelling you at once to seek\nthe consolations of mercy as essential to your happiness.\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, Sir, they are essential to my happiness, indeed they are,\nbut I fear they will be withheld. What plea can I urge for mercy? On\nwhat basis can I rest a hope of acceptance?\"\n\n\"It is usual,\" Mr. Annesley replied, \"for a person who is just\nawakened to a belief of the gospel of Christ, to suppose that its\nconsolations are far beyond his reach, whilst he stands in dread of\nits awful denunciations; but this is a delusion which fear practises\non the imagination. In the operations of Divine truth on the heart,\nthere is a natural process observed on the part of the great\ninvisible Agent who conducts it; the convictions of personal guilt,\nconnected with an apprehension of merited punishment, prepare the\nway for the reception of pardon and salvation, as the free gifts of\nGod.\"\n\n\"Am I then to consider what I suffer and what I dread as preparatory\nvisitations of Divine grace, to compel me to take refuge in Christ\nfrom the wrath to come?\"\n\n\"Yes, Madam. The feelings which you now experience, and which excite\nso much alarm, are intended to prepare you for the manifestations\nof the Divine favour and love. You have now to fix your attention\non Jesus Christ, who is able and willing to save all who come unto\nGod by him. And hear the encouraging and consolatory language he\nemploys--'All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him\nthat cometh to me I will in no wise cast out' (John vi. 37).\"\n\n\"But what reason have I to believe that such gracious words relate\nto myself?\"\n\n\"Their insertion in the Bible is your authority for so applying\nthem to yourself. But lest you should suppose that this gracious\ndeclaration was designed, in any sense, for the exclusive relief of\nthose to whom it was originally given, the revelation of mercy and\ngrace concludes with language equally encouraging:--'And the Spirit\nand the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And\nlet him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the\nwater of life freely' (Rev. xxii. 17). Why then should you doubt?\nWhy should you pause? Why should you continue to linger around the\npromises of salvation, and not embrace them as the source of your\ncomfort?\"\n\n\"I do not hesitate to plead the promise of salvation from any doubt\nof its necessity, or of its truthfulness. I feel, however, such a\nburden of guilt on my conscience, for having uttered so many hard\nthings against the Redeemer and his great salvation, and feel so\noppressed by a sense of unparalleled unworthiness, that I seem more\ninclined to endure the chastening of the Lord, than venture to\nimplore the exercise of his pardoning love and mercy.\"\n\n\"You are, it is true, unworthy, but not unwelcome; unworthy, but not\nunfit: for\n\n    'All the fitness he requireth,\n    Is to _feel_ your need of him.\n\nHow simple! Believe, and be saved; come to me, and I will give you\nrest.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, the plan of salvation is both simple and suited; but\nthese attributes of its character stagger and perplex me.\"\n\n\"How so, Madam?\"\n\n\"It appears more consonant to the awful majesty of Divine justice\nto demand from me some costly sacrifice--to call upon me to endure\nsome severe privations and sufferings, as the condition of pardon\nand acceptance, rather than to offer them freely and gratuitously.\nI ought, I think, to suffer some extreme and prolonged infliction,\nbefore I ought to cherish a hope of salvation.\"\n\n\"That is true; but, as the apostle says, 'By grace are ye saved\nthrough faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God;\nnot of works, lest any man should boast' (Eph. ii. 8, 9).\"\n\n\"I feel thankful that I am not now what I was yesterday--a proud and\nhaughty sceptic; looking with scornful contempt on the Bible--on the\nSabbath, and its public services--and on all who make a profession\nof love to Jesus Christ; but I dare not lay claim to the spiritual\nblessings which God graciously bestows on his redeemed and renovated\npeople. I hope in his mercy, and pray for its manifestations to my\nguilty conscience, but I cannot do more; indeed, at times, I tremble\nwhile cherishing a hope in his mercy, lest I should add the sin of\npresumption, to the many other sins I have committed against him.\"\n\nWe now closed the interview by reading the Scriptures and prayer;\nand then returned, devoutly thankful to the God of salvation for\nwhat we had seen and heard.\n\nIn this state of agitating uncertainty, as to the final issue of\nher hopes and her fears, Mrs. Farrington continued, as Mr. Annesley\nafterwards informed me, for several months, suffering at times\nintense remorse, and often strongly tempted to abandon herself to\ndespair. But by a patient continuance in the study of the Bible and\nlistening to the ministry of the Word, in meditation and in prayer,\nshe felt in process of time the sacred power of the promise of mercy\nand grace; tasted that the Lord is gracious, and eventually had hope\nand peace in believing; living through life in the fear of God, and\ngiving a practical exemplification of the truth of the apostolic\ndeclaration, that \"the grace of God that bringeth salvation,\nteaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should\nlive soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world; looking\nfor that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God\nand our Saviour Jesus Christ; who gave himself for us, that he might\nredeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar\npeople, zealous of good works\" (Titus ii. 11-14).\n\nThe conversion of this lady to the Christian faith, after having\nsignalized herself for many years by her unceasing hostility to it,\nis a very strong evidence in confirmation of its Divine origin. What\nhuman power could have effected such a moral renovation as that\nwhich was produced while she was listening to this sermon by Mr.\nAnnesley? She anticipated no such a change, nor did she desire it.\nIn the sermon, which curiosity prompted her to hear, there was no\nconcentration of argument to carry conviction to her judgment--no\noutbursts of eloquence--nor any decorations of style, to impress her\nfeelings or attract her taste, but merely an interrogation, and that\none of the most simple. From whence, then, came the all-powerful\nenergy by which her haughty spirit was made to quail before the\ntruth, which she had so long stigmatized as a cunningly devised\nfable? Whence, unless from Him who can easily subdue all things\nto himself; and whose spiritual triumphs are often graced by the\nspontaneous submission of his most malignant enemies; thus turning a\nprophetic announcement into an historic fact--\"Thy people shall be\nwilling in the day of thy power.\"\n\n\n\n\nA PARTY AT THE ELMS.\n\n\nI must now request the courteous reader to return with me to\nMr. Holmes and his family, at the Elms, where, as it will be\nrecollected, we left Louisa, the eldest daughter, in a state of\ngreat mental perplexity, though somewhat soothed by the judicious\nletter of her worthy friend Mrs. Loader. It will also be remembered\nthat Louisa had addressed a second letter to the latter, detailing\nfurther her career of Christian experience, and asking additional\nadvice and assistance as to her future course.[22]\n\n  [22] Vol. ii. p. 177.\n\nAccording to annual custom, a large party dined at the Elms,\nconsisting principally of Mr. Holmes' old city friends, who came\nto enjoy a day in the country, and have a talk over the events\nof former times. They had all sprung from an obscure origin--had\ncommenced to push their fortunes in London about the same time--and\nwere now in the possession of considerable wealth. The party\ndined early. When the cloth was removed, the worthy host said he\nwould give a toast, which he hoped the ladies would respond to as\nwell as the gentlemen, though he admitted he ought to apologize\nfor attempting to revive a practice which was now becoming\nobsolete--\"Prosperity to the citizens of London; and may they ever\nexpress their gratitude to God, by supporting the institutions of\nbenevolence.\" This toast having been duly honoured, the ladies\nwithdrew, leaving the gentlemen to their debates and discussions.\n\nMiss Holmes proposed a walk--a proposal which the ladies and young\npeople gladly fell in with. It was a fine tranquil evening, at the\nclose of one of those beautiful days which frequently occur in\nthis country in the month of October. The sun was sinking in a sea\nof crimson and gold, behind a finely wooded hill to the west, and\nthrowing his rich amber light through the foliage of the pleasure\nground in which the party was now sauntering. Everything tended to\nsoothe and tranquillize the mind, while not a sound could be heard,\nbut the rustling of the autumn leaves beneath the feet, or their\nfall as the branches vibrated in the almost imperceptible evening\nbreeze.\n\nAmong the young people composing the party that day at the Elms,\nwas Miss Martin, an intimate friend of Miss Holmes, and decidedly\nreligious, but between whom and Louisa there had hitherto been\nbut little sympathy on this subject. Without possessing the years\nand experience of Mrs. Loader, she nevertheless possessed an\naffectionate disposition, with a fund of sterling good sense, and\nwas thus well qualified to impart consolation to the agitated and\ndistressed mind of her friend. Louisa felt her heart gradually\nlightened as she conversed with Miss Martin; and the two ladies,\nwalking on together a little in advance, got engaged in so\ninteresting a discussion, that they soon lost sight of the younger\nmembers of the party, who had set off to amuse themselves in another\ndirection. Louisa now recollected that she had promised a Bible\nthe day before to an old woman in the neighbourhood, and invited\nMiss Martin to accompany her with it there--a proposal to which her\nfriend gladly acceded. They accordingly proceeded down a narrow\npath which led from the shrubbery to a retired country road. They\nthen walked along a short distance till they came to a neat cottage,\nat the door of which they gently tapped. It was opened by the old\nwoman, Mrs. Kent, who invited them to walk in and sit down. They\nreadily consented, and spent there a most interesting hour.\n\n\"I feel deeply obliged, ladies,\" said Mrs. Kent, \"by your kindness\nin fetching me this Bible. It is indeed a treasure. A large printed\nBible like this is just what I have long been wishing to procure,\nas my eyes are become so dim I cannot see to read this small print\"\n(exhibiting a Bible which bore the marks of age).\n\n\"I am very glad, indeed, that you are pleased with it,\" replied\nLouisa, \"and I trust you may long be spared in health to enjoy its\nstores.\"\n\n\"I have great reason to be thankful to God for the health he has\ngiven me. I am in his hand--he doeth all things well.\"\n\n\"You have really a pretty cottage here,\" said Miss Martin, \"and it\nis very tastefully adorned. Have you lived here many years?\"\n\n\"About twenty years. I was turned out of the cottage I lived in\nbefore, by Lord Harwood's steward, because I would not give up my\nreligion; but the Lord opened the heart of a good man who lives in\nthe village, and he built this little cottage for me, and I have\nlived here rent free ever since.\"\n\n\"How long may it be since you first knew the Lord?\"\n\n\"More than forty years. I was, when young, a very thoughtless girl,\nand took great delight in vain pleasures; but the Lord was pleased,\nblessed be his name, to call me to a knowledge of the truth, and to\nlove and serve him, when I was about your age.\"\n\n\"And you are not weary of his service?\"\n\n\"Weary of his service!\" said the venerable matron, her eyes\nsparkling as with youthful ardour--\"no, Miss, though I often wonder\nthat the Lord is not weary of me, as I am such an unprofitable\nservant.\"\n\n\"Then after forty years' experience, you can bear testimony to\nthe truth of what Solomon says of religion: 'Her ways are ways of\npleasantness, and all her paths are peace?'\"\n\n[Illustration: JAMES GODWIN.\n\nW. L. THOMAS.\n\nMISS HOLMES AND MISS MARTIN TAKING LEAVE OF MRS. KENT.\n\nVol. ii. p. 299.]\n\n\"That I can. I have been a widow five and twenty years. I have\noutlived all my children but one, and I have not seen him for more\nthan sixteen years. I have had many troubles, but the Lord has\nbrought me through them all. He has given me a spirit of resignation\nand contentment, and I can say, Let him do with me as seemeth good\nin his sight. He is too wise to err.\"\n\n\"Then you don't envy the rich and the noble?\"\n\n\"No, Miss, I envy no one. If the rich have comforts that I have not,\nthey have cares and temptations, from which I am protected. May the\nLord incline you, my young friends, to seek him in your youth, and\nthen you will find a treasure which is of more value than thousands\nof gold and silver.\"\n\n\"I hope he has inclined us to seek him,\" said Miss Holmes; \"and as\nyou have known him so many years, I shall be happy to come and visit\nyou, that you may teach me the way of the Lord more perfectly.\"\n\n\"I shall be glad to see you at any time, if you will condescend to\ncome and see me; but it is not in my power to teach you. The prophet\nsays, 'All thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall\nbe the peace of thy children.'\"\n\n\"I will soon come back again and have a long chat. Good night.\"\n\n\"Good night, ladies. May the Lord bless you.\"\n\n\"She is a dear old woman,\" said Miss Martin. \"I have quite fallen in\nlove with her.\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear Mary, she is one of the Lord's hidden jewels, set\napart for himself. I am very glad to have made her acquaintance, but\nI confess that I neglected to do this till the other day, though I\nhad often seen her knitting on the seat in front of her cottage as I\npassed by.\"\n\nThe two friends now re-entered the avenue, and, taking a by-path,\nascended a little rising ground, which commanded a fine view of\nthe surrounding country. \"How delightful it is, Louisa,\" said Miss\nMartin, \"to get a day's excursion away from the bustle and smoke of\nLondon. What a beautiful landscape you have here--that venerable\nchurch tower rising in the distance among the trees, and that fine\nold mansion at the foot of the hill, with the deer feeding in the\npark in front; and see what a pretty object Mrs. Kent's cottage\nmakes, when seen through this vista in the trees.\"\n\n\"It is certainly a beautiful prospect, Mary. I often come here\nto contemplate it. I made a sketch the other day of Mrs. Kent's\ncottage, which I shall show you when we get into the house. It is\nboth a picturesque object when viewed from a distance, and loses\nnone of its attractions on a near approach. She has displayed great\ntaste in the way she has disposed the evergreens and flowers around\nit. But its chief glory is within.\"\n\n\"Very true, my dear Louisa. It is a sacred spot--often visited by\nunseen messengers, when they come to earth on errands of mercy.\nStrangers would pass by, and admire only the neatness of its\nexternal appearance, but we have seen its concealed beauties.\"\n\n\"I was quite delighted,\" said Miss Holmes, \"with the first visit\nI paid her. She certainly possesses a very cultivated mind for a\nperson in her station. She has been a great reader in her time, but\nnow her favourite study is divinity, and the Bible is her text-book.\nShe gave me some particulars of her history. Her life has been a\nchequered one. I was quite taken with the artless simplicity of her\nconversation, and with the ease, I may almost say elegance, of her\nmanners. I shall certainly often stroll to her cottage for a chat;\nand you must come here again soon, and pay her another visit along\nwith me.\"\n\n\"I am glad, my dear, that you are partial to her,\" replied Miss\nMartin. I shall be delighted to accompany you again to Mrs. Kent's.\nI hope you will often visit her. You will derive, I have no doubt,\nmuch spiritual benefit from her conversation. There is nothing\nwhich so polishes and refines the character as the influence of\nreligion. It improves the taste, without making it fastidious;\nenlarges the intellect, without engendering vanity; softens and\nsweetens the temper; and inspires a consciousness of individual\nworth and importance, while at the same time it pays a respectful\nregard to the laws and customs which prevail in society. Hence a\nChristian appears as dignified in a cottage as in a mansion; and\nliving comparatively disengaged from the temptations of the world,\nhe is more at liberty to commune with the Redeemer, by which he\nimperceptibly receives a more perfect impression of his image.\"\n\n\"But do you think, Mary, that every Christian exemplifies the\ncorrectness of your remarks?\"\n\n\"No, my dear. Some do not feel the influence of religion till late\nin life, when their taste has been vitiated, their habits formed,\nand their tempers set; and though it will correct some of the evils\nwhich they may have contracted, yet it rarely happens that their\ncharacter receives such an amount of refinement as it would have\ndone, had they felt its transforming power at an earlier period.\"\n\nJust at this moment they were startled by a deep groan, that came\nfrom the wood near which they were standing, and on running to\nafford some assistance to the supposed sufferer, Miss Holmes beheld\nher facetious sister Emma, with a group of young friends, attempting\nto conceal themselves, but who burst out into loud laughter when\nthey were discovered.\n\n\"What's the matter, girls?\"\n\n\"Nothing, ladies; O nothing!\" said Lucy Cooper, with a suppressed\nsmile.\n\n\"We were afraid, from the groan we heard, that some one had been\nhurt, or was suddenly taken ill.\"\n\n\"It was only Emma, feigning illness, to disturb you in your grave\nmusings.\"\n\n\"O! Emma, I wonder how you could be so foolish! I am glad, however,\nthat there is nothing the matter; and I do not regret having been\ndisturbed, as it appears to have contributed to your mirth.\"\n\n\"We have just been seeing Mrs. Kent,\" said Emma, \"and she told us\nthat you, and I suppose Miss Martin, had been there.\"\n\n\"O what a lovely place!\" exclaimed several voices.\n\n\"How I should like to live in that beautiful cottage!\" said a little\ngirl; \"I wish grandpapa would buy such a one for me.\"\n\n\"The old lady,\" said another, \"was looking over the Bible you gave\nher when we tapped at the door, and she rose and received us with as\nmuch grace and ease as though she had been a duchess. She appears to\nbe a very contented, nice old woman, and seems to be very religious\nin her way. Is she not, Emma?\"\n\n\"Yes, she is.\"\n\n\"Aye, she is at a good age to become religious, and she has nothing\nelse to engage her attention. I should like to have another talk\nwith her.\"\n\n\"We shall be happy to see you, Lucy, at any time,\" said Miss Holmes;\n\"and I think both you and Emma would be all the better for a few\nlessons of staidness and sobriety from Mrs. Kent.\"\n\n\"O yes, I know I should; but as my propensity is to be religious, I\nmust check it, or I shall get quite unhappy. It won't do for me to\nassociate much with such devout people. I shall be sure to catch the\ninfection, from my natural habit of imitation.\"\n\nMiss Holmes would have made some reply, but the appearance of her\nbrothers, and some of the gentlemen from the house, put a stop to\nfurther conversation.\n\n\"Come, ladies,\" one of them exclaimed, \"where have you been rambling\nto all this time? We thought we had lost you. You have forgotten how\nlate it is, and we must be off for town in an hour or two.\"\n\nThe youthful party, thus summoned, hastened to the house, where,\nafter partaking of tea, the guests prepared to depart, just as the\nmoon began to rise. The family then being left alone, drew their\nseats round the fire for a few minutes before they retired to rest,\nand began to talk over the incidents of the day.\n\n\"This has been a very happy day,\" said Mr. Holmes; \"for though our\nfriends are not all religious people, yet they are very worthy,\nexcellent persons.\"\n\n\"It must be a high gratification to you, father,\" said his eldest\nson, \"to see the companions of your youth sitting around your table,\nwith your children, and, by mutual intercourse, recalling the early\nscenes and incidents of your career.\"\n\n\"Indeed it is, William; and I hope God has reserved the same\nenjoyment for you all; and that, when I am resting in the grave with\nmy fathers, you will think and talk of these gone-by times.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA few days after this, Miss Holmes received the following letter\nfrom her esteemed friend, Mrs. Loader, which she had been anxiously\nexpecting for some time:--\n\n     \"_29th Oct., 18--._\n\n     \"MY DEAR LOUISA,--I received your letter of ----, and was\n     glad to find that you were so far restored as to be able to\n     occupy yourself in the service of Christian benevolence. The\n     duties which now devolve upon you are no less novel than they\n     are important; and while you may provoke others to scorn by\n     the activity of your zeal, you may sometimes likewise involve\n     yourself in perplexity and mortification. You already begin\n     to feel the loss of the spiritual enjoyments which you so\n     largely participated in when \"first you knew the Lord,\" and you\n     suppose that this is a conclusive evidence of the declining\n     influence of religious principle over your mind; but you ought\n     not to draw such a conclusion. If, dear Louisa, you expect\n     that the realities of the unseen world will always retain that\n     ascendency over your affections which they acquired when you\n     first felt their power, you proceed in your calculations on\n     mistaken data. When you were first impressed by the truth, you\n     were a prisoner--confined in the solitary chamber; you held but\n     little intercourse with the world around you, and your feelings\n     were rendered more susceptible of strong excitement, from the\n     influence which a protracted affliction had imperceptibly\n     acquired over them; but now you are out and abroad--your spirits\n     are braced up by the pressure of calls and engagements, which\n     demand your attention; and you are compelled to engage in the\n     duties and pursuits of social life. Can such a change in your\n     habits take place without having some powerful effect on the\n     state of your affections? Impossible! An active life is less\n     favourable to devotional feeling than a contemplative one; and\n     though I would not throw out a remark which should operate as\n     a discouragement to exertion in the cause of Him who became\n     obedient unto death for us, yet I assure you, that in proportion\n     as the number of your employments increase, you will be deprived\n     of the pleasures of retired devotion, even though the truths of\n     religion retain their ascendency over your judgment, and its\n     holy principles reign in your heart.\n\n     \"I have thought it right to make these observations, to guard\n     you against the common error into which young Christians often\n     fall, in supposing that their faith is not genuine, because it\n     does not uniformly act with the same degree of activity and\n     power.\n\n     \"That you should, at times, admit the possibility of the entire\n     passing away of your religious convictions and impressions, and\n     should look forward with shuddering dread to the consequences\n     and final issue of such a calamitous event, does not surprise\n     me, neither does it give me any alarm. This is usually one of\n     the earliest mental trials a young disciple has to endure. You\n     say that, notwithstanding the ceaseless terror which agitates\n     your heart, you are moving forward, though slowly, between\n     hope and fear: and if so, you are safe in the right way to the\n     city of habitation, as fear will keep you from presumption,\n     and hope from despair. Yes, my dear Louisa, the harmonious\n     blending of these affections of the soul, will ever prove,\n     in their restraining and sustaining influence, a shield of\n     defence against the subtle temptations of the great adversary,\n     and a well-spring of consolation in the season of gloom and\n     depression. We read, 'The Lord taketh pleasure in them that fear\n     him, in those that hope in his mercy' (Psal. cxlvii. 11). But\n     you are unconsciously guilty of a capital error--you think, and\n     feel, and write, as if there were no being in existence who is\n     able to keep you from falling, and who, at the same time, has\n     no personal interest in doing it. Has a father no personal\n     interest in the preservation of the life and happiness of his\n     child? Hear what your heavenly Father says, when speaking to you\n     from the celestial glory--'Can a woman forget her sucking child,\n     that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea,\n     they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have\n     graven thee upon the palms of my hands' (Isa. xlix. 15, 16). Can\n     you suppose that Jesus Christ, after dying to redeem you, will\n     abandon you and leave you to perish, when you are praying--'Lord\n     save me!' He loves his own; and all who come to him to be saved\n     are his own, and none else will come; and when they come, he\n     will in no wise neglect them or cast them out. Meditate often\n     on the following words, which he spoke when on earth to his\n     disciples, and which he has had recorded in the sacred volume,\n     for the consolation of his disciples of all future times--'I\n     pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world, but\n     that thou shouldest keep them from the evil' (John xvii. 15).\n     You may have great and sore trials in your Christian course--you\n     may be exposed to severe temptations and great moral dangers,\n     but you are safe; HE will not overlook you, or leave you, who\n     gave his life as a ransom for your redemption. Your final\n     salvation depends on no doubtful contingency. It is fixed and\n     certain. And HE who gave his life for you, is now preparing a\n     place for you in heaven--is doing something in your behalf which\n     implies the exercise of power--getting in readiness, as I heard\n     an eloquent preacher remark the other Sabbath, a quiet chamber\n     for the accommodation of his beloved disciple in the house of\n     his Father. And after preparing this mansion, he will not suffer\n     its intended occupant to perish by the way. No; 'My sheep hear\n     my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: and I give unto\n     them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall\n     any man pluck them out of my hand.' (John x. 27, 28).\n\n     \"I am happy that you are intimate with the Corries, who used to\n     be our next-door neighbours when we lived in London. They are\n     a very excellent family, decidedly pious, and very benevolent.\n     They are Christians of the old school--still retain their\n     attachment to the singular phraseology which at one time was\n     much in vogue amongst our evangelical preachers--and have\n     imbibed a few opinions which, I think, need revision.\n\n     \"You appear to have had your peace disturbed, and your cheering\n     prospects darkened, by your intercourse with them; but be not\n     alarmed, as the more your faith is tried, the stronger it will\n     grow; and instead of sustaining any injury from the conflicting\n     elements of doubt and suspicion, which threaten to tear it up by\n     the roots, it will strike them still deeper and deeper in that\n     holy soil, in which it is ordained to flourish.\n\n     \"Your friends are not singular in their views of the nature of\n     faith, but I do not think that they are correct; and as you have\n     requested me to give you my opinion, I will cheerfully do so.\n     They confound a plenary conviction of the truth of the Christian\n     scheme of salvation, with an assurance of a personal interest\n     in its invaluable blessings. This is the error into which they\n     have fallen, and on the eve of which you are now standing; but\n     it does not require much force of reasoning to show its fallacy.\n     Faith is an assent of the mind to some truth, or some system\n     of truth, which is established by satisfactory evidence. As\n     this assent becomes weaker or stronger, in proportion to the\n     clearness and force of the evidence by which it is produced, a\n     full assurance of faith is that high degree of it which admits\n     of no suspicion. Hence, you are convinced that Jesus Christ came\n     into this world--that he sojourned in the land of Judea--that\n     he performed the miracles which are ascribed to him--that he\n     died on the cross to expiate the guilt of sin--rose from the\n     dead--and is now seated on the right hand of the majesty on\n     high, receiving there the ascriptions of praise from the lips of\n     the redeemed.\n\n     \"You want no miracle wrought in your presence to induce you to\n     believe this, because you believe it on the testimony of the\n     inspired writers; nor is it necessary that a voice should speak\n     to you from the celestial glory to confirm it. But though you\n     are fully convinced of these facts, yet you are not so fully\n     convinced that he died _for you_--or that he is gone to heaven\n     to prepare a mansion for you, in the house of his Father.\n     You believe that there is 'redemption through his blood, the\n     forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace;' but\n     you sometimes doubt whether _you_ are redeemed and forgiven. You\n     believe that 'he is able to save them to the uttermost that come\n     unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for\n     them;' but you are not fully persuaded that he is interceding\n     for you. You feel your need of such a Saviour; and you know that\n     'all that the Father giveth him shall come to him;' yet you\n     doubt whether the Father ever gave you to Christ, or whether\n     you have ever come unto him in a scriptural manner. You cannot\n     believe the truth of the gospel more firmly than you do believe\n     it--you cannot place a more entire dependence on Christ for\n     salvation than you do place--you cannot feel more disposed to\n     give him all the honour of your salvation than you do feel; and\n     yet, at times, you doubt your acceptance--your safety--and your\n     final blessedness. Does not this clearly prove that faith in\n     Christ, and an assurance of an interest in him, are essentially\n     distinct?\n\n     \"Nor can we doubt the correctness of this assertion, if we\n     attend to the order of the Spirit's operations on our mind.\n     He inclines us to believe the truth which he exhibits; and he\n     enables us to do it. 'For he shall not speak of himself; but\n     whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will shew\n     you things to come. He shall glorify me: for he shall receive\n     of mine, and shall shew it unto you; all things that the Father\n     hath are mine: therefore said I, that he shall take of mine,\n     and shall shew it unto you.' This is his _first_ act; but it is\n     a _later_ act, to bear testimony with our spirit that we are\n     born of God; and as some space of time must necessarily elapse\n     after he has performed the first act, before he performs the\n     second, it is evident that faith may exist in its purity, and\n     in its power, even when there is no assurance of it. Hence it\n     follows, that a person who relies on the atonement of Christ for\n     salvation is as safe, though he live and die without any firm\n     persuasion of his future blessedness, as one who is enabled to\n     rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Indeed, my dear Louisa, I\n     should tremble to make the final happiness of my soul depend,\n     in the slightest degree, on my personal assurance of its safety.\n     This would be nothing less than intermingling a personal\n     attainment with the efficacy of the Saviour's death; and placing\n     my hope of a blissful immortality on the precarious basis of a\n     fluctuating feeling, rather than on that immoveable foundation\n     which God has laid in Zion. If you peruse the biographies of\n     some of the most eminent Christians, you will perceive that\n     during their pilgrimage on earth, they frequently complained\n     of that alternation of feeling which you now experience; and\n     some have been left for days, and for months, to walk in mental\n     darkness without the light of the Divine countenance. Your\n     favourite poet, Cowper, was a man eminently embued with the\n     spirit of Christ; and yet in what a dark and gloomy frame of\n     mind did he leave this world. His biographer says, that within\n     a few days of his decease, after a near relative had been\n     attempting to cheer him with the prospect of exchanging a world\n     of infirmity and sorrow, for a far more exceeding and eternal\n     weight of glory, he threw from him the words of peace, and\n     exclaimed, 'Oh, spare me! spare me! You know, you _know_ it to\n     be false.' Having given utterance to this despairing language,\n     he sunk into a state of apparent insensibility, in which state\n     he continued for twelve hours, and then expired without moving a\n     limb, or even uttering a moan. Thus terminated the mortal career\n     of one of the greatest poets that ever consecrated the powers\n     of his mind to the cause of Christ: entering death's dark vale\n     without a ray of light to cheer him in his lonely passage.\n\n     \"But shall we say that he died without faith, because he\n     died without an assurance that he possessed it? Would not\n     such an opinion necessarily tend to destroy our confidence\n     in the sufficiency of the atonement of Christ, by making our\n     final happiness depend on the peculiar frame of our mind in\n     that solemn hour, when some latent physical cause may bring\n     over the spirit a gloom which no human effort can dispel? If\n     we _trust_ in Christ, we shall be saved; and though we may\n     sometimes doubt the genuine nature of our act of faith, yet\n     that circumstance will not endanger either our present safety\n     or our future blessedness. Indeed, I have known some most\n     exemplary Christians, who have trembled to speak with confidence\n     of attaining the recompense of reward. Removed at an equal\n     distance from the dread of perishing and an _assurance_ of being\n     saved, they have been enabled to cherish and display those\n     dispositions and principles which have satisfied their judgment\n     of their safety, without affording an entire relief to all their\n     anxieties.\n\n     \"But though, my dear Louisa, an assurance of your interest in\n     Christ is not essential to your salvation, yet it is essential\n     to your happiness. You cannot doubt it, without feeling a deep\n     pang; and if you should habitually doubt it, you will live in a\n     state of perpetual dejection. I urge you, then, to attain it in\n     the spring-time of your experience; or you may accustom yourself\n     to feel more inclined to cherish, than to expel despondency.\n     'Wherefore,' says the apostle, 'give all diligence to make\n     your calling and election sure.' And that you may attain this\n     assurance of hope, which will be as an anchor of the soul\n     during the perils and conflicts of time, look up, by faith and\n     prayer, to the invisible Source of all consolation and joy; ever\n     remembering that 'the Spirit itself beareth witness with our\n     spirit, that we are the children of God: and if children, then\n     heirs; heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ' (Rom. viii. 16,\n     17). This witnessing testimony is as necessary to superinduce\n     this assurance, as the precious blood of Christ is necessary to\n     remove the guilt of sin. Never forget this.\n\n     \"And if you should not immediately attain a full assurance\n     of your interest in Christ, do not suffer your mind to be\n     overwhelmed with anxiety; as this is an attainment which belongs\n     to the more advanced Christian, rather than to the young\n     disciple. It will not come at once by an overpowering force,\n     driving away every gloomy fear, and throwing open before you\n     a clear prospect of a blissful immortality, but gradually, at\n     intermitting seasons, weakening the strength of your doubts, and\n     strengthening the weakness of your faith; till at length the God\n     of hope will fill you with all joy and peace in believing. I was\n     much struck with a paragraph in a devotional treatise which I\n     recently perused, and which I here quote--'Great consolation\n     is often received at different seasons, even during the period\n     when our general feelings are intermingled with dark and painful\n     forebodings. Hence, the weakest believer sometimes returns from\n     the closet, and from the sanctuary, strong in faith, though he\n     may again relapse into his more stated frame of despondency.\n     The clouds occasionally separate, to enable him to view the Sun\n     of Righteousness, and feel the healing virtue of his presence,\n     though they may again unite to obscure his vision, and leave him\n     to grope on his 'darkling way.' These intermitting seasons of\n     darkness and light, of high enjoyment and deep dejection, have\n     a salutary effect, and serve to prepare him for that state of\n     settled assurance, which, in fact, they tend in some measure to\n     produce.'\n\n     \"As I have so far exceeded the ordinary bounds of a letter, I\n     shall not enter on the other very important questions to which\n     you refer in your last; but will do it at some future period.\n     It gives us great pleasure to hear that you have such an\n     excellent minister near you, and though he preaches in a chapel\n     which does not belong to our Establishment, yet, if he preach\n     Christ and him crucified, I have no doubt you will enjoy his\n     labours. The feet of the messenger that publisheth peace, are\n     no less beautiful on the mountains, than in the city; and his\n     proclamation is as interesting to the self-condemned sinner,\n     when delivered in the unconsecrated chapel, as in the majestic\n     cathedral; and though we may retain our partialities to forms\n     and places, yet, if we ever suffer our prejudices to deprive us\n     of our spiritual privileges, we shall be guilty of a suicidal\n     act against both our peace and steadfastness in the faith.\n\n     \"The account which you have given me of your sisters has\n     awakened an opposite class of feelings in my breast. Emma, I\n     fear, is under some fatal influence which you have not yet\n     detected, and will, unless subdued by the loving-kindness of God\n     our Saviour, devote herself to the pleasures of the world. Her\n     beauty has made her vain, and the versatility of her talents\n     is a snare to her. You must watch over her with great care,\n     and pray that He who called _you_ out of darkness into his\n     marvellous light, would be pleased to renew her in the spirit of\n     her mind. Jane is a lovely girl. She has an elegant mind, and if\n     the good work is begun in her heart, she will be an interesting\n     companion to you. Let me hear from you as soon as you can spare\n     a few moments from your numerous engagements, and believe me,\n     yours affectionately,\n\n     E. LOADER.\"\n\n\n\n\nFAMILY SKETCHES.\n\n\nIn a large family we often find that some of the children discover\na peculiar aversion to the religious habits which prevail amongst\nthem. Though the primary cause of this hostility may be traced\nup to the depravity of our nature, yet we ought not to overlook\nthe secondary causes which may have contributed to its growth and\nmanifestation. For though there is an innate propensity to evil\nin the heart, and though that propensity is much stronger in some\nthan in others, yet it rarely breaks through the barriers which a\njudicious course of instruction throws up, unless it is brought into\ncontact with strong temptations, which _might_ have been guarded\nagainst. Hence most pious parents, when mourning over the impiety\nof their children, have to reproach themselves for some omissions\nor compliances which have directly or indirectly tended to produce\nthe evil, and which very naturally lead to a fatal indifference\nor open hostility to the claims of religion, which no subsequent\nremonstrances are able to correct or control.\n\nThis was the case in the family of the Holmes. Miss Emma was a\nbeautiful girl. Her manners were exceedingly graceful. She was\nwitty and satirical in her disposition, and from her childhood gave\nunequivocal proofs that she required more than ordinary attention\nin the cultivation of her mind and the formation of her character.\nFrom the superior vivacity of her spirits, the playfulness of\nher fancy, and her intellectual acuteness, she gained a powerful\nascendency over the affections of her parents, who, trusting too\nmuch to the maturity of her judgment for the correction of budding\nills, paid less regard to the formation of her habits than they had\ndone with their other children. The partiality for dress, which she\ndiscovered when a child, increased as she grew up, till at length\nshe lavished nearly the whole of her attention on her external\nappearance. After having spent a few years in the establishment\nwhere her elder sisters had finished their education, she was\nsent, at the age of sixteen, to a fashionable boarding-school,\nin which too much attention was paid to mere personal graces and\naccomplishments. It was here that she formed an intimacy with the\ndaughter of Colonel Orme, who resided near the Elms, and which\nproved a source of poignant sorrow to all the members of her family.\nAfter leaving school, she was permitted by her unsuspecting parents\nto exchange visits with her young friend, who was, by the influence\nof her sentiments and example, gradually destroying that reverence\nfor the authority of religion, and that attachment to its practices,\nwhich they were so anxious to cherish and to strengthen. Miss Holmes\nsaw with deep regret the fatal bias which her sister's mind was\nreceiving; and though she availed herself of every opportunity which\ncircumstances offered to check and subdue it, yet she constantly met\nwith determined resistance.\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Emma, after her sister had been urging her to return\nsome novels which her friend had sent for her perusal, \"I shall not\ndo it till I have read them. They are amusing and interesting; and\nif they contain any objectionable sentiments, I can easily reject\nthem.\"\n\n\"Yes, they may amuse and may interest, but they will not improve\nyour mind. They will give you false views of nature and the\nworld--imperceptibly reconcile you to sentiments and opinions at\nwhich you would now shudder--induce such a love for the marvellous\nand romantic that you will be dissatisfied with the dull uniformity\nof life, and destroy all the religious impressions which our dear\nparents have been so anxious to produce.\"\n\n\"When I feel the injury to which you allude I will give them up, but\ntill then you must permit me to follow my own inclination without\ncontrol. I am old enough to judge for myself.\"\n\nWhether the varieties which are apparent in the human character are\nto be traced up to the different methods employed in its formation,\nor to some inherent peculiarity in the constitution of the mind, is\na much vexed question amongst philosophers. Education and example no\ndoubt exercise a most material influence, but they do not operate in\na uniform manner, as we have known the most opposite characters rise\nout of the same family. To account for this, unless on the principle\nthat there is some inherent propensity in our nature, which gives\nto each person an individuality of character, would be extremely\ndifficult, if not impossible, as we should naturally expect a\nuniformity of result where the same means are taken to secure it,\nunless there be some latent cause by which this is prevented. Hence\nsome of the most improved systems of education make provision\nfor a difference in the style of instruction, and in the mode of\ntreatment, to accord with the natural temper and inclination of the\npupil; supposing, that by such a judicious arrangement, his moral\nand intellectual improvement may be more effectually advanced.\n\nBut how often does even this method fail of accomplishing its\nintended effect; as we see the children of a large family\ndiscovering a diversity in their taste--their disposition--and their\nhabits--no less striking than they would have done, if no wisdom\nor discretion had been employed in their cultivation. Meekness\nand irritability--an affable demeanour, and a proud hauteur--a\nplacidness and tenderness of disposition, and a violence and\nresentment of spirit--a love of display, and a native modesty which\nwithdraws from public notice--a passion for some individual pursuit,\nand a restlessness which no object can fix--are the moral lights and\nshadows which often fall on the members of the same family, giving\nthat variety of hue and tinge which we discover in the aspect of the\nnatural world.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Holmes, in their plan of domestic government,\nendeavoured to do three things--to attach their children to their\nown home; to encourage them to repose unlimited confidence in\ntheir parents; and to train them to cultivate pure and ardent love\nfor each other. By the adoption of these maxims, they displayed\ntheir good sense and parental regard; as it is uniformly found,\nthat when a child outgrows his love for his father's house, he has\nlost the sheet-anchor of his safety; that if he have not free and\nunrestricted access to his parents, he will become suspicious of,\nand estranged from them; and that if he feel no peculiar pleasure in\nthe society and interest in the welfare of the other branches of the\nfamily, he will cherish a jealous and envious disposition, not more\ndestructive of their happiness than of his own.\n\nWhen speaking of the excellencies which so finely budded on the\nopening character of some of their children, they often expressed\ntheir regret at the unpromising appearances of others; yet indulged\nthe hope that they would outgrow their \"flaws unseemly,\" and\nultimately display, not only the strength of reason, but the beauty\nof virtue. As they advanced from childhood to youth, and from\nyouth to riper years, they gradually developed the peculiarities\nof their tempers and dispositions, which were so dissimilar, that\nno uniform mode of discipline could be adopted with any chance\nof proving beneficial. Mr. Holmes was too much occupied in his\ncommercial affairs, to pay any great attention to his children\nwhile they were young, and, therefore, the chief responsibility\nof their education devolved on their mother, who, feeling anxious\nto discharge the trust reposed in her, availed herself of all the\ninformation which she could acquire. The following paragraph,\nwhich she met with in a favourite author, gave her an insight into\nthe art of a judicious management. It inspired her with a good\nhope respecting those who appeared the most unpromising, because\nthe most untractable:--\"A discriminating teacher will appreciate\nthe individual character of each pupil, in order to appropriate\nher management. We must strengthen the feeble, while we repel the\nbold. We cannot educate by a _receipt_: for after studying the best\nrules, and after digesting them into the best system, much must\ndepend on contingent circumstances; for that which is good may\nbe inapplicable. The cultivator of the human mind must, like the\ngardener, study diversities of soil, or he may plant diligently,\nand water faithfully, with little fruit. The skilful labourer knows\nthat, even when the surface is not particularly promising, there is\noften a rough, strong ground, which will amply repay the trouble of\nbreaking it up; yet we are often most taken with a soft surface,\nthough it conceal a shallow depth, because it promises present\nreward and little trouble. But strong and pertinacious tempers,\nof which, perhaps, obstinacy is the leading vice, under skilful\nmanagement, often turn out steady and sterling characters; while,\nfrom softer clay, a firm and vigorous virtue is but seldom produced.\nPertinacity is often principle, which wants nothing but to be led\nto its true object; while the uniformly yielding, and universally\naccommodating spirit, is not seldom the result of a feeble tone of\nmorals, of a temper eager for praise, and acting for reward.\"\n\nIt is often remarked, that children are men and women in\nminiature; and as they grow up to their full stature, we often\nsee them exhibiting, in broader and more palpable development,\nthe excellencies and defects of their juvenile character; but\nwhen they are subjected to the operation of extraordinary causes,\nthey sometimes undergo an entire transformation, and become new\ncreatures. The most hopeless turn out the most valuable--those who\nhave inflicted the most pungent sorrow ultimately become the source\nof the purest delight--the prematurely promising have faded in the\nspring-time vigour of their virtue--and those who have been endowed\nwith the greatest talents have brought down the gray hairs of their\nparents with sorrow to the grave.\n\nThe eldest sons of this family, William and Edward, who succeeded\nto the business when the father retired, had turned out everything\ntheir parents could wish, but presented no prominent traits of\ncharacter, beyond that of well-conducted, pious young men. The\nyoungest son, John, who was devoted to the medical profession,\npossessed more adroitness and vivacity than his brothers; but either\nfrom the laxity of parental control, or the peculiar connections\nwhich his pursuits in life led him to form, he disappointed the high\nexpectations which he had raised, and eventually became the source\nof domestic grief. He was greatly attached to his sister Emma, whom\nhe most nearly resembled, not only in person, but in disposition;\nand having imbibed sceptical notions on religious subjects, soon\nafter he commenced his professional studies, he infused them into\nher mind, and thus did her great injury. There was an unobtrusive\nmodesty about Jane, which naturally induced her to retire from\npublic notice, and rendered her fully appreciated only by her more\nintimate friends; while Emma's good qualities were unfortunately,\nto a great extent, obscured by her inordinate vanity and desire of\nadmiration. The love of dress, as already mentioned, early took\npossession of her mind, and her parents injudiciously nourished this\npassion, by allowing her to do as she pleased in this respect, not\nconceiving that by such a compliance she would sustain any moral\ninjury. But they lived to see and deplore their error.\n\n\"It is a just remark,\" says an excellent writer, \"that objects\nin their own nature innocent, and entitled to notice, may become\nthe sources of disadvantage and of guilt; when, being raised from\nthe rank of trifles to ideal importance, they occupy a share of\nattention which they do not deserve; and then they are pursued\nwith an immoderate ardour, which at once indisposes the mind\nto occupations of higher concern, and clouds it with malignant\nemotions.\" Perhaps there is no subject which will more strikingly\nillustrate the correctness of this remark, than that passion for\nfashionable attire by which some are enslaved. \"If, in addition\nto that reasonable degree of regard to propriety of dress, which\ninsures the strictest neatness, and a modest conformity, in\nunobjectionable points, to the authority of custom, a young woman\npermits her thoughts to be frequently engaged by the subject of\nexterior ornaments, occupations of moment will be proportionably\nneglected. From the complacency natural to all human beings, when\nemployed in contemplating objects by means of which the flattering\nhope of shining is presented to them, she will be in the most\nimminent danger of contracting a distaste to serious reflection,\nand of being at length absorbed in the delusions of vanity and\nself-love. It is, undoubtedly, a matter of indifference, whether a\nlady's ribands be green or blue; whether her head be decorated with\nflowers or with feathers; whether her gown be composed of muslin\nor of silk. But it is no matter of indifference, whether the time\nwhich she devotes to the determination of any of these points is\nto be reckoned by hours or by minutes; or whether, on discovering\nthe elevation of her bonnet to be an inch higher or lower, and\nits tint a shade lighter or darker, than the model which prevails\namong her acquaintance, she is overwhelmed with consternation and\ndisappointment, or bears the calamity with the apathy of a stoic.\"\n\nThe love of dress, like every other improper affection, has a\nmaterial influence over the formation of the character; and though\nit operates by a silent process, yet it is invariably found to have\na pernicious tendency. It induces habits of expenditure, which are\noften beyond the resources of the individual; saps the foundation\nof morals, and involves in inextricable difficulties. Bills are\nleft unpaid, and every excuse and apology which ingenuity and\nartifice can devise, is employed to silence the remonstrances of the\ncreditor--whom the debtor avoids with an instinctive dread, no less\nsensitive than the child does the place supposed to be haunted by an\nevil spirit.\n\nBut, if the resources are sufficient to satisfy the demands of\njustice, has benevolence no claim on the female sex? \"The fact\nis, that an unguarded fondness for ornament has been known, in\na multitude of examples, to overpower the natural tenderness of\nthe female mind, and to prevent the growth and establishment of\ndispositions pronounced in the gospel to be indispensably requisite\nto the Christian character. If the purse be generally kept low by\nthe demands of milliners, of mantua-makers, dealers in trinkets, and\nof others who bear their part in adorning the person, little can be\nallotted to the applications of charity. But charity requires, in\ncommon with other virtues, the fostering influence of habit. If the\ncustom of devoting an adequate portion of the income to the relief\nof distress be long intermitted, the desire of giving relief will\ngradually be impaired. The heart forgets, by disuse, the emotions in\nwhich it once delighted. The ear turns from solicitations now become\nunwelcome. In proportion as the wants and the griefs of others are\ndisregarded, the spirit of selfishness strikes deeper and stronger\nroots in the breast. Let the generous exertions of kindness be\ntempered with discretion: but let a disposition to those exertions\nbe encouraged on principles of duty; and confirmed, in proportion\nto the ability of the individual, by frequency of practice. Before\nthe world has repressed, by its interested lessons, the warmth of\nyouthful benevolence, let experience establish a conviction that\nthe greatest of all pleasures is to do good. She who has accustomed\nherself to this delight, will not easily be induced to forego it.\nShe will feel, that whatever she is able, without penuriousness\nor improper singularity, to withdraw from the expense of personal\nornament, is not only reserved for much higher purposes, but for\npurposes productive of exquisite and permanent gratification.\n\n\"Another, and a very important benefit which results from fixed\nhabits of moderation as to dress, and all points of a similar\nnature, will be clearly discerned by adverting to the irreparable\nevils into which young women are sometimes plunged by the contrary\npractice. The lavish indulgence in which they have learned to seek\nfor happiness, becoming, in their estimation, essential to their\ncomfort, is able to bias their conduct in every important step.\nHence, in forming matrimonial connections, it exercises perhaps a\nsecret, but a very powerful influence. The prospect of wealth and\nmagnificence, of the continuance and of the increase of pleasures\nsupposed to flow from the pomp of dress and equipage, from sumptuous\nmansions, showy furniture, and numerous attendants, dazzles the\njudgment, imposes on the affections, conceals many defects in moral\ncharacter, and compensates for others. It frequently proves the\ndecisive circumstance which leads the deluded victim to the altar,\nthere to consign herself to splendid misery for life.\n\n\"There are yet other consequences which attend an immoderate passion\nfor the embellishments of dress. When the mind is fixed upon objects\nwhich derive their chief value from administering to vanity and the\nlove of admiration, the aversion, which almost every individual of\neither sex is prone to feel towards a rival, is particularly called\nforth. And when objects attainable so easily as exterior ornaments\noccupy the heart, there will be rivals without number. Hence, it is\nnot uncommon to see neighbouring young women engaged in a constant\nstate of petty warfare with each other. To vie in ostentatiousness,\nin costliness, or in elegance of apparel--to be distinguished by\nnovel inventions in personal decoration--to gain the earliest\nintelligence respecting changes of fashion in the metropolis--to\ndetect, in the attire of a luckless competitor, traces of a mode\nwhich for six weeks has been obsolete in high life--these frequently\nare the points of excellence to which the force of female genius is\ndirected. In the meantime, while the mask of friendship is worn,\nand the language of regard is on the tongue, indifference, disgust,\nand envy are gradually taking possession of the breast; until, at\nlength, the unworthy contest, prolonged for years under habits\nof dissimilation, by which neither of the parties are deceived,\nterminates in the violence of an open rupture.\n\n\"The Scriptures have spoken so plainly and so strongly respecting\nsolicitude about dress, that I cannot quit the subject without a\nspecial reference to their authority. Our Saviour, in one of his\nmost solemn discourses, warns his followers against anxiety as to\n'wherewithal they should be clothed,' in a manner particularly\nemphatic, classing that anxiety with the despicable pursuits\nof those who are studious 'what they shall eat, and what they\nshall drink;' and by pronouncing all such cares to be among the\ncharacteristics by which the heathens were distinguished. It\nought to be observed, that these admonitions of Christ respect men\nno less than women. The apostle Paul speaks pointedly concerning\nfemale dress, saying--'I will, in like manner also, that women adorn\nthemselves in modest apparel, with shame-facedness and sobriety:\nnot with broidered hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array; but,\nwhich becometh women professing godliness, with good works.' In\nanother passage, St. Peter also speaks expressly of the female\nsex: and primarily of married women, but in terms applicable with\nequal propriety to the single--'Whose adorning, let it not be that\noutward adorning of plaiting the hair and of wearing of gold, and of\nputting on of apparel. But let it be the hidden man of the heart'\n(the inward frame and disposition of the mind), 'in that which is\nnot corruptible; even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit,\nwhich is in the sight of God of great price.' It would be too much\nto assert, on the one hand, that it was the intention of either\nof the apostles, in giving these directions, to proscribe the use\nof the particular kinds of personal ornament which he specifies;\nbut, on the other hand, it was unquestionably the design of both,\nto proscribe whatever may justly be styled solicitude respecting\nany kind of personal decoration; and to censure those who, instead\nof resting their claim to approbation solely on the tempers of the\nsoul, in any degree, should ambitiously seek to be noticed and\npraised for exterior embellishments, as deviating precisely in\nthat degree from the simplicity and the purity of the Christian\ncharacter.\"\n\nThe young ladies of the Holmes family, were allowed a stated income\nto meet their current expenditure, besides receiving occasional\npresents. One custom prevailed in this family, which the writer\nhopes will never become extinct amongst us, as it belongs so\nappropriately to the English character. The birthdays, especially\nthose of the parents, were duly celebrated, and an interchange of\npresents made between the members of the family. On the occasion\nof the recurrence of Mr. Holmes' birthday, which took place a few\nweeks after the party referred to in the foregoing chapter, the\nusual compliment of presents was made in the morning; and in the\nafternoon, after the old gentleman's health, and many happy returns\nof the day, had been drunk with due honours, he presented to each of\nhis daughters an envelope, containing a bank note for \u00a320.\n\nIn the evening, as the young ladies were taking their walk, their\nconversation turned on the unexpected liberality of their father,\nwhen Emma asked her sisters what they intended to purchase.\n\n\"I intend,\" said Jane, \"to purchase my freedom.\"\n\n\"Your freedom, my dear!\" said the facetious Emma; \"I did not know\nthat you were in bondage to any man; but if you are, surely you do\nnot think of offering to pay him for your liberty?\"\n\n\"I am not,\" replied Jane, \"in bondage to _any man_.\"\n\n\"No! To whom then?\"\n\n\"To woman kind!\"\n\n\"Woman! What! Woman enslave her own sex!\"\n\n\"Even so.\"\n\n\"What woman are you in bondage to?\"\n\n\"The mantua-maker! Here are the fetters of my captivity (exhibiting\nthe undischarged bills), which I will now go and break asunder, and\nhope never more to wear them.\"\n\n\"You are to be commended, my dear,\" said Miss Holmes, \"and I hope\nEmma will follow your example; for, with our liberal allowance, and\nthe presents we receive, we ought to have something to spare to the\nclaims of religion and benevolence, rather than have the disgrace of\nunpaid bills lying in our drawers.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" Emma replied, \"I think Papa gives away quite enough\nto purchase our redemption from the taxes of charity. When I am\nsettled in life, it is my intention to appropriate a regular sum to\ncharitable purposes, but now I cannot afford it. We must be just\nbefore we are generous.\"\n\n\"On that maxim I shall act,\" said Jane; \"I will discharge my debts\nas an act of justice, and then I shall have it in my power to be\ngenerous to the poor and needy.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt, Emma,\" remarked Miss Holmes, \"that you are\nsincere in your proposed intentions respecting your future\ncharities; but I suspect, if you go upon the principle of waiting\ntill you are rich, you will never have anything to give. You must\nknow, dear Emma, if you reflect on the subject, that you are\nnow forming your habits for life--giving to your principles and\npropensities a fixed and changeless tendency; and is it not of great\nimportance that you should begin now to cultivate the virtues of\ncharity and self-denial?\"\n\n\"It may be so, but there is no rule without an exception; and as\nyour habits and mine, dear sister, are so dissimilar, you cannot\nexpect that I can follow your example in all things.\"\n\n\"Then, my dear, follow the example of Jane, and you will feel more\nat ease; and you will have the satisfaction of knowing that those\nyou are indebted to are not distressed by the want of the money you\nowe them.\"\n\n\"Indeed, I am at ease. They charge enough, for the few articles I\npurchase, to allow me to take a long credit.\"\n\n\"That is very true. They charge in proportion to the length of\ncredit they give; and hence, you pay such an exorbitant price for\nyour dress. You impoverish yourself by the very method you employ in\nexpending your money; and never have the satisfaction of being free\nfrom the pressing claims of dress-makers and milliners. Thus you\ndeny yourself the noble gratification of relieving the necessities\nof others; for when an appeal is made to your benevolence, you are\nobliged to resist it, because you have previously exhausted your\nresources.\"\n\n\"You reason admirably, dear sister, and I shall not forget your\nobservations; but I must get a new dress, as I have worn my old one\nso long. I will spare something out of the next present Papa gives\nme. I hope this will satisfy you, as you know I always keep my word.\"\n\nIt is, generally, in the more private occurrences of domestic life,\nthat the peculiarities of the human mind are developed; and events,\ntrivial in themselves, often acquire a degree of importance from\nthe indications of character which they exhibit. The bestowment\nof a birthday present, was an expression of paternal regard, but\nwhat different dispositions and tendencies did it call forth, and\nwhat a different moral effect did it produce!--Miss Holmes devoted\na portion of her present to the claims of charity and religion, and\nwith part of the remainder, she purchased a silver snuff-box, which\nshe presented to her father, with a few appropriate verses. Jane,\nwho had been enticed into extravagance by following the example of\nher sister Emma, went and discharged her debts; while Emma, after\nordering her dress, and paying a sum towards her previous account,\ntook a fancy to a beautiful shawl, and ordered it to be sent to the\nElms, and in this way got deeper in debt than she had been before.\n\n\n\n\nAMUSEMENTS.\n\n\nMiss Orme, the friend of Emma Holmes, accepted an invitation to\nspend a few weeks at the Elms, and being aware of the religious\nhabits of the family, she resolved to conform to them with the\nmost scrupulous exactness. When she played, she generally selected\nsacred music, as a compliment to the taste of her pious friends; and\neven condescended to accompany them to chapel, though she avowed\nher decided preference for the forms and ceremonies of the Church.\nShe was naturally of a very pliable disposition, and had she been\nunder a different course of moral training, she might have devoted\nher attention to the claims of religion; but being surrounded by\nthe fascinations of gay life, and taught to regard the pursuit of\npleasure as the chief end of her existence, she became one of the\nmost zealous devotees that ever bowed down at the shrine of fashion.\nShe possessed an intelligent mind; but the books she read, and\nthe subjects on which she generally conversed, had a tendency to\nimpair its strength, and to keep it from ranging in the field of\nuseful knowledge. She was rather shrewd, and would sometimes make a\nreply, or give a turn to an observation with considerable effect;\nbut her resources were soon exhausted, and she would fall back into\na state of ennui, unless the conversation related to the fashions\nor the amusements of the day, and then she would speak with great\nfluency and animation. In her disposition, she was so good-natured\nand amiable, that she would bear reproof with the utmost degree of\nmildness, but never thought of amending her ways; would acknowledge\nherself in the wrong, when it was pointed out to her, yet persisted\nin its practice; and often confessed that she had no doubt but\na religious life was most acceptable to our Maker, yet as often\nexpressed her astonishment that any young person could think of\nbecoming religious.\n\nAs Mr. Holmes could not conscientiously suffer his daughters to\nattend any of the public amusements to which society devotes such a\nconsiderable portion of its time, he endeavoured to compensate for\nthe loss of such sources of gratification, by making them happy in\ntheir home; and by treating them with occasional excursions, where\nthey might enjoy a change of air and of scenery, without running the\nrisk of sustaining any moral injury. To gratify her friend, Emma had\npersuaded her father to take them to Windsor, where they were to\nspend one night, and return the following day; but there had been\nso much rain in the early part of the morning, and it continued to\ndescend in such torrents, that they were obliged to postpone their\nvisit. This disappointment was borne with great cheerfulness by all\nbut Miss Orme, who felt it to be a most irksome burden, and said\nmore than once during the day, \"What a misfortune that Providence\nshould allow it to rain to-day, when, I suppose, he knew we were\ngoing to Windsor!\"\n\n\"Why, perhaps,\" said Mr. Holmes, \"he has sent the rain to prevent\nsome calamitous accident.\"\n\n\"Dear Sir, do you think he ever pays any attention to us, and such\nlittle things as a pleasure excursion?\"\n\n\"Yes, most certainly. Our Saviour says--'Are not two sparrows sold\nfor a farthing? and not one of them shall fall to the ground without\nyour Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.'\"\n\n\"Then of course it is so, but it never struck me before. I always\nthought that God looked after other worlds and their inhabitants,\nand that he left us to our fate.\"\n\n\"You forget the first petition in the Lord's Prayer--'_Our Father_,\nwho art in heaven.' A kind father--and God is love--pays great\nattention to his children.\"\n\n\"Exactly so, Sir, but it never struck me before.\"\n\nAs she was sauntering up and down the house, leaning on the arm of\nEmma, bitterly deploring the continued descent of the rain, which\nprecluded the hope of their getting out of doors, she broke in upon\nMiss Holmes, busily engaged in finishing a dress for a poor woman,\nwho was daily expecting the birth of her firstborn.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, Miss Holmes, for this act of intrusion. We are\nsauntering away dull time.\"\n\n\"Walk in, and I will give you some employment.\"\n\n\"Indeed, I am not fit for work. This is one of the dullest days\nof my life. I wish the rain was over and gone. Is it not a great\nmisfortune that it should come to-day?\"\n\n\"Perhaps, my dear Miss Orme, it is sent by our heavenly Father to\nprevent some greater misfortune.\"\n\n\"That's what your Papa has just been telling us. What a striking\ncoincidence between his sentiments and yours! They are new ideas to\nme. Very devout and proper.\"\n\n\"Sister is Papa's living echo,\" remarked Emma.\n\n\"As you two idlers,\" said Miss Holmes, \"have nothing to do but\nsaunter away time, perhaps (addressing Miss Orme) you would have no\nobjection to read, it may prove a little relief to your dulness.\"\n\nThere were several books lying on the table, which she carelessly\nexamined and closed, when Emma said, \"Here is one which you have\nnot seen.\" She took it, read the title--_An Inquiry into the Duties\nof the Female Sex_. \"A learned dissertation, I have no doubt, on\nwoman. I wonder what he says. He has, I see, a chapter on the\nemployment of time; shall I read that, Miss Holmes?\"\n\n\"If you please.\"\n\n\"Time is a sacred trust consigned to us by the Creator of the\nuniverse. To use it well is a lesson which duty and reason concur\nto suggest. The duration of the period to be confided to our\nmanagement, though predetermined in the counsels of Omniscience,\nis undisclosed to the individual concerned, and is placed beyond\nthe reach of calculation; that uncertainty respecting the future\nmay operate as a continual and powerful admonition wisely to employ\nthe present hour. Would you perceive the ingratitude and folly of\nsquandering so precious a deposit? Reflect on the gracious purposes\nfor the accomplishment of which it is committed to you. Reflect how\nplainly incompatible a habit of squandering it is, with the frame\nof mind which is the fruit of Christianity. Reflect on the infinite\nimportance which you will hereafter attach to time past, when the\nconsequences flowing from the right or wrong use of it, will be\ndiscerned and felt by you in their full extent.\"\n\n\"This is too grave a subject for me,\" said Miss Orme. \"It will just\nadd to the load of melancholy on my mind, which is already oppressed\nbeyond endurance by the horrid gloom of the weather. I am fond of\nreading, but I prefer the lighter productions of the press.\" She\nclosed the book and was taking up another, when Miss Holmes said,\n\"You will oblige me by reading another paragraph in that chapter,\nwhich may prove advantageous to you, even though it may not exactly\naccord with your present taste.\"\n\n\"Certainly, if you wish it.\"\n\n\"To every woman, whether single or married, the habit of regularly\nallotting to improving books a portion of each day, and, as far\nas may be practicable, at stated hours, cannot be too strongly\nrecommended. I use the term _improving_ in a large sense; as\ncomprehending all writings which may contribute to her virtue,\nher usefulness, and her innocent gratification--to her happiness\nin this world and in the next. She who believes that she is to\nsurvive in another state of being through eternity, and is duly\nimpressed by the awful conviction, will fix, day by day, her most\nserious thoughts on the inheritance to which she aspires. Where the\ntreasure is, there will her heart be also. She will not be seduced\nfrom an habitual study of the Holy Scriptures, and of other works\ncalculated to imprint on her mind the comparatively small importance\nof the pains and pleasures of this period of existence; and to\nfill her with that knowledge, and inspire her with those views and\ndispositions, which may lead her to delight in the present service\nof her Maker, and enable her to rejoice in the contemplation of\nfuturity. At other seasons, let history, let biography, let poetry,\nor some of the various branches of elegant and profitable knowledge,\npay their tribute of instruction and amusement. But let whatever\nshe peruses in her most private hours be such as she needs not to\nbe ashamed of reading aloud to those whose good opinion she is most\nanxious to deserve. Let her remember that there is an all-seeing\neye, which is ever fixed upon her, even in her closest retirement.\nLet her not indulge herself in the frequent perusal of writings,\nhowever interesting in their nature, however eminent in a literary\npoint of view, which are likely to inflame pride, and to inspire\nfalse notions of generosity, of feeling, of spirit, or of any other\nquality. Such, unhappily, are the effects to be apprehended from\nthe works even of several of our distinguished writers, in prose\nand in verse. And let her accustom herself regularly to bring the\nsentiments which she reads, and the conduct which is described in\nterms, more or less strong, of applause and recommendation, to the\ntest of Christian principles. In proportion as this practice is\npursued or neglected, reading will be profitable or pernicious.\"\n\n\"Now, really, my dear Miss Holmes,\" said Miss Orme, stopping short,\n\"I cannot go on with such reading. Have you nothing in the shape\nof a novel? I can take an interest in _that_. You object to such\ncompositions, I believe?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But why, when they display so much ingenuity, are so delightful,\nand have such a good moral tendency?\"\n\n\"I cannot reply to your present remark in more forcible language\nthan the writer has done, whose book you hold in your hand, and if\nyou will permit me I will read an extract.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" replied Miss Orme, with a yawn.\n\n\"Works of this nature not unfrequently deserve the praise of\ningenuity of plan and contrivance, of accurate and well-supported\ndiscrimination of character, and of force and elegance of language.\nSome of them have professedly been composed with a design to favour\nthe interests of morality. And among those which are deemed to\nhave, on the whole, a moral tendency, a very few, perhaps, might\nbe selected, which are not liable to the disgraceful charge of\nbeing occasionally contaminated by incidents and passions unfit\nto be represented to the reader. This charge, however, may so\nvery generally be alleged with justice, that even of the novels\nwhich possess high and established reputation, by far the greater\nnumber is totally improper, in consequence of such admixture, to\nbe perused by the eye of delicacy. Poor indeed are the services\nrendered to virtue by a writer, however he may boast that the\nobject of his performance is to exhibit the vicious as infamous\nand unhappy, who, in tracing the progress of vice to infamy and\nunhappiness, introduces the readers to scenes and language adapted\nto wear away the quick feelings of modesty, which form at once\nthe ornament and safeguard of innocence; and, like the bloom upon\na plum, if once effaced, commonly disappear for ever. To indulge\nin a practice of reading novels is, in several other particulars,\nliable to produce mischievous effects. Such compositions are, to\nmost people, extremely engaging. That story must be singularly\nbarren, or wretchedly told, of which, having heard the beginning, we\ndesire not to know the end. To the pleasure of learning the ultimate\nfortunes of the heroes and heroines of the tale, the novel commonly\nadds, in a greater or less degree, that which arises from animated\ndescription, from lively dialogue, or from interesting sentiment.\nHence, the perusal of one publication of this class leads, with much\nmore frequency than is the case with respect to works of other kinds\n(except, perhaps, of dramatic writings, to which most of the present\nremarks may be transferred), to the speedy perusal of another.\nThus a habit is formed--a habit at first, perhaps, of limited\nindulgence--but a habit that is continually found more formidable\nand more encroaching. The appetite becomes too keen to be denied;\nand in proportion as it is more urgent, grows less nice and select\nin its fare. What would formerly have given offence now gives none.\nThe palate is vitiated or made dull. The produce of the book-club,\nand the contents of the circulating library, are devoured with\nindiscriminate and insatiable avidity. Hence, the mind is secretly\ncorrupted. Let it be observed too, that in exact correspondence\nwith the increase of a passion for reading novels, an aversion to\nreading of a more improving nature will gather strength. Even in\nthe class of novels least objectionable in point of delicacy, false\nsentiment unfitting the mind for sober life, applause and censure\ndistributed amiss, morality estimated by an erroneous standard, and\nthe capricious laws and empty sanctions of honour set up in the\nplace of religion, are the lessons usually presented. There is yet\nanother consequence too important to be overlooked. The catastrophe\nand the incidents of these fictitious narratives commonly turn on\nthe vicissitudes and effects of a passion, the most powerful which\nagitates the human heart. Hence, the study of them frequently\ncreates a susceptibility of impression, and a premature warmth of\ntender emotions, which, not to speak of other possible effects, have\nbeen known to betray young women into a sudden attachment to persons\nunworthy of their affection, and thus to hurry them into marriages\nterminating in unhappiness.\"\n\n\"He reasons excellently well against such books; but to be candid,\ndear Miss Holmes, and I know you idolize candour, I must confess I\nam rather partial to them. They serve to beguile away the tedious\nhours of unoccupied time, and remove us to an enchanted land where\nwe forget the mortifications of life. Then they often enable us to\nget through a day with tolerable composure, when we are prevented\ntaking our walks or drives abroad. And what a relief do they afford\nus when indisposed! Indeed, I don't know what I should do, if I were\ninterdicted from such a source of exquisite gratification.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt but such reading affords you gratification, and\nenables you to get through the tedious hours of time with some\ndegree of patience; but is it profitable? Does it enlarge and\nstrengthen the intellectual faculty, or extend the boundary of our\npractical knowledge? Does it refine the _moral_ taste, or call into\naction the best feelings of our nature? Does it tend to prepare us\nfor our final destiny, as candidates for immortality?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know. Then, as you object to the novel, I presume you\nare equally averse to the card-table?\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"But why, when it affords so much gratification?\"\n\n\"Because it often gives rise to a passion for gaming, which has\nbrought many to ruin.\"\n\n\"Well, I will admit, that it does sometimes lead to such a fatal\nissue; but I will suppose a case which frequently occurs in social\nlife. A virtuous family receives a visit from a few select friends;\nand in the evening the card-tables are brought out, and they divide\nthemselves into small parties, and play a few games for their own\namusement, without risking more than a few shillings. Now, what evil\ncan result from such a method of passing away the evening?\"\n\n\"In the first place, there is a great sacrifice of time, without any\nadequate compensation. If the time thus devoted to an unprofitable\namusement were employed in instructive conversation, some moral\nbenefit would result from it. Then important and interesting\nquestions might be discussed and answered--the events of the day\nwould pass under review--enlivening anecdotes might be told--and\nevery one would have an opportunity of displaying and increasing the\nresources of his mind.\"\n\n\"But, begging pardon for interrupting you, does not the\nintroduction of cards, by occupying the attention of a party,\nprevent the conversation from degenerating into gossip and scandal?\nThis advantage you have overlooked, but I have no doubt, on\nreflection, you will admit it to be a very important one.\"\n\n\"Why not, dear Miss Orme, allow a sense of honour and strict\nintegrity to impose restraint on the tongue of scandal, without\nrequiring the charm of the card-table to do it? This principle, when\ninwrought in the mind, will be always present, and vigilant in the\nexercise of its restraining power; but you cannot always have the\ncard-table with you. But now to advert to the hypothetical case of\nthe virtuous family receiving a visit from a few select friends.\nI admit, that they may sustain no positive injury, either moral\nor social, by spending the evening together in such a way; but if\nwe advert to some facts which have come within our own knowledge,\nwe must admit, that some of the party may sustain great, if not\nirreparable injury. I know a lady who never touched a pack of\ncards till after her marriage, but as soon as she did touch them,\nshe became passionately fond of them. She first played with her\nhusband--then a few select friends were invited to the game--then\nlarger parties thronged her drawing-room--till at length, the\npassion became so inveterate in its influence over her, that she\nneglected all her domestic duties, involved her husband in pecuniary\nembarrassments by the sums she lost; and eventually abandoned her\nhome and children, with a worthless wretch, who, after degrading\nher, threw her off on the merciless contempt of the world! In a\nconversation which I lately had with her, when endeavouring to\npoint her to Him who came to save sinners (for she is now in the\nlast stage of a decline), she owned that her ruin was owing to her\npassion for cards, which became so strong that she was unable to\ncontrol it.\"\n\n\"This is a most painful case,\" observed Miss Orme: \"happily an\nextreme one!\"\n\n\"I admit this; but there is no disputing this fact, that\ncard-playing very frequently kindles in the female breast, no less\nthan in the breast of the other sex, a passion for gaming. Yes, many\na husband would have been saved from ruin, if his wife had employed\nthat influence to subdue his passion for the card-table, which she\nhas employed to keep it alive and vigorous. She has lived to deplore\nthe evil, when it has become irreparable.\"\n\n\"Both the novel and the card-table,\" remarked Emma, \"are the\nforbidden fruit of our Eden.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt, my dear,\" replied Miss Orme, \"that your parents\nact conscientiously in prohibiting novels and cards; but you know\nthat religious people, in general, do so: though I have known some\nrather conspicuous professors who have not objected to play a game\nat whist after family prayer in the evening.\"\n\n\"Yes, and so have I. I was on a visit at Mr. Ridout's, some few\nmonths since, when the card-table was brought out for our amusement;\nand I don't know when I have spent a more pleasant evening.\"\n\n\"And who is Mr. Ridout, my dear? Is he a pious man, or does he\nbelong to the world?\"\n\n\"He professes to be a pious man; and I should suppose he is one, for\nhe has prayer in his family morning and evening.\"\n\n\"Had he family prayer, the evening you refer to, _before_ or _after_\nthe games were introduced?\"\n\n\"O! it was omitted that evening.\"\n\n\"And why, Emma,\" here interposed Miss Holmes, \"was it omitted? Was\nit not because he was ashamed to place the Bible on the same table\nwith the cards; and because, after enticing others to a conformity\nto the customs of the world, he could not, in their presence, go and\npray, that they might be renewed in the spirit of their mind? Do you\nrecollect the remark which you made on your return home?\"\n\n\"It has escaped my recollection.\"\n\n\"That he wanted only one thing to finish his character.\"\n\n\"And did I say what that one thing was?\"\n\n\"Yes; you said, and said very justly, it was consistency.\"\n\n\"O! I recollect, that was the opinion I then entertained.\"\n\n\"And have you changed your opinion? Do you not think that religious\npeople ought to abstain from the appearance of evil? Does your\nmoral sense, dear Emma, receive no offence, when you see a person,\nwho makes a profession of personal piety, acting like a worldling?\"\n\n\"Yes, it does. I remember that droll creature, Bessie Lane, came and\nwhispered in my ear, just as we began a fresh game,--'Make haste,\nas Mr. Ridout has just rung the bell for prayers!' This remark was\nheard by all our party; and I must confess that I was hurt by some\nof the observations which were made.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Miss Orme, \"why the most religious people may\nnot indulge themselves in these amusements as well as others; but\ncertainly we think it strange when they do so.\"\n\n\"I love consistency,\" replied Miss Holmes. \"If a family have prayer,\nthey ought not, in my opinion, to spend the evenings in games which\ncertainly have not a religious tendency; and if they have these\ngames, they had better leave off prayer, as they cannot be prepared\nfor it. I knew a young friend, the daughter of pious parents, who\nonce had her mind very deeply impressed by a sense of the vanity\nof the world and the importance of religion; but in consequence of\npaying a visit to the house of a professor, who in the temple was\ngrave, and in the parlour gay--who alternately played and prayed,\nsang songs or psalms, as fancy dictated--she lost all her pious\nimpressions, and from that time she became inveterately averse to\nreligion; and in a conversation which passed between us only a few\ndays since, a reference being made to it, she frankly said she could\nnot conquer her aversion, and she thought she never should. Example\nhas a powerful influence, especially in doing moral injury; but the\nmost pernicious and dangerous, is the example of a religious man who\nacts in opposition to the obligations of his profession--who, while\nhe professes to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, displays a spirit\nthat is at variance with the sacredness of that character--and\nretains his religious habits, even while he conforms to the customs\nof the world.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear Miss Holmes, no one will impeach your consistency;\nfor you are, without exception, one of the most decidedly religious\nI ever knew.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Emma, \"my sister goes rather too far; and I sometimes\ntell her that she is in danger of becoming a Pharisee. She sees,\nor think she sees, a dangerous moral tendency in almost every\namusement; and such is the influence she possesses over the fears of\nour parents, that they are kept in a state of constant terror lest I\nshould read a novel or dance a polka.\"\n\n\"And is it possible, my dear Miss Holmes, that either you or\nyour parents can object to dancing!--an exercise so conducive to\nhealth--so calculated to give elegance to the form, to the walk,\nand to the action--an accomplishment of so much importance, that no\nfemale can be fit to move in polished society who has not attained\nit? I believe you learned at school, dear Emma; did you not?\"\n\n\"Yes; but now I am not permitted to go out to parties, which I\nconsider very mortifying. My parents allowed me to learn; and now\nI have learned, and am fond of the amusement, they will not suffer\nme to practise, except at home, where we never have any dancing\nparties.\"\n\n\"This is sadly mortifying.\"\n\n\"They permitted you to learn dancing,\" replied her sister, \"that you\nmight derive from it those personal accomplishments which Miss Orme\nhas so well described; but as they are aware of its dangerous moral\ntendency, they very properly object to your going into large mixed\nparties.\"\n\n\"Then ought they not to have refused letting me learn to dance, if\nthey intended to deny me the pleasure of it?[23] This is like a\nfather teaching his son the art of engraving, and then taking away\nhis tools lest he should be transported for coining.\"\n\n  [23] The author knows a lady who, when young, requested her pious\n  father to permit her to learn to dance. \"No, my child,\" he replied,\n  \"I cannot consent to comply with a request which may subject me to\n  your censures at some future period.\" \"No, father, I will never\n  censure you for complying with my request.\" \"Nor can I consent to\n  give you an opportunity. If you learn, I have no doubt but you will\n  excel; and when you leave school, you may then want to go into\n  company to exhibit your skill. If I then object to let you, as I\n  most likely should, you would very naturally reply, Why, father,\n  did you permit me to learn, if I am not permitted to practise?\"\n  This reply convinced her that her father acted wisely, though he\n  opposed her inclination: and though she did learn, yet, not having\n  his consent, she never ventured to expose herself to the dangers of\n  the assembly-room; as she well knew that she could not do it without\n  grieving her affectionate father. She is now become a parent; has\n  often mentioned this occurrence as having had a powerful moral\n  influence over her mind in her young and thoughtless days; and has\n  incorporated this maxim in her system of domestic management--Never\n  to comply with a request which may subject her to any future\n  reflections from her children.\n\n\"You may dance for the purposes for which you were permitted to\nlearn; but I appeal to your good sense, if it be not an act of\nkindness, on the part of our parents, in withholding their consent\nfrom your visiting the ball-room, when they apprehend you will\nsustain some moral injury?\"\n\n\"But you know, dear Miss Holmes,\" remarked Miss Orme, \"that\nthe chief gratification which we derive from any attainment or\naccomplishment, is the opportunity of displaying it. What pleasure\nwould there be in learning to paint, unless we had the liberty\nof exhibiting our drawings--or who would submit to the labour of\nlearning the notes of the gamut, if, after she has succeeded, she is\nto be prohibited from playing?\"\n\n\"We certainly ought to acquire the accomplishments which are\nnecessary to fit us to act our parts in refined society; but to\nacquire them for the purpose of mere display, will be productive of\ntwo evils: in the first place, it will injure the moral tone of our\nmind; and, in the next place, it will expose us to the severe satire\nof the opposite sex, who have little charity for female vanity.\"\n\n\"I am sure the gentlemen admire a lady who can sing well, and play\nwell, and dance well, and move with grace as she enters or leaves a\nroom.\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear Miss Orme; but if she have no higher accomplishments,\nthough she may be admired, she will not be respected; she may have\nher name mentioned with _ecl\u00e2t_ in the circles of fashion, but she\nwill not be held in esteem among the wise and the good; and she may\ndo very well as a partner for a quadrille, but no man of sense would\nthink of her as his companion for life. The bee is an insect of more\nvalue than the butterfly.\"\n\n\"But do you wish the assembly-rooms deserted? If so, I fear you\nwill never have your wishes realized. But, to come to the point,\nwhat are the evils which you think result from such scenes of\namusement?\"\n\n\"I do not expect to see such places deserted, as they hold out so\nmany attractions; but they are productive of so many evils, that I\nconsider them essentially injurious to the morals of society. There\nis the expense which they incur, and the long train of evils which\noften follow. What costly dresses! What a profusion of useless\nornaments must be purchased, beside the incidental items of expense\nin going and returning, and paying for the admission ticket! If\nthe whole expense of one evening's gratification were accurately\ncalculated, it would astonish us. And what is the consequence of\nthis? The bills of tradesmen are often left undischarged--the claims\nof benevolence are rejected--and a habit of useless extravagance is\nformed, which extends its destructive influence to other branches\nof domestic expenditure. But I have a still more serious objection\nto urge against such scenes of amusement: the perilous risk which a\nfemale often runs. She goes clad in a light attire--moves about in a\nwarm room--and then suddenly exposes herself, without any adequate\nincrease of clothing, to a cold and damp atmosphere, by which she\noften sacrifices her health, and sometimes her life.\"\n\n\"But you know, Miss Holmes, that this objection will apply with\nequal force against our attending a crowded place of worship.\"\n\n\"Not with equal force; because in a place of worship we remain still\nduring the time of service, and usually go in warmer, not to say in\nmore decent attire. The moral influence which such public amusements\nhave over the mind, is another very powerful objection against them.\nBy your permission I will read a paragraph from a good writer, who\nexpresses himself in very correct and forcible language:--'The\nobjects which, during the season of youth, most easily excite vanity\nand envy in the female breast, are those which are presented in the\nball-room. This is deemed the stage for displaying the attractions,\nby the possession of which a young woman is apt to be most elated;\nand they are here displayed under circumstances most calculated to\ncall forth the triumph and the animosities of personal competition.\nThis triumph and these animosities betray themselves occasionally to\nthe least discerning eye. But were the recesses of the heart laid\nopen, how often would the sight of a stranger, of an acquaintance,\neven of a friend, superior for the evening in the attractions of\ndress, or enjoying the supposed advantage of having secured a\nwealthier, a more lively, a more graceful, or a more fashionable\npartner, be found to excite feelings of disgust and of aversion,\nnot always stopping short of malevolence! How often would the\npassions be seen inflamed, and every nerve agitated, by a thirst for\nprecedence; and invention be observed labouring to mortify a rival\nby the affectation of indifference or of contempt!'\"\n\n\"But do you not think it possible for a female to attend a ball\nwithout having her breast inflated with vanity, or surcharged with\nenvy?\"\n\n\"I certainly admit that it is possible, but not probable. If she\nexcel others in the richness or the elegance of her dress, or if\nshe receive any peculiar marks of attention, will she not feel\nthe flush of vain-glory? And if others excel her, or receive more\nmarked attentions, will she not retire from the company stung with\nenvy? And can either of these passions be excited without producing\nsome demoralizing effect? If she become devoted to her personal\ndecoration, she will be under a strong temptation to neglect the\nimprovement of her mind; and while this passion enslaves and governs\nher, the more amiable and lovely graces will be neglected. And if\nshe become envious of the superior attainments or honours of others,\nshe will be restless--mortified, consume her time and expend her\nmoney in making useless efforts to equal or surpass them, and may be\ninduced to invent or to circulate tales of calumny to their injury.\"\n\n\"But you do not mean to say that these effects are invariably\nproduced?\"\n\n\"Not invariably; because there are some females who merely visit\nthese places as a passing compliment to the fashion of the\nage. They attend as spectators of the scene, rather than as\nactors[24]--to oblige a friend, rather than gratify themselves;\nand having accomplished the design of their visit, they retire\nuninjured, because they felt no desire to be seen or heard, alike\nindifferent whether they have been the objects of attention or have\nremained unnoticed.\"\n\n  [24] The author has known some professors of evangelical religion\n  who have occasionally frequented these scenes of amusement; and\n  though he would not condemn them as insincere in their religious\n  profession, yet he cannot conceive how they can approve of their own\n  conduct. If they go occasionally, others will feel at liberty to go\n  habitually; and though they may go, and retire without sustaining\n  any material injury to their principles, yet they know not how much\n  injury their example may do to others, and especially their own\n  children.\n\n\"You have stated the evils which you think often result from such\npublic amusements, but you have made no allusion to the advantages\nwhich attend them; amongst which I reckon, the introduction which\nthey give to the best society. You know that we are confined within\nthe precincts of home--our duties and pursuits are of the more\nretired order--and though we may take our walks, and occasionally go\nto Bath or Cheltenham, or some other fashionable resort, yet, if it\nwere not for these public amusements, we should have no opportunity\nof being introduced to the company of the other sex. Here we are\nbrought together; and you know, dear Miss Holmes, that the most\nimportant consequences often follow.\"\n\n\"Very true; but these important consequences are not always the most\nbeneficial. The writer to whom I have previously referred, has made\nsome good remarks on this subject, which, by your permission, I will\nread to you:--\n\n\"'An evil of great moment, which is too frequently known to occur\nat the places of amusement now under notice, is the introduction of\nwomen to undesirable and improper acquaintance among the other sex;\nundesirable and improper, as I would now be understood to mean, in\na moral point of view. Men of this description commonly abound at\nall scenes of public resort and entertainment, who are distinguished\nby fortune and birth--gay and conciliating manners--and every\nqualification which is needful to procure a favourable reception\nin polite company. Hence, when they propose themselves as partners\nin an assembly-room, a lady does not always find it easy, according\nto the rules of decorum, to decline the offer; and she is sometimes\nenticed, by their external appearance, and by having seen other\nladies ambitious of dancing with them, into a reprehensible\ninclination not to decline it.\n\n\"'Women, in various occurrences of life, are betrayed by a dread\nof appearing ungenteelly bashful, and by a desire of rendering\nthemselves agreeable, into an indiscreet freedom of manners and\nconversation with men of whom they know perhaps but little; and\nstill more frequently, into a greater degree of freedom with those\nof whom they have more knowledge than can fitly be indulged, except\ntowards persons with whom they are connected by particular ties.\nThe temptation is in no place more powerful than in a ball-room.\nLet not indiscriminate familiarity be shown towards all partners,\nnor injudicious familiarity towards any. To reject every boisterous\nand unbecoming mode of dancing, and to observe, in every point, the\nstrictest modesty in attire, are cautions on which, in addressing\nwomen of delicacy, it is surely needless to insist.'\"\n\n\"Well, I assure you, my dear Miss Holmes, I think both you and the\nwriter you have just quoted, overrate the dangers to which we are\nexposed by attending such scenes of amusement; for I have never\nknown a friend injured by them, nor have I ever heard of such a\nthing.\"\n\n\"You forget what befell Miss Moss.\"[25]\n\n  [25] Miss Moss was a young lady of rare accomplishments--the only\n  child of a pious and affectionate mother. Shortly after leaving\n  school, she succeeded, with much difficulty, in obtaining her\n  mother's reluctant consent to go _once_ to the assembly-room, just\n  to see the parties. She was dressed most elegantly; and having a\n  graceful form, and a fine open countenance, glowing with health,\n  she excited considerable attention. One gentleman, who had been\n  very polite during the evening, and who was her superior in rank,\n  solicited the honour of conducting her home, which was granted.\n  Having ascertained the usual time and place of her evening walk, he\n  met her--made her an offer, which she accepted; when, having secured\n  her affections, he accomplished her ruin, and left her. This broke\n  her mother's heart, and eventually broke her own; and the parent and\n  the daughter were buried in the same grave, at the distance of about\n  six months from each other's funeral, each deploring, when too late,\n  the danger resulting from the assembly-room. Nor is this an uncommon\n  instance. At these places the spirits of evil resort, availing\n  themselves of the freedom of intercourse which is tolerated; and\n  having marked their victim, they proceed, with all the cunning and\n  duplicity of the author of all evil, to accomplish their unhallowed\n  purpose. If, then, parents wish to preserve the honour of their\n  children uncontaminated, or if females, who are grown to years of\n  discretion, wish to avoid the snares in which others have been\n  overtaken, they ought to shun the resorts of the licentious and\n  impure, as no one can be safe in their society.\n\n\"I beg pardon. I do. Ah! that was a tragical event.\"\n\n\"And how many tragical events have risen out of these scenes of\namusement! You have read, I have no doubt, the following account\nof one which befell a very holy man:--'When Herod's birth-day was\nkept, the daughter of Herodias danced before them and pleased Herod.\nWhereupon he promised, with an oath, to give her whatsoever she\nwould ask. And she, being before instructed of her mother, said,\nGive me here John Baptist's head in a charger. And the king was\nsorry: nevertheless, for the oath's sake, and them which sat with\nhim at meat, he commanded it to be given her. And he sent, and\nbeheaded John in the prison. And his head was brought in a charger,\nand given to the damsel: and she brought it to her mother.' How this\ndamsel could so far subdue the common feelings of human nature, and\nstill more the natural tenderness of her own sex, as not only to\nendure so disgusting a spectacle, but even to carry the bleeding\ntrophy in triumph to her mother, is not easy to imagine; but it\nshows, that a life of fashionable gaiety and dissipation not only\nprevents the growth of the more amiable and useful virtues, but\nsometimes calls into action those feelings and passions which lead\nto rapine and murder.\"\n\nThe late excellent Bishop Horne closes his life of St. John in such\na forcible and beautiful manner, that the author does not conceive\nit necessary to offer any apology to his readers for its insertion\non the present occasion:--\n\n\"The Baptist's fate being determined, 'immediately the king sent an\nexecutioner, and commanded his head to be brought: and he went, and\nbeheaded him in the prison.' This deed of darkness must have been\ndone in the season proper for it--the middle of the night; and\nSt. John was probably awakened, to receive his sentence, out of\nthat sleep which truth and innocence can secure to their possessor\nin any situation. The generality of mankind have reason enough to\ndeprecate a sudden death, lest it should surprise them in one of\ntheir many unguarded hours. But to St. John no hour could be such.\nHe had finished the work which God had given him to do. He had\nkept the faith, and preserved a conscience void of offence. He had\ndone his duty, and waited daily and hourly, we may be sure, for\nhis departure. He was now, therefore, called off from his station\nwith honour--to quit the well-fought field for the palace of the\nGreat King--to refresh himself, after the dust, and toil, and heat\nof the day, by bathing in the fountain of life and immortality--to\nexchange his blood-stained armour for a robe of glory--and to have\nhis temporary labours rewarded with eternal rest--to sit down with\nAbraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of God--and as the\nfriend of the Bridegroom, to enter into the joy of his Lord. From\nthe darkness and confinement of a prison, he passed to the liberty\nand light of heaven; and while malice was gratified with a sight\nof his head, and his body was carried by a few friends in silence\nto the grave, his immortal spirit repaired to a court, where no\nHerod desires to have his brother's wife--where no Herodias thirsts\nafter the blood of a prophet--where he who hath laboured with\nsincerity and diligence in the work of reformation is sure to be\nwell received--where holiness, zeal, and constancy are crowned, and\nreceive palms from the Son of God, whom they confessed in the world.\n\n    'So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,\n    And yet anon uprears his drooping head,\n    And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore,\n    Flames in the forehead of the morning sky--\n    He hears the unexpressive nuptial song\n    In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.\n    There entertain him all the saints above,\n    In solemn troops and sweet societies;\n    That sing, and singing in their glory move,\n    And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.'\"--MILTON.\n\n\n\n\nTHE UNHAPPY ATTACHMENT.\n\n\nThe institution of marriage is a provision made by Divine Providence\nto promote human happiness; but owing to the imprudence and haste\nwith which it is sometimes contracted, it not unfrequently becomes a\nsource of extreme wretchedness. This union should never be formed,\nexcept by those who have a strong affection for each other; and even\nthen, the utmost degree of prudence should regulate their conduct,\nboth in the appointment of the time when it should take place, and\nthe adjustment of the various interests which it involves. When\npersons marry mainly for the purpose of adding to their worldly\nestate, or obtaining a higher position in society, it rarely\nhappens that an alliance entered into from such motives can be\nproductive of domestic happiness. And even when the purest feelings\nof affection and love influence the youthful pair, inspiring them\nwith the determination to sacrifice the esteem of friends, and the\nattractions of this world's wealth, rather than break the solemn vow\nand separate for life, they should beware of rashness and headlong\nimpetuosity, pondering well the desirableness of the connection they\nare about to form, and feeling well assured that it is really a step\nwhich must conduce to their welfare.\n\nWhen persons, who have no parents or judicious friends whom they can\nconsult, are making arrangements for marriage, they should exercise\nmore than ordinary discretion, lest they plunge themselves into\ndifficulties from which no one can rescue them. But when parents\nare living, not to consult them, and pay some degree of deference\nto their opinion, is an offence against the law of propriety, and\ngenerally productive of the most fatal evils. Parents are more\ndeeply interested in the marriage of their children than any other\npersons, and no pledges ought to be given between the contracting\nparties till they have been spoken to on the subject. This is a\nmark of respect to which they are justly entitled. And are they\nnot, from their age, and experience, and affection, qualified to\ngive advice? How far it is binding on a young person to obey his\nor her parents, who may disapprove of a proposed marriage, is a\nquestion which I shall not presume to decide; but that no young\nperson ought to give or receive any inviolable pledge, till they\nhave been solicited to give their opinion and sanction, is a point\ntoo obvious to the dictates of good sense and filial attachment,\nto need any lengthened discussion. But how very rarely is this the\ncase! An affection is formed and cherished--it grows up into ardent\nand romantic attachment--interviews take place--letters and presents\nare exchanged--and after the imagination has been captivated with\nbright visions of future happiness, the parents are requested to\ngive their permission, not their advice. If, now, they object,\neither from caprice, or from a full conviction that the proposed\nunion is improper or unsuitable, what direful consequences often\nresult! Their objections, in some cases, are treated with scorn,\nand the marriage takes place in defiance of their authority;\nand, in some instances, when their objections are admitted to be\nvalid, they are still doomed to see the fairest flower of their\nfamily fade and die under the slow, yet fatal influence of a\npassion, which is too strong to be quenched, and too baneful to\nbe cherished. These evils, which are so often springing up within\nthe domestic circle--destroying the peace and the happiness of\nparents and of children, and setting at variance the members of the\nsame household--might be avoided, if, before adopting any decisive\nmeasures, the parents--who have a right to expect such a mark of\nrespect, who have so much of their own respectability and happiness\nat issue, and who are, in general, so well qualified to give\njudicious counsel--were consulted.\n\nBut do not parents sometimes bring upon themselves, and upon their\nchildren, the very evils which they are anxious to avoid? Do they\nnot, by their reserve--by their sternness--by their positive\nunwillingness to admit their children into familiar intercourse, and\nby their uniform habit of neglecting to encourage them to ask their\nadvice in their different pursuits in life, indirectly compel them\nto concealment, from the dread of a furious outbreak of passion?\nHow many a dutiful son has been known to say, \"I would consult my\nfather, but he will not listen to my solicitation!\" How many an\namiable daughter has said, on an offer being made her, \"I should\nlike to take counsel from my parents, but they will not give it.\nThey will condemn my attachment without inquiry--without respecting\nmy feelings, and without assigning any reasons for their decision!\"\nThus, the inexperienced child is often thrown on her own resources,\nin reference to the most momentous step in life, in consequence\nof being unable to apply for the advice of her parents; and dire\nnecessity compels her to profound secresy, till the fact of her\nattachment, having been discovered by some accident, is heard with\nindignation. An order to discontinue all further correspondence\nwith the object of her affection is now peremptorily issued, which\nmerely serves to increase the ardour of her attachment, and make\nher resolute in her choice, without regard to consequences. Let\nparents, then, if they wish to guide and control their children on\nthese important occasions, induce them to repose in them an implicit\nconfidence--to consult them, as friends, on every occasion of\ndifficulty; and by the avoidance of dictation, imperative command,\nor stern, unexplained prohibition, endeavour to rule over them by a\nmild authority, tempered with the purest affection; and, by a course\nof practical wisdom, in assigning plain, palpable, and important\nreasons for the advice they give, make it evident that they are\ninfluenced by a regard for their children's welfare, rather than by\nmere caprice or an arbitrary will. And though instances may occur in\nthe history of human life, in which such a wise method of procedure\nmay fail in the accomplishment of its object; and a perverse or\nreserved disposition may lead the son or daughter to set at naught\nthe kindest and best advice, when given in the most unexceptionable\nmanner; yet there is reason to believe, that where parents have\nacted towards their children as they ought to act, such a disastrous\nresult will be of rare occurrence.\n\nAs we are commanded by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving,\nto make known all our requests unto God, I cannot conceive of any\nmatter in which we ought to seek his direction more earnestly, than\nin the choice of the person who is to be our companion for life.\nHe knows our tempers, our dispositions, and our propensities; the\nfuture temptations and trials to which we shall be subjected, and\nall the various ills that will intersect our path in life; and he\nhas promised, that if we acknowledge him in _all_ our ways, he\nwill direct our steps. Ought we not to implore his guidance in\nthe selection of a suitable partner, to share our sorrows, and\nenhance our joys?--one who will soothe us, under the agitations\nof distress, tranquillize the irritation of passion, assist us by\njudicious counsel, and who will give a higher tone to our character,\nby inducing us to add to \"virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge,\ntemperance; and to temperance, patience; and to patience, godliness;\nand to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness,\ncharity.\" But how rarely is this duty attended to, even by those\nwho make a profession of religion, till they see one who captivates\ntheir heart; and then the sanction of God is requested, rather than\nhis counsel; and he is importuned to remove the obstructions which\nimpede the gratification of our wishes, instead of being solicited\nto keep us from forming an alliance which will be injurious to our\nhappiness, our usefulness, and our honour!\n\nAnd are not Christian parents, in general, too inattentive to this\nbranch of their duty? Are they not, in the case of the marriage\nof their children, apt to depend too much on their own judgment\nto decide on its fitness? And are they not more frequently\ninfluenced in their decision by the love of wealth, and of worldly\nrespectability, than by those moral and religious considerations,\nwhich ought ever to maintain an absolute authority over them? As\ntheir own peace, and the present and eternal happiness of their\nchildren, and their children's children, depend so much on this\nimportant measure, they ought often to pray, as their children are\nrising to maturity, that he who fixes the bounds of our habitation,\nand determines for us the number of our years on earth, would be\npleased to form their connections, and sanctify their marriage\nby his blessing? Is it not by the adoption of such a course of\npractical devotion, that parents are encouraged to expect that their\nsons and their daughters will be preserved \"from the hand of strange\nchildren, whose mouth speaketh vanity, and whose right hand is a\nright hand of falsehood:\" and be induced to form those alliances\nwhich will be no less a source of happiness than of honour--handing\ndown not only their names, but their principles, their example, and\ntheir influence to bless and adorn the succeeding generation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe intimacy which subsisted between Emma Holmes and her young\nfriend Miss Orme proved essentially injurious to the moral tone\nand feelings of her mind; and eventually brought on the family a\nseries of trials which overwhelmed them in the deepest sorrow. This\nintimacy commenced at school, just as her character began to receive\nits complexion and its tendencies; and when she stood most in need\nof those checks and restraints, and that salutary advice, which\nshe would have received, if her companion had been imbued with the\ngrace of pure religion. From the cast of her mind, which bore no\nresemblance to that of either of her sisters, she imbibed, at an\nearly age, strong prejudices against evangelical piety; and though\nat one period she felt the reproaches of an evil conscience, and the\nterrors of the law falling upon her, yet she soon cast them off,\nand became still more volatile and gay. The inconsistent conduct of\nsome professors was the immediate cause of effacing her deep and\nsolemn impressions of the vanity of the world and the importance of\nreligion; and though she would readily admit that this circumstance\nwas no valid argument against the reality of personal piety, yet she\ncould never conquer that painful aversion which it had excited in\nher mind against the love of the truth.\n\nThis strong aversion was strengthened and increased by many\naccidental circumstances, from which at the time no bad effects\nwere apprehended. Her sister Louisa had established a periodical\ninterchange of visits between her own family and the Corries, and\ntheir uncouth phraseology of speech was no less offensive to\nEmma's taste, than their dogmatic opinions were revolting to her\nmoral feelings. Their intellectual weakness imperceptibly destroyed\nthat reverence for the Christian faith which she had felt, when\ncontemplating it as associated with minds of a higher order, and\ngreater degree of refinement. Their perpetual recurrence to a few\nfavourite opinions--the tenacity with which they held them, even\nwhen fairly refuted by sound argument--the self-complacency which\nthey discovered in their assumed superior illumination, after an\nunsuccessful effort to support the dogmas of their belief--and\nthe sang-froid with which they condemned as unenlightened and\nunconverted every one who professed sentiments differing from their\nown--excited in her mind a great dislike to evangelical religion.\nWhile these good people required from the chosen few a more entire\nrenunciation of the world than is compatible with its claims on our\nattention; and while they visited with severe censures the slightest\ndegree of conformity to its style of dress or of living--condemning\neven a taste for music, poetry, or art, as a proof of a carnal mind;\nthey gave to the unconverted the utmost latitude, and maintained\nthat pious parents should not attempt to impose any restrictions on\ntheir children, assigning as a reason that if they were not elected\nto eternal life, this was the only state in which they could enjoy\nhappiness, and that to deprive them of it by prohibiting them from\n\"walking in the ways of their own heart, and in the sight of their\nown eyes,\" would be an act of cruelty and folly. In vain did Mr.\nHolmes argue, that secret things belong to God, and the revealed\npromises and prohibitions to us and to our children; they invariably\nmet his arguments by saying, that the mysteries of the kingdom were\nconcealed from the wise and the prudent, being revealed only to\nbabes.\n\nThese speculative notions, if confined within their own pious\ncircle, would have done but little injury, but being introduced as\nthe theme of frequent discussion and debate in Emma's presence, they\nsupplied her with a powerful argument in justification of her own\npredilections.\n\nIt was at this period, when her mind was vacillating between\na lingering reverence and a positive aversion to evangelical\nreligion, that she happened to pay a visit to Redhill, the seat\nof Colonel Orme, her friend's father. Here she passed at once\nfrom the chastened seriousness and fervent devotion of domestic\norder and piety, to the levity and gaiety of fashionable life;\nand being removed from the control of her parents, she devoted\nherself to worldly pleasures and amusements with an ardour of\nfeeling which bespoke the energy of her ruling passion. The Colonel\nwas a good-natured, pleasant man; he had been gay in his younger\ndays, but was now become very domestic in his habits. He was a\nprofessed infidel; and though he had too much politeness to make\na direct attack upon religion in Emma's presence, he nevertheless\navailed himself of every favourable opportunity to lower it in\nher estimation. He related facetious stories which had been got\nup for the purpose of burlesquing the doctrines of the new birth,\nand salvation by grace--introduced some grave tales to calumniate\nthe conduct of the evangelical clergy, and gave it as his decided\nopinion, that the fanaticism of the country would destroy the energy\nand glory of the English character.\n\nMrs. Orme was quite the lady of fashion, fond of dress and cards,\noperas and balls; and as for Sunday, she was sometimes seen at\nchurch, but then it was principally to show a mark of respect to the\nclergyman, who was a particular friend of the Colonel's.\n\nThe Colonel had three daughters by his present wife, and one son\nby a former marriage. As it required all his income to support the\nstyle in which he lived, he could make no provision for his son\nbeyond the commission he had obtained for him in the army, yet he\nflattered himself on being able to form for him some good alliance;\nand understanding that Mr. Holmes was possessed of great wealth,\nhe resolved, if possible, to secure Emma as a partner for his son.\nHe broached the subject to his wife and eldest daughter, and both\nagreed that the idea was most excellent.\n\n\"Indeed, Papa,\" said Miss Orme, \"I think she is the very woman for\nCharles. I am sure he will be captivated with her. Such beauty, such\nelegance of manners, so much wit; and I should suppose, from the\nstyle in which the Holmeses live, such a handsome fortune.\"\n\n\"I don't look at beauty,\" said Mrs. Orme, \"for that will fade; nor\nat elegance of manners, for that obtains no distinction in the\npresent day; nor yet at wit, for that often brings people into\ntrouble; but I look at the fortune. Can you form any idea how much\nshe is likely to have? Have you ever spoken to her on the subject?\"\n\n\"O dear, yes, Mamma; I said to her one day, as we were walking down\nthe Green Lanes, just when we came opposite that beautiful house,\nwith the lawn and carriage sweep before it: 'I suppose, Emma,\nnothing less than a carriage and four will please you,' at which she\nsmiled. I do think she expects a very handsome fortune.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay,\" said the Colonel, \"these London citizens never retire from\nbusiness till they have feathered their nest very comfortably; but\nthey are, like old birds, rather wary, and we must be cautious how\nwe set the nets, or we shall not be able to catch the game. This\nbusiness requires management, and as I understand how to manoeuvre\nyou must leave it to me. You women are too hasty in your movements.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Mrs. Orme, \"I don't care who takes the management\nof the business, so that it is managed properly. But I must suggest\none idea before I have done, and that is, Emma herself had better be\nasked the question, whether she is engaged, or has any objection to\nthe army.\"\n\n\"Yes, exactly so, Mamma. That idea struck me just now; and I think\nit a most excellent one; and as we are to walk out in the evening,\nI will propose it. I have no doubt but she will tell me; and if,\nPapa, she feels any reluctance, I could argue the case with her, and\nI have no doubt I should succeed. I am so delighted the idea ever\nentered your mind.\"\n\n\"You will each keep at your posts,\" said the Colonel, \"and not move\nor speak in this business till I give the word of command. The first\nthing to be done is to ascertain if Charles will put off his present\nengagement with Miss Collingwood, and the next is to see whether he\nwill take a fancy to Miss Holmes.\"\n\n\"Why, Colonel,\" said his wife, \"I am surprised to hear you talk\nso irrationally! Do you think he would hesitate breaking off\nthat engagement a single moment? Why, he said to me just before\nhe left home, 'I am apprehensive, from what I heard at the mess,\nthat Collingwood is not the man of wealth I thought he was when my\nintimacy with his family commenced, and I must make more particular\ninquiries.'\"\n\n\"Perhaps he won't object,\" said the Colonel, \"though you know it is\na point of honour which every man can't pass; but as he has passed\nit once, he may again.\"\n\nIn the evening, just before they sat down to cards, the Colonel\nopened the campaign, by saying, \"It is natural for every man to give\na decided preference to his own profession; but for my part, if I\nwere to begin life again, and had my choice, I would enter the army.\nThere it is a man acquires glory.\"\n\n\"And there it is,\" said Emma, \"he is exposed to danger.\"\n\n\"Why, very true, Miss Holmes, but you know that the field of danger\nis where the crown of honour is won!\"\n\n\"Yes, but what sacrifice of feeling does it require?\"\n\n\"Why, very true, but you know feeling is rather sentimental!\"\n\n\"Sentimental, Sir!\" said the lively young lady, \"and did you think\nso when you received your wound in the head? It was then, I suspect,\nfelt to be real.\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said the Colonel, somewhat embarrassed, \"very true; but\nwe don't pay much regard to feeling when engaged in the conflict.\"\n\n\"So I suppose; nor much regard to feeling in prospect of the\nconflict, and still less when it is over.\"\n\n\"There you are mistaken; for before the battle begins, a death-like\nhorror comes over the most courageous spirit; but when it is over,\nthe shout of victory gives an ecstasy of delight.\"\n\n\"But how is it changed when you look round on the mangled bodies of\nthe slain--on your friends and comrades weltering in their blood--or\nthink of the wives and children whom the sword makes widows and\norphans!\"\n\n\"Ah, true, that's the worst of it: but you know that wars and\nfightings have been from the beginning, and will be to the end; and\nsome must engage in them.\"\n\n\"I presume,\" said Emma, addressing herself to Mrs. Orme, \"you must\nhave felt intense agony of mind, every time the Colonel left you for\nactual service!\"\n\n\"At first I did, but after I got used to it, I did not regard it,\nfor use, you know, my dear, is second nature; and then there was so\nmuch pleasure on his return.\"\n\n\"There is, certainly,\" said the Colonel, \"some danger attending the\nprofession of arms; but it is the most honourable profession in\nwhich a gentleman can be engaged; and though humanity may shudder at\nsight of the evils attending it, yet a true soldier is one of the\nmost tender-hearted men living.\"\n\n\"Your eloquence, Sir,\" said Miss Emma, \"brings to my recollection\nwhat I once read:--'One murder makes a villain--a thousand a hero;'\nand though you descant most feelingly on the tenderness of a\nsoldier's heart, you no doubt refer to it, when touched by the point\nof the sword.\"\n\n\"Or,\" said the Colonel gallantly, \"when pierced by a woman's eye!\"\n\nHere the conversation ended, and they passed the evening at their\nfavourite game. \"I fear,\" said Mrs. Orme, as soon as she found\nherself alone with her husband, \"she has no predilection for the\nprofession; and if so, our hopes are blasted.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, she has, only she has thrown up a masked battery in her\nown defence; but when Charles comes, you will see with what ease he\nwill destroy it.\"\n\nA few days after this conversation, Colonel and Mrs. Orme\nentertained a large party at dinner, at which a brilliant company\nof fashionable friends and acquaintances was present. As this\nwas the first party that had been invited during her visit, Emma\nbestowed a more than ordinary attention on her personal appearance.\nHer dress, if not expensive, was elegant, and though there were\nother ladies who surpassed her in the richness of their attire,\nthere was no one who equalled her in the beauty of her figure, or\nthe grace and elegance of her movements. She now felt herself,\nfor the first time in her life, in a position which gave her an\nopportunity of displaying her attractions, which she did with so\nmuch grace, that she excited the envy and admiration of the company,\nwho were astonished when they heard that this was the daughter of\nMr. Holmes. In the course of the evening the rumble of wheels was\nheard at the door, and soon after a handsome young man entered the\ndrawing-room, whom Emma at once perceived to be Charles Orme, on\nhis parents and sister hastening forward to meet him. He had just\ngot leave of absence, he said, for a few weeks, and sooner than\nhe expected, which had brought him to Redhill, without previously\nsending any notice. Emma was quite charmed with his appearance, and\nstill more so when the Colonel, walking up to her, said, \"Allow me,\nMiss Holmes, to introduce to you my son Charles--Charles, Miss Emma\nHolmes.\n\n\"This is an unlooked-for pleasure, Miss Holmes,\" said Captain Orme,\nperforming his part in the ceremony of the introduction with the\nmost polished gallantry; \"I have often heard of you from my sister\nin her letters. What charming weather this is! Pray, may I have you\nas a partner, as I see they are getting up a quadrille?\"\n\nEmma gracefully consented; and from that moment her destiny in life\nwas fixed. On the other hand, Captain Orme was quite struck with her\nbeauty; and though the apparent heartiness of his manner, at his\nfirst introduction, was merely the result of that vanity which seeks\nto engross for itself the company of the most elegant woman present,\nhe could not help experiencing, even in his cold and selfish heart,\na somewhat deeper and more serious feeling, as he conversed with\nthis young and beautiful girl. Colonel and Mrs. Orme viewed, with\ngreat satisfaction, the evident impression made on their son by\nEmma's beauty; and, accordingly, after their guests had departed,\nthey communicated to him the matrimonial speculation they had in\nview for him.\n\n[Illustration: FIRST MEETING OF CAPTAIN ORME AND EMMA HOLMES.\n\nVol. ii. p. 352.]\n\n\"I am sure, Charles,\" said his father, \"there could not be a\nmore desirable match: youth, beauty, and last, not least (with a\nsignificant leer), a very handsome fortune.\"\n\n\"Has she her fortune at her own command?\" asked his son.\n\n\"Why, no, the wealth of the Holmes family has all been accumulated\nby the old man; and I should suppose the amount of this girl's\nfortune must be dependent on his will. But he will, doubtless, give\nher a handsome portion, if he is satisfied with the match.\"\n\n\"Now, that is just the difficulty,\" said Mrs. Orme. \"The family,\nalways strong Evangelicals, have lately turned Dissenters, because,\nforsooth, Mr. Vaughan's sermons are not sufficiently methodistical\nto please them. Mr. Holmes has a great prejudice against the\nmilitary profession, as one both of a questionable nature in itself,\nand beset with numerous temptations. We must, then, play our cards\nwell, and act with caution.\"\n\n\"The first thing,\" said the Colonel, \"is for you, Charles, to pay\nyour addresses to Miss Holmes. I do not think there will be much\ndifficulty with _her_.\"\n\n\"Well, I should rather suppose there would not,\" replied the modest\nyouth, contemplating, with considerable satisfaction, his elegant\nfigure in the mirror over the drawing-room chimney-piece; \"it shall\nnot be my fault if she does not become Mrs. Orme. But good night. I\nwas up all last night at Lady Fortescue's ball, and must be off to\nbed.\"\n\n\"One word, Charles,\" said his mother, \"what are you going to do with\nMiss Collingwood?\"\n\n\"O, that has all been over for some time. I learned that her father\nhas nothing to depend on but his pay, and that his daughter's\nfortune, left her by an aunt, amounts only to three thousand\npounds, and is so tied up, that I should never be able to touch a\nshilling of it. So I am well out of that affair.\"\n\nThe Captain was a young man about the age of twenty-five. He had\ninherited from his mother a handsome fortune, which he received on\ncoming of age; but such had been his profuse extravagance, before\nand after he entered the army, that when he had paid his so-called\ndebts of honour, and the Jew brokers who had advanced him money,\nhe found himself unable to defray the bills of his tradesmen, who\nwere clamorous for the settlement of their accounts. Various were\nthe expedients which he employed to keep them from carrying their\nthreats into execution; and at length he resolved on marriage, as\nthe only alternative he could devise, to extricate himself from his\nembarrassments. He first paid his addresses to the eldest daughter\nof a country gentleman, but soon quitted her on ascertaining the\nsmall amount of fortune which she possessed. A similar reason,\nas above-mentioned, induced him to desert Miss Collingwood, the\ndaughter of a retired major in the Indian army; and now he prepared\nto pay his addresses to the more accomplished and the more wealthy\ndaughter of Mr. Holmes. He, of course, concealed from the latter\nthe history of his former life, spoke of the fortune which fell\nto him by the death of his mother, as though it were still in his\npossession, and assured her that he had no other motive in view\nthan the honour and felicity of being permitted to call her his\nwife. Unaccustomed to the duplicity of the world, and fudging of\nothers, from the integrity of her own heart, she listened to his\novertures with pleasure, and though she proposed speaking to her\nparents before she ventured to give any decisive reply, yet this was\noverruled by Mrs. Orme, who suggested the expediency of deferring\nit for the present. \"You know, my dear,\" said the intriguing woman,\n\"your Papa and Mamma, from their peculiar sentiments on religion,\nmay feel some objection to Charles's profession, and it will be\nnecessary to adopt some plan to reconcile them to it; and, as an\nopening has now been made, the Colonel and I both think that we had\nbetter establish a close intimacy with the Elms, before anything is\nsaid on the subject.\"\n\nOn her return home, she intermingled with the family as usual,\npreserved the same degree of decorum in her attention to religious\nduties, and at times appeared thoughtful and sedate, which induced\nher unsuspecting sister to imagine that she was beginning to feel\nthe deep impressions of religion on her heart. Amidst all her\ngaiety, and sprightliness, and aversion to decided piety, she had\nalways displayed an honest frankness when speaking on the subject,\nbut now she had a part to act which required duplicity; and having\nbeen tutored to this vice at the Colonel's, she soon became a\nproficient. As her sister Louisa had made some reference to her\ncomparative sedateness, and expressed, in very delicate terms, her\nhope that it was the beginning of the great change, she resolved\nto assume a more uniform gravity of manner, that she might more\neffectually conceal the passion which had taken such strong hold\nof her feelings. She made no allusion to the scenes of gaiety she\nhad recently witnessed, and in which she moved as one of the most\nadmired figures; nor did she express any wish to repeat her visit,\nwhich rather tended to confirm the hopes of her sister.\n\n\"Jane and I,\" said Miss Holmes, as they were all rising from the\ndinner table, \"are going to see Mrs. Kent; will you accompany us,\nEmma?\"\n\n\"Certainly. I long to see the old lady. She is a real Christian,\nI have no doubt; and if her mind had received the same degree of\ncultivation as her heart, she would have exhibited the majesty and\nforce no less than the amiable traits of religion.\"\n\n\"I was not aware,\" replied Miss Holmes, with a smile of pleasure,\n\"that you ever associated such qualities with the pure religion of\nJesus Christ.\"\n\n\"O yes, I do; and I am delighted when I see them embodied in a\nliving character; but they must be blended to produce their full\neffect.\"\n\n\"But is not the beauty of religion more attractive than its\ngrandeur?\"\n\n\"It may be so to some persons, but not to me. I prefer a mind that\ncan discourse on the doctrines of Christianity in a style of speech\nwhich bears some analogy to their sublime greatness.\"\n\n\"I hope, dear Emma,\" said Miss Holmes, \"you do not now feel\nthat strong antipathy to the Corries which you have heretofore\nmanifested; for though they are weak Christians, yet you must\nacknowledge they are pious.\"\n\n\"Yes, they may be pious,\" replied Emma, with some sarcastic warmth\nof manner; \"but who that has any feeling of respect for the honour\nof Christianity does not regret that their piety is not confined to\na cloister? Mrs. Kent exhibits the beauty of religion, the Corries\nits deformity: Mrs. Kent would make an infidel believe, but the\nCorries would make a Christian doubt; she, by the artless simplicity\nof her instructions, would\n\n              ... 'rear the tender thought,\n    And teach the young idea how to shoot;'\n\ntill the principle of grace grows up laden with the fruits of\nrighteousness; they, by their vanity and self-conceit, their\ndogmatism, and perverse obstinacy of opinion, would shake the\nstrongest faith. Or, to speak in plain terms, such Christians as the\nCorries should never speak on religious subjects in the presence of\nthe irreligious; for if they do, they will confirm the enmity which\nthey wish to subdue, and give a degree of encouragement to sin which\nthey do not intend.\"\n\nThe old woman had just finished reading a letter when the young\nladies entered her cottage; and though she received them with her\nusual kind manner, yet she could not conceal the powerful agitation\nof her feelings.\n\n\"I hope,\" said Miss Holmes, \"we are not intruding.\"\n\n\"No, Miss, I am very glad to see you; and I hope you will not allow\nmy distress to give you any trouble.\"\n\n\"O,\" said Emma, \"if you are in trouble let us know the cause of it;\nthough I ought to apologize for having asked such an impertinent\nquestion.\"\n\n\"The question is not impertinent, and therefore I beg you will say\nnothing about an apology. I have just received a letter from my dear\nboy, who has been absent from me these fourteen years, and as I had\nnot heard from him for many months I thought he was dead.\"\n\n\"Where is he?\"\n\n\"He is with his regiment at the Cape of Good Hope, very ill in the\nhospital, and says he does not expect that I shall ever hear from\nhim again. He was once a good, obedient son, much attached to his\nmother, but he fell into evil company, and was enticed to enlist as\na soldier. He said nothing to me about it for many days after he had\ndone it, or I could have got him off by speaking to Squire Ridgeway;\nbut I did not know anything about it till the night before he was\nmarched off, and since then I have never seen him; and now he is\nconfined in the hospital so far off that I can't go to nurse him,\nnor speak to him about the Saviour who came into the world to save\nsinners. I hope you will excuse me, ladies, but a mother can't help\nweeping.\"\n\nWhile the poor old woman was telling this affecting tale, the\ncountenance of Emma underwent very perceptible changes, from the\ndeep crimson blush to a deathlike paleness, till, overpowered by her\nfeelings, she fainted in the arms of her sister. She was taken into\nthe open air, and various expedients were adopted to restore her,\nwhich after a short time proved successful. \"Dear creature,\" said\nMrs. Kent, fanning her, \"she has a tender heart, and can't bear to\nhear of another's sorrows. I am grieved that I said anything about\nmy affliction, it has proved too much for her.\"\n\n\"She has,\" Miss Holmes remarked, \"a great esteem for you, which is\nthe cause of her having felt so great an interest in your calamity;\nbut she will soon be better.\"\n\nOn recovering, she expressed her regret that the weakness of her\nnerves should occasion so much trouble; and having taken a draught\nof water, she rose, and leaning on the arms of her sisters, soon\nafter walked home. During the evening she endeavoured to resume her\nusual cheerfulness, but she could not, and dreading a recurrence of\nthe fit, she complained of indisposition, and retired to rest. In\nthe morning, when her sister Louisa went into her room, she found\nher in a sweet sleep; and, as she was stealing away, she saw a\nminiature lying on her dressing-table, and on looking at it thought\nit bore a strong resemblance to Captain Orme, who, after Emma's\nreturn home, had one day called with his sister.\n\nThe following day Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were surprised by a call from\nthe Colonel and Miss Orme, who came to invite them to meet a select\ndinner party; and, though they had resolved not to intermix with\nthe gay world, yet they knew not how to refuse such an expression\nof politeness, especially as they had been so kind to Emma. They\ntherefore consented.\n\n\"Mamma requested me,\" said Miss Orme to her young friend, \"to offer\nyou the loan of this book, which she thinks you will like. _It is a\nvery religious one. You may open it at your leisure._\"\n\nThe emphasis which was placed on this sentence, viewed in connection\nwith the miniature painting, awakened the suspicion of Miss Holmes,\nwho now believed that some secret correspondence was going on\nbetween her sister and Captain Orme; and an accidental occurrence\ntook place in the course of the day, which removed every doubt from\nher mind. Emma on taking her handkerchief out of her reticule, as\nshe was retiring from the parlour after dinner, dropped a letter,\nwhich her mother picked up, and read. She immediately presented it\nto Mr. Holmes, who also read it. This was a letter which Mrs. Orme\nhad inclosed between the leaves of the book she had sent to Emma,\ninforming her that Charles was well, and wanted to meet her that\nevening, at Mrs. Paton's. She added that she hoped she had contrived\nto keep all at the Elms ignorant of the affair, as the Colonel was\nstill of opinion that they should not be spoken to on the business\ntill everything was properly arranged.\n\nThis letter, which explained the obscure parts of Emma's conduct,\ninvolved the whole family in great perplexity; and they were at a\nloss to know what course to pursue, that would save her from the\nsnares which had been laid to entrap her. At length it was resolved\nto replace the letter, and leave the room. This was done, and on\npassing through the hall, Mr. Holmes met her, and said,\n\n\"I am going, my dear, to take a ride in the carriage this afternoon,\nwill you go with me?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Papa.\"\n\nOn entering the parlour she found her letter, and eagerly seized it,\npresuming that it had escaped detection.\n\nShe had given her promise to accompany her father when her feelings\nwere strongly excited by the dread of having Mrs. Orme's letter to\nher discovered; but now she began to complain of indisposition, and\nwished to decline the proposed ride. However, her objections were\noverruled, and she went.\n\nOn the following morning, her father, finding her alone, took\nthe opportunity of alluding to his anxiety for her spiritual and\ntemporal welfare, and hoped that she would take no important step in\nlife without the advice and approbation of her parents.\n\n\"Do you think it possible, Papa, that I could be so unwise or so\nundutiful as to take any important step without consulting you?\"\n\n\"Tell me, my dear child,\" said her father, taking her by the hand,\n\"have you not already been induced to do so, and that by the\npersuasion of others?\"\n\nThis question, proposed in the mildest accents, and with every\nexpression of parental tenderness, staggered and confounded her,\nand, after a momentary pause, she fell on her knees and implored\nforgiveness.\n\n\"Yes, my father, I have been induced to act a part which I sincerely\nregret. Forgive me, I beseech you.\"\n\nShe frankly confessed the whole plot; offered to return every letter\nand present she had received, and promised that she would never\nsuffer herself to be again beguiled from the path of duty. These\npresents Mr. Holmes sent back to the Colonel's, accompanied by the\nfollowing letter:--\n\n     \"SIR,--Since your call on Thursday morning, I have detected the\n     intimacy which has been formed between my daughter and your son;\n     and am surprised that you and Mrs. Orme should so far forget\n     the obligations which are due to a parent, as to dissuade my\n     child from consulting me on a measure of so much importance to\n     our happiness, and her own. Had the young people resolved to\n     practise this species of deception on me without your knowledge\n     or consent, I should blame them only; but as this plot has been\n     got up by you, I must say, that the amount of their fault is\n     lost in the greater magnitude of yours; and I have no doubt\n     but your object is to repair the ruined fortune of your son\n     at the expense of my daughter's happiness. You will therefore\n     allow me to say, that all intimacy between our families has\n     ceased.--Yours,\" &c.\n\nAfter this abrupt termination of an intimacy which had opened\nbefore her the prospect of a connection for life, she appeared for\na few days relieved from an oppressive burden of anxiety, and was\nassiduous in her attention to her parents; but her appearance and\nher manners soon proved that her affections were entangled, and\nthat nothing but time and the tenderest treatment on their part\ncould disengage them. She became low and dejected--careless of her\nperson--unwilling to mingle in any company--the healthful bloom of\nher countenance passed away, succeeded by the sickly and pallid\nhue; she seldom took part in conversation, and endeavoured to avoid\nall intercourse with the other members of the family. At length\nher mother became much alarmed, and said it was her opinion, that\nunless they consented to a renewal of the intimacy with the Ormes,\nthey must prepare to follow their daughter to the grave. \"I never\ncan give my consent to the connection,\" said Mr. Holmes; \"and would\nrather follow her to the grave than see her united to such a person.\nCaptain Orme is a man who has squandered his fortune; destroyed the\nstrength of his constitution by dissolute habits; is involved in\ndebt by his extravagance; and would sacrifice the happiness, and\neven the life of Emma, with as little remorse as he now feels for\nhis past crimes. He is bad, but his parents, if possible, are worse;\nfor they have not only given the sanction of their approbation to\nhis conduct, but attempted to corrupt our child, and thus ruin our\ndomestic happiness.\"\n\nThe conduct of a female, who accepts the addresses of a gentleman\nwithout consulting her parents, or her guardians, is deserving of\ncensure; but when she is beguiled into the measure by the entreaties\nand persuasion of others, and especially those who have children\nor wards of their own, the voice of censure should reserve its\nseverest expressions of reprobation for her tempters and seducers.\nTheir delinquency, it is true, does not cancel hers, but it offers\nsome slight degree of extenuation. What evils often result from\nthat system of manoeuvring, which is so much tolerated, nay, even\napplauded, in society! These match-makers and busy-bodies--these\ncommon nuisances and pests--who trample on all the sacred principles\nof honour and of friendship, and display such indifference when\ndetected--ought to be excluded from every family which wishes to\npreserve the honour and happiness of its female members. Nor ought\nwe to hold in less detestation and abhorrence, the conduct of those\nwho allow our children to hold secret and forbidden intercourse with\neach other at their houses, or consent to become the agents through\nwhom a correspondence is carried on. Such persons may express their\ntender sympathy for the young people who are not permitted to meet\nopenly and in the face of day, and may pass some heavy censures on\nthe cruelty of their parents; but can they, on reflection, approve\nof their own doings, and think themselves entitled to respect?\nImpossible! They are acting a part over which they wish the veil\nof secrecy to be thrown; and, often sacrificing on the same altar\nthe virtue and happiness of the child, with the peace and honour of\nthe parent, can offer no other apology for their conduct, than that\n\"they did not mean any harm.\"\n\nMr. Holmes saw, with great anxiety, the declining health of his\nbeloved Emma; and on surprising her, in tears, one morning as he\nentered her room, he expressed his fears that she was unhappy.\n\n\"Yes, my father, I am unhappy; and I believe that I shall never see\nanother happy day in this unhappy world.\"\n\n\"But I understood, when I spoke to you on the subject, that it was\nyour determination to renounce all further thoughts of Captain Orme.\"\n\n\"Yes, I said I would return his letters, and never suffer myself\nto be again beguiled from the path of duty; but I cannot subdue my\nfeelings. I think if you knew him you would not object.\"\n\n\"My dear girl, I have strong objections to his profession, which is\nnot favourable to the cultivation of those domestic virtues on which\nthe happiness of a wife depends.\"\n\n\"But, Papa, he is one of the most attentive and amiable of men; and\nwould, I have no doubt, make me happy.\"\n\n\"It is very rarely, indeed, that a rake ever makes a good husband.\"\n\n\"A rake! Papa; you are misinformed.\"\n\n\"Ah, my child, you are not aware of the deception which has been\npractised on you, by those you once thought, and perhaps still\nthink, your friends. I have made the most minute inquiry respecting\nhis habits, his property, and his character; and I can assure\nyou, on evidence the most decisive, that he is dissolute in his\nhabits--impoverished in his fortune--and his general character is\nthe very reverse of what you imagine.\"\n\n\"O Papa! I think you have been deceived. He has his mother's\nfortune, which is very handsome. I have seen the original deeds\nwhich secured it to him.\"\n\n\"He had his mother's fortune, my dear, but he squandered it away\nbefore he came of age; and when it was actually transferred to him,\nit was not sufficient to pay all his debts.\"\n\n\"Are you sure, Papa, that you are not misinformed?\"\n\n\"Perfectly sure, my dear Emma.\"\n\n\"And may I be permitted to ask, how you gained this information,\nwhich is so contrary to every statement I have received; and which,\nif true, must change my opinion of him?\"\n\n\"I gained it, in the first instance, through the medium of your\nbrothers; but as I was unwilling to believe such an unfavourable\naccount, even on their testimony, I obtained a personal interview\nwith several of his creditors, who gave me ocular proof of the\ncorrectness of their statements. Indeed, one of them arrested him\nlast week, for the sum of twenty pounds, which had been due more\nthan a year and a half; and others have been induced to wait a few\nmonths longer, from the representations of the Colonel, who has told\nthem that his son is just on the eve of marrying a wealthy citizen's\ndaughter, when every claim shall be settled.\"\n\n\"Impossible! Such treachery cannot dwell in the human bosom!\"\n\n\"It is true, my child.\"\n\n\"I am forced to believe it, Papa, and yet I cannot. Perhaps it is\nonly a temporary embarrassment, arising from some act of generosity,\nor some species of fraud, that has been practised on him. And you\nknow, Papa, a gentleman who is reduced to poverty, may rise again in\nsociety; and gaining wisdom by his experience, he may become more\ncareful.\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear, if he be a man of probity and virtue; but if not, he\nwill never rise.\"\n\n\"And is not Charles Orme a man of probity and virtue?\"\n\n\"I am sorry to say he is not. He may appear such in your presence,\nand he may be described as such by his own family, but when his mode\nof life is inquired into, he will be found frequenting places and\nsocieties which a virtuous man would shun as offensive to his taste,\nand destructive of his honour.\"\n\nWhen a forbidden passion has once gained an ascendency over the mind\nof a female, it very often throws such a spell around her, that she\nbecomes either unable or unwilling to see the inevitable ruin that\nlies before her; and though she will listen to the advice of her\nfriends with apparent interest, and sometimes profess to adopt it,\nunder a full conviction that it is such as she ought to follow, yet\nas soon as she comes into contact with the fatal object on which her\naffections are irrecoverably placed, she feels an influence which\ndestroys all her wise resolves, and hurries her to her doom.\n\nThus it was with the infatuated Emma, who, after struggling with\nher affections for many months, and endeavouring to recover that\nmental peace which she formerly enjoyed, rashly determined to follow\nthe impulse of her will, though her ruin should be the inevitable\nconsequence.\n\nThe family had accepted an invitation to spend a few days with an\nintimate friend, who resided near Tunbridge Wells, but as Emma did\nnot wish to go into company at present, she was excused, and took\nleave of her parents and sisters with the tenderest expressions of\nattachment, and said she hoped they would enjoy the visit. On their\nreturn they were informed by the housekeeper that Miss Emma had not\nbeen home since the day after they left, but had requested her to\npresent the following letter to her father as soon as she saw him:--\n\n     \"MY DEAR FATHER,--Before you receive this, I shall have\n     committed an act which will plunge you and every one of our\n     family into the greatest distress; but I have been compelled to\n     it by dire necessity. I could not conquer my passion for Captain\n     Orme, and am therefore now his wife. Had I not consented, my\n     life would have fallen a sacrifice to my feelings; and as I am\n     not prepared to die, I judged it prudent to perpetuate a life,\n     with some chance for happiness, rather than lose it, with a\n     certain prospect of misery. I hope you and my dear mother will\n     forgive me; and if you cannot suffer me to visit you, I hope\n     you will pray for me. My present home is at the Colonel's, and\n     though I do not expect to find it such a one as that which I\n     have left, yet I trust it will not be without its comforts. With\n     every affectionate regard to you, my dear Mamma, and sisters,\n     and brothers, I am your undutiful, yet much attached,\n\n     \"EMMA.\"\n\n\n\n\nA SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING.\n\n\nThe distress into which the Holmes' family were plunged, on\nhearing the contents of the letter just referred to, exceeds all\ndescription; and though, during the first ebullition of their grief,\nthey gave utterance to heavy censures and bitter reproaches, yet, on\ncooler reflection, they felt more disposed to pity than blame the\npoor deluded Emma. \"A deceived heart,\" said her father, \"hath led\nher astray, and she needs not the vial of our displeasure to fill up\nthe bitter cup which she has to drink. We, as a family, have had,\"\nhe continued, \"a larger proportion of happiness for a long series of\nyears than has fallen to the lot of most; and if, in the decline of\nlife, it should please an all-wise Providence to cast over us the\nclouds of sorrow, we must not repine, but rather bow in submission\nto his righteous will, and pray for wisdom and for grace, to guide\nand support us, when walking through the darkness by which we are\nnow surrounded.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Mrs. Holmes, \"this is an evil which I did not expect.\nI thought she had too much regard for her own honour, and too\nmuch respect for our feelings, to steal away from us in such a\nclandestine manner, as though her home were a prison, and her\nparents tyrants. She deserves all she may suffer; and if she has not\nbecome as callous as a rock, must endure a martyrdom of anguish.\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear, but she is still our child; and though she has torn\nherself away from us, we must not abandon her.\"\n\n\"Abandon her! no, impossible! I can never forget that I gave her\nbirth; that I watched over her in infancy and childhood; and that\nshe was the pride of my heart in my old age. It is the strength of\nmy affection that gives me such intense pain when I think of her\nungrateful conduct.\"\n\nHer clothes, &c., were carefully packed up, and sent to Colonel\nOrme's, according to her own request, accompanied by the following\nletter, which inclosed a draft on her father's banker for \u00a350:--\n\n     \"MY DEAR EMMA,--I shall not attempt to describe our\n     consternation when on returning home we received your letter,\n     which informed us of the step you have taken. To reproach you,\n     now the deed is done, will not repair the evil, nor will it\n     afford any alleviation to our distress. We hope you may be\n     happy, and may meet that kindness from your new connections,\n     which you, no doubt, have anticipated; but which we do not\n     expect. I have inclosed a draft for your _own use_, as a token\n     of my affection, and assure you that you will always meet with a\n     welcome reception at the Elms, when you choose to visit us; but\n     you must come alone. As you are now an inmate in a family which\n     makes no profession of religion, I fear you will be exposed to\n     temptations, which will efface every devout impression you have\n     received; and you may be induced to treat with indifference, if\n     not with contempt, the faith in which you have been educated.\n     Remember, my dear child, that the fashion of this world is\n     passing away, and that in a few years you will have to stand\n     before the judgment seat of Christ, and if, in that solemn and\n     awful moment, you should be separated from us, by the impassable\n     gulf, with what feelings will you await your sentence! We will\n     pray for you; but our prayers will be useless unless _you_\n     likewise pray, and repent, and believe the gospel.--I remain\n     your affectionate father,\n\n     H. HOLMES.\"\n\nHer husband took this draft to the bank and got it cashed, but he\nkept the money; and when his wife ventured to ask him for it, he\nrequested her to apply to her father for more. This she refused to\ndo, which drew from him the first unkind expression she had heard\nhim utter. As the news of his marriage spread abroad, his creditors\nbecame very clamorous for the settlement of their accounts; and\nthough by dexterous manoeuvring, he contrived to keep them from\nadopting any violent measures, yet he felt conscious that the\ncrisis was fast approaching, unless Mr. Holmes could be persuaded\nto assist him. He made a contrite apology to his wife for the\nunguarded language he had used--pledged his honour never more to\nwound her feelings--and assured her that nothing but dire necessity\nhad induced him to appropriate the money to his own use, which was\ndesigned exclusively for hers. She accepted the apology, but felt\nstartled by his allusion to pecuniary embarrassment, though she felt\nthe subject to be too delicate to notice.\n\nHer husband's family treated her with the utmost degree of respect\nand affection, and every one strove to promote her happiness.\nCaptain Orme was unremitting in his attentions, studied her\ngratification in all his arrangements, and conducted himself with\nso much propriety, that she flattered herself with the prospect\nof enjoying a large portion of conjugal felicity. Six months had\nnow passed away without any fresh interruption to her happiness,\nwhen she began to perceive a fixed gloom on the countenance of her\nhusband, who absented himself more frequently, and for a longer\nspace of time than he had been accustomed to do; and she heard some\nambiguous expressions from her father and mother-in-law, which she\nknew not how to explain; nor would her high spirit suffer her to ask\nan explanation. At length, one day the Colonel informed her that\nsome application must be made to her father for a settlement, as his\nson's pay was not equal to the expenses of the family which he was\nnow likely to have.\n\n\"Captain Orme informed me, Sir, when he solicited me to leave my\nfather's house to become his wife, and you assured me that his\nstatement was correct, that his fortune was large, and that it was\nquite immaterial to him whether my father gave me a fortune or left\nme penniless.\"\n\n\"I deny it, Madam, and now tell you that your husband is in\nembarrassed circumstances, and it is useless to conceal the fact any\nlonger. Something must be done, or you are both ruined.\"\n\n\"No gentleman, Sir, ever ventured to suspect the truth of my\ntestimony, and I am sorry that I ever gave you an opportunity to do\nit.\"\n\n\"Well, well, I beg your pardon for the abruptness of my reply.\nPerhaps I did say that his statement was correct; but to be frank,\nhe is in difficulties, and we must endeavour to get him out as well\nas we can; and no one has so much at stake in this business as\nyourself.\"\n\n\"If his difficulties have come upon him since our marriage I will\nsubmit to any privation, and will take upon myself any task to\nextricate him; but if they existed before, I do not know that it is\nin my power to forgive an act of deception so cruel and unjust as\nthat which you have all practised upon me.\"\n\n\"You talk,\" said the Colonel, \"like one who lived before the fall,\nin a state of paradisiacal innocence, rather than like one who has\nseen the world as it is. The world is governed by deception; in\nchurch, in state, in all the departments of social life; and if you\nhave been deceived by any statements which might have been given to\nallure you to the altar, we have all been deceived since your return\nfrom it.\"\n\n\"Not by me, Sir.\"\n\n\"No, Madam, but by your father.\"\n\n\"My father! no! impossible! As he is too humane to reproach, he is\ntoo sincere to deceive.\"\n\n\"Why, we all expected, when the marriage was over, that he would\nprovide handsomely for you.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt that he will, ultimately, but I never gave you any\nreason to expect it.\"\n\n\"But we _did_ expect it, and I think we have a _right_ to expect it.\nCan he suppose that my son is to meet all the expenses which you and\nyour family may bring upon him, without receiving some assistance!\nIf he do, he is deceived, and will entail on you and himself\ndisgrace and misery.\"\n\n\"But you know, Colonel,\" said Mrs. Orme, \"it is no use to wound the\nfeelings of dear Emma so much. If Charles is in trouble, I know she\nwill do what she can to assist him, without being very particular\nrespecting the cause of his difficulties; and I would propose,\nwithout any farther remarks on this very painful question, that she\nwrite to her father on the subject, or give her consent for you to\nwrite.\"\n\n\"What are his difficulties?\" inquired Emma.\n\n\"O dear, only a small account which he is obliged to pay\nimmediately.\"\n\n\"And cannot he pay a small account?\"\n\n\"Why, my dear, he has had to settle several lately, which has taken\nfrom him all his ready money.\"\n\n\"How much is this small account?\"\n\n\"O, only about \u00a3200.\"\n\n\"And do you consider this a trifling sum to owe one tradesman?\"\n\n\"Certainly, my dear, for a gentleman of his profession.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Emma, \"I will have some conversation with Charles on\nthe subject when he returns; and we will decide on the adoption of\nsome plan.\"\n\n\"Why, my dear, I am sorry to inform you, that he is at present\ndetained by the formalities of the law.\"\n\n\"Detained by the formalities of the law! I do not understand you.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not; but he cannot return home till the money is paid or\nsome security is given that it shall be paid.\"\n\n\"Then, where is he?\"\n\n\"Why, my dear, it will afford you no pleasure if I tell you. You had\nbetter not press the question.\"\n\n\"But I must press the question; and I must request to know where he\nis.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear, since you must have it, the gentleman who waited\non him for the payment of the money, has very kindly given him\npermission to stay in his house till it is paid.\"\n\n\"What! is he in prison?\"\n\n\"No, not exactly in prison; only the formalities of the law require\nthat he should remain with the gentleman till the money is paid.\"\n\n\"Can I see him?\"\n\n\"Why, you had better not. You had better write to your father on the\nbusiness, or let the Colonel write.\"\n\n\"Then let the Colonel write, for I can never consent to tell such a\ntale to my father, after having treated his remonstrances with so\nmuch contempt; and violating my most solemn pledge, that I would\nnever suffer myself to be beguiled again from the path of duty.\"\n\nThe Colonel wrote to Mr. Holmes, requesting that he would give his\ndaughter some portion of her fortune; delicately hinting at the\ntemporary embarrassments of her husband; soliciting, at the same\ntime, the honour of an interview, when he had no doubt, but some\nexpedient could be devised to bring about a friendly reconciliation,\nby which the happiness of both families might be placed on a\nsubstantial basis. To this letter Mr. Holmes replied, that he felt\nit his duty to make every provision in his power for the personal\ncomfort of his daughter; but no circumstances should induce him to\npay the enormous debts which he knew her husband had contracted by\na course of extravagant profligacy; and while he was willing to\nadmit her under his roof, it was not his intention ever to form the\nmost distant intimacy with a family who had acted with such cruel\nduplicity towards his child, and sacrificed her happiness for life.\n\nOn the receipt of this letter, the Ormes were thrown into the\ngreatest degree of perplexity; and though they did not read it to\nEmma, because it contained some severe reflections on their conduct,\nyet they judged it expedient to inform her, that Mr. Holmes refused\nto comply with their request. \"You must now, my dear, apply for some\ncash,\" said Mrs. Orme, \"as you will soon want many conveniences,\nwhich it will not be in Charles's power to procure, and I would\nadvise you to press for a generous remittance.\" This application,\nhowever, was rendered unnecessary, as a few days afterwards, she\nreceived a letter from her father, inclosing a draft for \u00a330 for her\nown use, and informing her, that if she preferred being confined at\nthe Elms, everything was ready for her reception.\n\nShe now began to see the extreme delicacy of her situation, and to\nfeel the direful consequences of her own imprudence; but she had no\nfriend in whom she could confide or who could sympathize with her\nmisfortunes. Her mind was in a state of perpetual anxiety, often\ndeeply wounded by the neglect, or unkind looks and expressions of\nthose who once professed the utmost degree of affection--with the\nnear prospect, too, of becoming a mother, without a home, or any\nprovision for herself or child, except by returning to her father's\nhouse--a step which she contemplated at present with extreme\nreluctance.\n\nAfter an absence of several days, Captain Orme returned home in\nhigh spirits, informing his wife that he had had an interview with\nher father, who very generously forgave him, and drew a check on\nhis banker for \u00a3300. \"Now,\" said the Captain, \"I'll give you a\nproof of my honour. I'll take you to the bank, you shall receive\nthe cash, and pay yourself the \u00a350, which necessity compelled me to\nappropriate to my own use.\"\n\n\"No, Charles,\" replied his wife, \"if my father has forgiven you, so\nwill I; and still indulge the hope, that our union, which has been\nembittered with grief, may yet prove a source of mutual felicity. I\nrequest that no further allusion be made to the money.\"\n\n\"Indeed, I cannot be happy unless you allow me to redeem my honour,\nwhich stands pledged to you for it. You must consent to take it,\nand I'll accompany you to the bank. You will wound me if you make\nanother objection.\"\n\nShe entertained no doubt of the truth of his statement; and they\naccordingly drove to town together the following morning. Just as\nthey were going into the bank, he said, \"There's a friend whom I\nhave been anxious to see some months; you will step in and get the\ncash, and after I have seen him, I will return and meet you.\"\n\nAs she was well known to one of the partners in the banking firm,\nwho had often visited at the Elms, the check was honoured without\nmuch inspection; and having the money, she gave her husband \u00a3250,\nand then begged his acceptance of the \u00a350, as an expression of\nher attachment. With this sum he paid the debt for which he was\narrested; and prevented another arrest which he had been daily\nexpecting.\n\nThings now wore a brighter aspect, and the unsuspecting Emma was\ninduced to decline accepting her father's offer; choosing to be\nconfined at the Colonel's, where she could enjoy the society of\nher husband, without giving any trouble to the members of her own\nfamily. Though often pressed to pay a visit to the Elms, she had\nalways deferred doing so; but she now proposed a visit to express\nthe pleasure she felt in prospect of a reconciliation between the\ntwo families. On mentioning this, however, to her husband, he urged\nher not to do it till after her confinement, saying, \"The heir will\nbe our advocate, and heal the breach.\" The eventful time drew near,\nand everything necessary for the occasion had been sent, with a\npressing invitation to spend a few weeks at home, as soon as she was\ncapable of doing so.\n\n\"I am happy to inform you,\" said her husband, a few weeks after the\noccurrences above narrated, \"that I have had another interview with\nyour father; after expressing his good wishes for your welfare,\nand requesting that I would accompany you to the Elms after your\nconvalescence, he very generously said, that as our expenses\njust now must be very heavy, and he wished you to have the best\nprofessional advice, and every comfort that money could procure, he\nwould beg my acceptance of this check for \u00a3400. Now, my dear Emma,\nwe will go to town in the morning, and you shall get the cash, and\ndo what you like with it.\" This was accordingly done in the course\nof the following day.\n\nAt night the family retired to rest as usual; but about midnight\nthey were disturbed, and ere day-break the birth of a fine boy\nwas announced. The news was immediately despatched to the Elms,\nwith a particular request from Mrs. Charles Orme, that her sister\nLouisa would come to see her. The interview was interesting and\naffecting; for though the two sisters bore no resemblance to each\nother in taste or in disposition, yet their attachment was mutual;\nand increased on this occasion by the influence of misfortune and\nsorrow. Miss Holmes remained at Redhill nearly three weeks; and on\nher return, when detailing the incidents of her visit, she referred\nto her father's generosity to Captain Orme.\n\n\"Indeed, my dear,\" said Mr. Holmes, \"I have done nothing which has\nnot been previously agreed upon by us.\"\n\n\"Why, father, it is very good in you to speak so of your generosity\nto Captain Orme. We were rather surprised, however, at your not even\nmentioning to us that you had seen him.\"\n\n\"I have not seen Captain Orme since the day of his marriage, and I\nam at a loss to conceive to what acts of generosity you refer.\"\n\n\"Not seen him, Papa! why, have you not given him two drafts on your\nbanker, for a considerable amount?\"\n\n\"I never did anything of the kind! You must be dreaming, Louisa.\"\n\n\"Emma informed me that you had; and that she went, at her husband's\nurgent request, and got them cashed.\"\n\n\"Then he has forged my check; and again imposed on the credulity of\nour dear child.\"\n\nHe immediately rode off to his banker's, and found forged checks\nto the amount of \u00a3700. This discovery involved the family in great\ndistress; but they resolved not to take any steps in the business\ntill they had seen Emma, which they expected to do in the course\nof a few days. On the morning she left for the Elms, Captain\nOrme requested that she would make no allusion to her father's\ngenerosity, as he did not wish it to be known. As she had already,\nhowever, mentioned the circumstance to Louisa, the request came too\nlate, and Mr. Holmes, as above-mentioned, had now become aware of\nthe villainy of his son-in-law. His resolve to question Emma on the\nsubject, after her arrival, was abandoned, on witnessing the joy\nwhich she displayed on again meeting with her parents and sisters.\nThe family all agreed that it would be cruelty to broach the matter\nat present, and that it had better be deferred to some more fitting\nopportunity.\n\nMrs. Orme had been at home a month, and was preparing to return to\nRedhill, when her father took an opportunity of asking her who it\nwas she saw at the bank, how often she had been there, what sums of\nmoney she had received, and what circumstances induced her to go.\nTo all these questions she replied in very direct terms, and when\nshe had finished, expressed her gratitude to her father for his\nkindness, and hoped that now he would consent to be reconciled to\nher husband.\n\n\"Your husband, my child, has been pursuing one uniform plan of\ndeception, from the time he first saw you to the present hour; and\nthough this last instance of his duplicity is not the most fatal to\nyour happiness, it is certainly the most hazardous for his own. I\ngave him no drafts, nor have I seen him since your marriage.\"\n\n\"Not seen him, father!\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Nor given him any checks!\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"How in the world did he get them then?\"\n\n\"He has forged my name, Emma, and made you the innocent agent in his\nvillainy.\"\n\n\"And is it possible! Am I the wife of such a man!\"\n\n\"Such a man is your husband; and if the law now take its course, he\nwill be liable to transportation for life.\"\n\n\"O! father, spare Charles. Have mercy on your poor Emma; though he\nwere the most wicked man alive, he is still my husband.\"\n\n\"I shall refrain from prosecuting him; but it will be necessary to\nput a stop to such a system of fraud.\"\n\n\"O! my father, what will now become of me and my babe!\"\n\n\"You have left your home once, my child, without my consent, but I\nhope you will not leave it again.\"\n\n\"Never, father! if you will permit me to remain, though I fear my\npresence will be a source of perpetual anxiety.\"\n\nMr. Holmes, after deliberating on the matter, sent the following\nletter to Captain Orme, unsealed, in an envelope, addressed to the\nColonel:--\n\n     \"SIR,--I have seen the forged checks which you got cashed at my\n     banker's; and on inquiry find that you induced my daughter to\n     present them, by telling her that I had given them to you, as\n     a token of my reconciliation. I presume you are aware of the\n     consequences to which you have subjected yourself; though you\n     may suppose that a regard for my daughter's feelings, and the\n     reputation of her child, will induce me to forego a prosecution.\n     I have, however, to warn you against the repetition of such\n     a base and hazardous course, for there are bounds which the\n     tenderest humanity will not suffer to be passed with impunity. I\n     should hope, for the honour of your father's character, that he\n     was ignorant of the crime which you have committed; but I fear\n     you are not the only person that is involved in the guilt of its\n     commission.\"\n\nTo this letter he received the following reply the next day:--\n\n     \"SIR,--You say you have detected my fraud, and express your fear\n     that I am not the only person that is involved in the guilt of\n     it. Very true, Sir. Your own daughter suggested to me this mode\n     of getting at some portion of her fortune--procured the blank\n     checks--and went herself and got them cashed; and now you are at\n     liberty to let the law take its course, if you please. She is\n     unfortunately my wife; and as she is once more under your roof,\n     I hope she will remain there till I send for her, which will not\n     be till you are induced to give her a fortune equal to my rank,\n     as I was fully entitled to expect on marrying her. My father,\n     who feels too indignant at your base insinuation to reply to it,\n     begs me to say, that he does not choose to admit your daughter\n     into his house again. You will, therefore, permit me to return\n     your own compliment, by saying, that all intimacy between our\n     families has ceased, and you may be assured, that I regret that\n     any intimacy was ever formed.--Your obedient servant,\n\n     \"CHARLES ORME.\"\n\nThis letter confirmed the suspicions which had been, for a long\ntime, excited in the breast of Mrs. Charles Orme; and though the\nopen avowal of her husband's baseness produced a painful impression,\nyet it decided the course which necessity compelled her to adopt;\nand she could not forbear sending him the subjoined letter:--\n\n     \"MY HUSBAND,--I cannot, in justice to myself, remain silent,\n     after reading your letter to my father--a letter which is a\n     very natural sequel to your perfidious conduct. That you should\n     feel at liberty to charge upon me the baseness of suggesting\n     the crime of which you have been guilty, is more than I could\n     have imagined; but it has relieved me from that bitter regret\n     which I should otherwise feel in being separated from you\n     for life. You have betrayed me--you have reproached me--you\n     have insulted me--but this, it appears, is not enough: you\n     now try to disgrace me. Have you lost all sense of honour?\n     Does no feeling of generous sensibility move in your breast?\n     Are you become an alien from every virtuous principle? and do\n     you wish, if possible, to sink me into contempt, after having\n     abandoned me and your child? I feel too indignant to throw\n     back the reproaches which you have cast on me. I have a home,\n     and a peaceful one, and you may rely upon it, that no false\n     professions of attachment shall ever again induce me to leave\n     it. I am unable to judge of your state of mind; but if you have\n     the slightest degree of remorse left, conscience must reproach\n     you bitterly.--Your much injured\n\n     \"EMMA.\"\n\nI shall now anticipate my narrative a little, and conclude the\nhistory of Captain Orme. Soon after sending the preceding letter to\nMr. Holmes, he obtained a military appointment in the East Indies,\nthrough the influence of Lord ----; and immediately embarked,\nwithout making any communication to his wife, or expressing any wish\nto see his infant child. She knew not the place of his destination\nfor nearly two years after he had left his native country, when\nshe received a letter from him. On opening the letter she very\nnaturally expected to find some relentings for his past unkindness,\nand some promises of future amendment, but she was disappointed.\nThe influence of time, which generally softens down the asperities\nof temper, and brings about a cordial reconciliation between the\nmost hostile parties, had only increased the malevolence of his\ndisposition; and as though he had not already inflicted a wound\nsufficiently deep, he now proceeded to the most heartless and\nunmanly abuse. He accused her of infidelity; reproached her for her\nattachment to her own family, whom he reviled in the lowest terms;\nand concluded by saying, that she might now put on her weeds, as it\nwas not his intention of ever returning to claim her as his wife, or\neven to acknowledge as his son the child she had borne.\n\nAs she still cherished an attachment for him, notwithstanding his\ncruel treatment, and had indulged the forlorn hope of seeing him\nreclaimed from the paths of evil, the contents of this letter\nproduced at first a deep melancholy; but as she had now begun to\nderive consolation from a source of happiness which is concealed\nfrom the eye of the gay and the dissipated, she soon regained her\ncomposure, though she ceased not to pray for her erring husband.\nAt length the report of his death reached her through the medium\nof a friend. She wept when she heard of his decease, and expressed\na strong anxiety to know the cause of it. Many inquiries were\nmade, but no information could be obtained, till she received a\nletter from a military officer who had known him in the East.\nThis gentleman spoke in high terms of his courage, and of the\nimportant services which he had rendered to the government of India;\nexpressing, at the same time, his regret that he fell a victim, not\nto the sword, but to his habits of intemperance, which became so\ninveterate, that neither reason nor authority could subdue them.\nThus terminated a union planned by treachery, which a perverse will\nled Emma Holmes to contract, but which she lived to regret with\nbitter and unavailing sorrow.\n\nHer husband's cruelty, in first abandoning his wife and child,\nwithout bidding them adieu, and then insulting her by his base\naccusations, was not more flagrant and unjust than his perfidy\nin first inducing her to become his wife. Though pity could not\nwithhold the sympathy which her sufferings excited, yet every\nimpartial spectator was compelled to acknowledge that she had\nbrought them on herself by her own imprudence. And though such\ninstances of cruelty and treachery are frequently occurring in\nthe history of human life, and though they are held up by the\nmoralist as beacons to warn the incautious female of the danger to\nwhich she is exposed, yet how often, alas! do we see such warnings\ndisregarded. Women are too often smitten by external appearances,\nand too easily imposed upon by the artful tales of the perfidious\nand the crafty, to listen to the advice of their best friends. Thus\nbraving the opposition of their parents, they plunge themselves into\na state of misery, without having, as a melancholy alleviation to\ntheir anguish, the solitary consolation that they were not apprized\nof their danger. I have seen, in my passage through life, many\nfine characters wrecked on this fatal rock, and wish to guard the\nthoughtless and inexperienced from a similar catastrophe, and though\nI cannot suppose that I shall be able to change the purpose, when\nit is once formed, yet I do not despair of exciting some degree of\nprecaution in the unfettered and uncorrupted mind.\n\nAs that union, which is ordained to be the source of the purest\nfelicity, or of the bitterest anguish, and which nothing but death\nor guilt can dissolve, is the most important that can be formed,\nno one ought to propose it, or consent to it, till after the most\nmature deliberation. In some instances it has been known that\n_short_ courtships have led to happy marriages; but the instances\nare comparatively few. Two persons accidentally meet--strangers\nto each other--an offer of marriage is made, and immediately\naccepted; a few weeks of intercourse, or of correspondence elapse,\nand they are united for life. Can such a hasty union, which has\ntaken place while the parties have been almost entirely ignorant\nof each other, be expected to yield much domestic felicity? It\nmay, but the chances are against it; as the history of social life\ndemonstrates this fact, that domestic happiness is less dependent on\nthe agreeableness of each other's persons, than on the harmony of\neach other's disposition; and though a magic charm often renders us\nblind to the defects of the beloved object, this blissful dream is\nsoon dissipated when the wedded pair come to seek their happiness\nin the amiability of each other's tempers, and the goodness of each\nother's principles. And considering the immense importance of this\ncorrespondence in mental taste, tendencies, and inclinations, as a\nsource of permanent domestic happiness, and the amazing diversity\nof tempers and dispositions which is known to prevail amongst human\nbeings, will a wise man, or will a prudent female, venture to risk\ntheir felicity for life by a sudden and precipitate union? What!\nshall we deem it necessary to institute a severe inquiry respecting\nthe temper, and disposition, and principles of the servants we take\ninto our dwellings, and whom we may dismiss at our pleasure; and\nthink that no such inquiry is necessary in relation to the person\nto whom we are to be united for life--who is to be our comfort or\nour torment, the means of elevating us to honour or sinking us into\ncontempt! Would this be an act of wisdom or of discretion?\n\nAnd is it not to be regretted that the period of courtship, which\nis intended to give to the parties an opportunity of judging of\ntheir fitness for each other, is usually the period in which the\ngreatest degree of duplicity prevails? It may be justly denominated\nthe intermediate state between the two conditions in human life,\nover which the evil spirit of deception presides--investing the\ncharacter with imaginary charms--softening down rugged and uncouth\ntempers into the smoothness of the most subduing tenderness--curbing\nrestless and ungovernable passions with the restraints of a crafty\npolicy--and giving such a fascination to external graces, that they\nare received as substitutes for the most solid and substantial\nvirtues. This is the fatal period, when suspicion is usually\nasleep; when a slowness of heart to believe the rumours of report\nbecomes proverbial; and it is not till the parties emerge from\nthis delusion, to the realities of married life, and resume their\nreal character, that they discover the deception they have been\npractising on each other. Then the work of mutual recrimination and\nreproach commences. Then it is their eyes are opened to see their\nfolly and their danger, but their repentance, like that of Esau's,\ncomes too late to repair the evil which they have brought upon\nthemselves.\n\nAs the period of courtship is the most dangerous in the history\nof life, because the most deceptive, those who wish to enjoy a\nstate of permanent domestic happiness, cannot, at this period, be\ntoo observant of each other's tempers and dispositions, or too\ninquisitive respecting each other's connections and manners. If\nthey now discover a dissonance in any of these particulars, they\nwould act a wiser part to separate by mutual consent, than to form\na union which will inevitably become a fruitful source of misery,\nand may terminate in disgrace, if not in ruin. Some severe moralists\ncontend, that when an offer of marriage has been given and accepted,\nno circumstances will justify either party in withdrawing from their\npledge, but that it ought to be held as sacred and as obligatory\nas the marriage vow. Though the writer would not hazard an opinion\nwhich would tend to sanction a wanton inconstancy, yet he claims\nthe privilege of differing from such casuists. For what purpose\nhas the unanimous consent of mankind required some period of time\nto elapse, after the offer has been made, before it is formally,\nand for life decided? Is it not that the contracting parties may\nhave an opportunity of judging of their relative fitness for each\nother? If not, they may pass at once to the nuptial altar, after\nmutually consenting to their union; but if it be, they are invested\nwith a moral right to revise their decision, when fresh discoveries\nof character are made, which change their opinions, and diminish,\nif not alienate their affections. Suppose a gentleman makes a lady\nan offer, and she accepts it, under a firm conviction that he is\na man of honour, of integrity, of virtue, and of prudence, whose\ndisposition is amiable, whose circumstances are respectable, and\nwho is capable of maintaining her in the rank in which she has\nbeen accustomed to move. Suppose that on a subsequent inquiry,\nshe finds out that these sterling qualities do not adorn his\ncharacter--that he is violent in his passions--and that his means\nto support a family are not adequate to its demands. If she is now\nconvinced that by consummating the union, her happiness for life\nwill be sacrificed, ought she to be compelled to do so? She may be\ncensured for giving her consent too hastily; but is a consent given\nunder false impressions, and while in a state of total or partial\nignorance, to be binding, when she discovers the delusion which has\nbeen practised on her, and sees nothing but misery and wretchedness\nbefore her? I think it is not. If Emma Holmes, when she returned\nthe letters and presents to Captain Orme, had never more consented\nto see him, would any wise or prudent person have passed a sentence\nof condemnation on her conduct? No! Why not? Because she had given\nher consent under false impressions of his character; but after her\nmarriage, though that took place under the same false impressions,\nshe was bound by the laws of God and man to remain his wife.\n\nBut as there is always some risk of reputation, and sometimes\nsome pecuniary risk, in breaking off an engagement which has been\nformed, it should not be done hastily, nor for trifling reasons.\nThough the mutual pledge is less binding than the nuptial vow, yet\nif it be treated with levity and contempt, society will resent the\ninsult which is offered to its sense of delicacy and of honour. The\nfaithless and inconstant will be marked out as the objects of its\ncensure and reproaches. And no censures can be too severe, nor any\nreproaches be too bitter, to be directed against the man who gains\nthe affections of a female, and then abandons her from caprice; or\nagainst that female, who acts the part of a coquette, by giving\npledges she never intends to redeem, and exciting expectations she\nhas resolved to disappoint. And this risk ought to operate as a\npowerful motive to induce the utmost degree of caution when making\nor when accepting an offer. As the right of overture is claimed\nand exercised by man, he is supposed to institute every necessary\ninquiry before he makes his election, and to be perfectly satisfied\nthat the female whose friendship and whose affection he courts\nis capable of promoting his happiness; and though on a closer\nintimacy he may discover some shades of imperfection which were not\nvisible when he first knew her, yet if they are only the ordinary\nimperfections which belong to the human character, he would act\nan unwise, if not a criminal part, by making them the ostensible\ncause of breaking off the connection. We should ever remember, that\nthe nuptial vow always unites two imperfect beings, whose mutual\nimperfections will call for the exercise of mutual candour; and\nwhen pure and ardent love glows in the breast of each, they will\nbear with each other's failings, and strive to promote each other's\nhappiness.\n\nIt is then, in the opinion of the writer, only when some radical\ndefect is discovered in the character--some strong repulsive\nquality, or some untoward and ungovernable passion--that the\nmale sex, who exercise the prerogative of choice, ought to feel\nat liberty to disengage themselves, unless the female give her\nunqualified approbation. In that case the connection may be\ndissolved at any time, as it cannot be supposed that a marriage\nbetween two persons who are willing to separate for life can be\nproductive of happiness.\n\nBut without acting capriciously, or presuming to encroach on the\nprinciple of equity, I should be disposed to concede to the female\nsex a greater degree of liberty on this point. When an offer is made\nto a lady, she may feel no reluctance to it--the person who makes it\nmay be agreeable to her, and, by the ardour of solicitation, she may\nbe induced to yield assent to the proposed union. She may do this\nbefore her modesty allows her to make those inquiries respecting\ntemper, disposition, principles, and resources, which the gentleman\nis supposed to have made before he ventured to disclose his wishes.\nShe may have been pressed to a compliance before she acquired that\nspecific information which would justify and sanction it; and which,\nif advantage had not been taken of her amiable weakness, she would\nhave withheld till she had obtained it. And perhaps, in addition to\nthis, she has been induced to conceal the overture from her parents,\nor her guardians, till some convenient season should arrive to make\nit known--that convenient season being to be determined, less by the\ndecision of her own mind, than the mind of her lover. When these\ncircumstances occur in the history of a courtship, though I would\nnot say that the lady is quite as free to reject the offer, as she\nwas when it was first made, yet I think she is more at liberty to\ndecline it, than the gentleman who made it. Yet she ought not to\nact capriciously, nor ought she to sport with the feelings of the\nperson to whom she has given her promise; but slighter reasons for\nbreaking off the connection will justify her in doing so, than those\nwhich will justify him. She may discover no radical defect in his\ncharacter, yet she may perceive \"the flaw unseemly\"--she may behold\nno predominating principle of evil, yet she may see its corrupting\ninfluence--she may feel no strong repulsive qualities, yet her\naffections may die off, while she knows not the cause--she may\nwitness no sallies of an ungovernable passion, yet she may strongly\nsuspect the amiability of his temper--she may not be able to find\nout any fixed habits of inconsistency, or positive vice, and yet she\nmay be convinced that her happiness would be sacrificed for life if\nshe consented to the proposed union.\n\nA question now arises in which both parties are deeply interested.\nOught a female to marry when she feels conscious that she cannot be\nhappy with the person who wishes her to become his wife? or would it\nbe an act of wisdom, or prudence, or of piety, in a man to drag a\nvictim to the altar, who feels an abhorrence, not to the ceremony,\nbut to its appalling consequences? No. As mutual love is the only\nsubstantial basis of the union, where that does not exist, the union\nought not to be consummated; and though some evils generally result\nfrom a dissolution of the mutual pledge, yet they are fewer and less\nawful and destructive than those which follow a marriage without\naffection--or when the affection of one has to struggle against the\ncool indifference or positive dislike of the other.\n\nAnd if circumstances should render it imperatively necessary that\neither party should break off the connection, this should be done in\nthe most delicate and honourable manner. The reasons in most cases\nshould be expressly and unequivocally stated; all vacillation should\nbe conscientiously avoided; no words of reproach or invective should\nbe uttered; and for their mutual credit they should speak of each\nother among their friends in terms of respect.\n\nBut let no female expect that a libertine in principle, or a\nrake in practice, will ever make a kind and attentive husband,\nnotwithstanding any professions he may make. Her charms may for a\nseason operate as a spell on his passions, and he may, under their\npowerful influence, appear \"a new creature.\" The company of the\ndissolute may be forsaken for the pleasure of her society; and the\nhabits of vice may be broken off while he is courting the living\nimage of virtue; but his character will remain the same. He may\naffect to deplore his past follies, and he may speak in praise of\ngoodness and of religion, but, unless his _heart_ is changed, he\nwill soon give ocular proof that he is the same man as when he made\nan open mock of sin, and publicly contemned righteousness. That\nsome who have been dissolute in their early days have become the\nornaments of society, good husbands, kind parents, and faithful\nfriends, is a fact too generally known to be doubted; but their\nreformation has usually preceded their marriage--rarely followed\nit. They have separated themselves from evil-doers, and they\nhave learned to do well, before they have dared to solicit the\naffections of a virtuous female; and then having re-established\ntheir character, and fixed their habits of goodness and of religion,\nthey have lived to repair the injury they have done to their own\nreputation and to the morals of others, by walking in a course of\nexemplary consistency.\n\nBut there are no females who ought to be so cautious on this subject\nas the children of pious parents. If they have imbibed the spirit\nof pure and undefiled religion, they ought to marry _only in the\nLord_. No intellectual talents, no degrees of moral excellence, and\nno resources of wealth, should induce them to a violation of this\npositive injunction of the law of God. It would be, in addition to\nan insult offered to Divine authority, a suicidal act in regard to\npersonal honour and happiness; uniform experience proving that the\nintermarrying of the pious with the unconverted is followed by the\nmost disastrous social and spiritual consequences.\n\nAnd if they are not decidedly pious, yet if they have been\naccustomed to habits of religion, they ought not to calculate on\npermanent happiness if they consent to marry a person who is an\navowed infidel, or one who cannot distinguish between the form of\ngodliness and its power. For such a marriage will separate the\nwoman from all intimate connection with her pious friends, and she\nwill thus become to them a source of deep and poignant sorrow. But\nthis, though an evil which a daughter ought to guard against, out\nof respect to the feelings of her parents, is a minor evil, when\ncompared with the influence it will have over her own mind. The\nirreligion of her husband will tolerate none of the customs with\nwhich she has been so long familiar--no family prayer--no reading\nof the Scripture--no reverential references to God--to Providence,\nor to an eternal world--the Sabbath will be employed as a day of\nbusiness, or of indolence, or of pleasure--or if the husband attend\na place of worship, he will go, not\n\n        \"Where the violated law speaks out\n    Its thunders; and where, in strains as sweet\n    As angels use, the gospel whispers peace;\"\n\nbut where\n\n    \"The things that mount the rostrum with a skip,\n     And then skip down again; pronounce a text,--\n     Cry hem; and reading what they never wrote,\n     Just fifteen minutes huddle up their work,\n     And with a well-bred whisper close the scene.\"\n\nCan this strange change take place without producing some ill\neffect? will she be satisfied and contented? will conscience never\nreproach her? will she have no misgivings? will the days of her life\n\n            \"----glide softly o'er her head,\n    Made up of innocence?\"\n\nWill she never institute a comparison between her present home,\nand that in which she drew her infant breath, and spent the years\nof childhood and of youth? Will she never contrast the piety of\nher father with the irreligion of her husband?--the devotional\nlessons of her mother with her present course of life? But suppose\nshe should outlive all reverence and respect for the habits of\ndomestic religion, which she has been accustomed to revere and\nobserve from the days of childhood, and yield herself to the\nbeguiling fascinations of gaiety and worldliness, what will be her\nreflections and feelings in the hours of sickness, and from whence\ncan she derive consolation and hope when death approaches? Ah, it\nis _then_ the secrets of her soul will speak out! it is _then_\nthat her criminal folly will appear in all its aggravated forms of\nguilt! it is _then_ she will revert to her former home, her earlier\nassociations, her pristine impressions of religious truth. Alas! she\nnow goes back to these scenes, not for comfort, but for torture;\nnot to gather up the fragments of hope, but to give a keener point\nto her desponding fears; to call back \"joys that are departed,\" and\nto increase the intensity of her mental anguish, by contrasting it\nwith the happiness she once enjoyed. Yet, if she discloses what\nshe feels, she is either ridiculed for her superstitious folly, or\nsuspected of partial derangement--as no one understands her case.\nShe lingers through the last stages of her life in sorrow and in\nsadness, the victim of self-consuming anxieties and grief; and may\ndie in agonizing apprehension, if not in absolute despair.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VILLAGE CHAPEL.\n\n\nThe painful and prolonged excitement occasioned by Emma's unhappy\nmarriage, and its disastrous consequences, so greatly impaired the\nhealth of Mrs. and Miss Holmes, that a change of air and scene was\ndeemed absolutely necessary. Dawlish, their favourite retreat, was\nthought of, and they were making preparations for their departure\nthither, when a letter arrived from Mr. Newell, Mr. Holmes'\nson-in-law, in Warwickshire,[26] announcing that the new chapel\nwhich Mr. Holmes had been the means of rearing near his native\nplace, was all but completed, and inviting them to spend some time\nwith him, and be present on the opening day. This induced them to\nchange their mind. \"I certainly,\" said Mr. Holmes, \"ought to go, to\nwitness the accomplishment of my design.\" \"And we,\" said his wife\nand daughter, \"should very much like to accompany you; we may thus\nreap a spiritual benefit while endeavouring to recruit our bodily\nhealth.\"\n\n  [26] Vol. ii. p. 129.\n\nThe village of Lynnbridge, Warwickshire, near which Mr. Newell\nresided, was delightfully situated on the slope of a hill,\ncommanding an extensive and beautiful prospect. At the foot winded\nthe Lynn, much renowned as an excellent trouting stream, and here\ncrossed by a handsome stone bridge, over which lay the highroad to\nLondon. A narrow lane, richly adorned in summer with dog-roses and\nother wild flowers, led to the village above, which was rather of\na straggling description, without any principal street. The houses\nwere for the most part of a humble order, few rising to the dignity\nof two stories, but all displaying that air of neatness and comfort\nwhich so distinguishes our English villages above those of any other\ncountry. Each had a flower garden in front, very prettily kept; and\nthe cottages, which were generally white-washed and thatched, had\ntheir walls often adorned with vines, ivy, or honey-suckle. At the\nextremity of the village, looking down upon the river, stood the\nparish church, a venerable Gothic edifice, with its churchyard,\nencircled by a row of ancient yew trees. Adjoining the church was\nthe rectory, a picturesque and comfortable-looking old English\nmansion, with its pointed gables, well cultivated garden, and rather\nextensive pleasure grounds. Shady lanes led in all directions to the\nsurrounding country; the prospect of which, as already mentioned,\nwas of the most charming nature, comprehending an endless variety\nof hill and dale, wood and corn-fields, and reminding the gazer\nunconsciously of Cowper's lines--\n\n    \"'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat,\n     To peep at such a world.\"\n\nThe population was for the most part agricultural, but there\nwere some gentlemen's seats in the neighbourhood, besides a few\nfarm-houses, and several villas with a few acres of ground attached\nto each.\n\nWhether humanity is more depraved in a city than in a village,\nstill remains an open question; but I have uniformly found that in\nboth, the old and the young evince the same predilection for what\nis evil, and the same antipathies to what is pure; and if left\nwithout any enlightening and regenerating process, will bear a\nstriking resemblance to each other in the great outlines of their\nmoral character. Observation proves, I think, that the city, by its\nmore varied attractions, facilitates the broader and more marked\ndevelopment of the essential depravity of our common nature. Yet in\nthe inhabitants of a village we not unfrequently discover appalling\nignorance, with its consequent vices of impiety, profanity, and\nintemperance, associated with extreme vulgarity of manners; an\nabject submissiveness to their superiors, and an extreme rudeness in\ntheir intercourse with each other.\n\nIn regard to moral and social features, Lynnbridge was a very fair\nspecimen of an English village, neither better nor worse than the\naverage number; it had its church and its rector, its wardens to\nattend to ecclesiastical matters, and its overseer to look after the\npoor. There was no school, however, for the training of the young\nin the way in which they should go; nor had the pure gospel of the\ngrace of God ever been preached to the people. In the neighbourhood\nof this village, Mr. Newell had taken a farm, and been settled there\na few years before the date of the occurrences which I intend to\nnarrate.\n\nThe farm rented by Mr. Holmes' father, and on which he had been\nborn and brought up, was situated a few miles from Lynnbridge, and\nfrom old associations he naturally took an interest in the village.\nOn one of his visits to his son-in-law, he was much shocked with\nthe appearance which it presented on a Sabbath evening. The large\ngreen on the banks of the river was crowded by the youth of both\nsexes, devoting the sacred hours of the day of rest to various\npopular sports, while their seniors filled the public-houses. Loud\nbursts of laughter were heard from all quarters, and he learned\nthat brawls and boxing matches were by no means of rare occurrence.\nIt was while contemplating this scene of disorder that Mr. Holmes\nformed the praiseworthy resolution of having a chapel built, and\nsupporting the minister till the people were able and felt disposed\nto do so themselves. As soon as he made known his determination,\nhis son-in-law, and several other gentlemen, voluntarily offered to\nco-operate with him. One gave a piece of land, another supplied part\nof the timber, and others subscribed their money; and though some\nridiculed the design, and a few interdicted their tenants and their\nlabourers from assisting in its accomplishment, yet, like the Hebrew\ntemple, the chapel gradually rose, in spite of all opposition, till\nat length it was finally completed.\n\nHaving heard that the Rector of the parish was much displeased\nwith this projected encroachment on his ecclesiastical province,\nMr. Holmes called on him, to explain the reason and motives of his\nconduct, and though he failed in obtaining his concurrence, yet he\nwas assured that he would offer no opposition, as he held sacred the\nprinciple of unrestricted religious liberty. He returned from this\ninterview more gratified than he expected he should be, having found\nthe old Rector an amiable and intelligent man, far advanced beyond\nmany of his order in the catholic liberality of his opinions and\nprinciples.\n\nThe chapel was finished within the space of six months; and when\nevery preparation was made for opening it, Mr. Newell, as already\nmentioned, sent notice to Mr. Holmes, who accordingly set out for\nWarwickshire, accompanied by his wife and eldest daughter. On\narriving at Lynnbridge they found Mr. Newell waiting with his chaise\nto take them to Thornwood, about two miles distant, where they were\nreceived with the greatest joy by Mrs. Newell, the second daughter\nof the Holmes family, whom neither her mother nor sister had seen\nfor a considerable time. After the first greetings were over, the\nconversation, as might be expected, turned on the late unhappy\noccurrences in the family, in connection with Emma's marriage.\nThen the subject of the new chapel, which was to be opened on the\nensuing Sabbath, was introduced by Mr. Newell, who informed his\nfather-in-law that the opposition raised against the measure had\ngradually died away, and some of the most violent and bigoted of its\nopponents had been brought to admit, that it was likely to prove\nadvantageous to the morals of the people. After some discussion of\nthis topic, which served to divert their attention from more painful\nmatters, Mr. Newell assembled his household for evening worship, and\nshortly afterwards the family retired to rest.\n\nThe following days were employed by the ladies in visiting the\ndairy, the garden, the poultry-yard, and examining other objects of\nrural interest; and by Mr. Holmes and his son-in-law in rambling\nover the farm, and discussing the various agricultural operations\nthen in progress. At length the Sabbath morning dawned on which\nthe chapel was to be dedicated to God. Mr. Holmes rose at an early\nhour, but was rather disappointed to find the sky looking dark and\nlowering; on going, however, into the fold-yard, he met the old\nshepherd, who, on being asked his opinion of the weather, quietly\nsurveyed the sky, and said, \"I think, Sir, the dark clouds will blow\noff, and we shall have a fine day.\" This remark quite raised his\nspirits, as the shepherd was considered a sort of weather prophet,\nand this time at all events his words proved true, for as the\nmorning advanced the clouds began to disperse, the bees were seen\npassing and repassing the parlour window; and just after the family\nhad finished breakfast, the sun burst from the dark mantle in which\nhe had been enveloped, and diffused his bright and enlivening rays.\n\n\"It is a pleasant thing,\" said Mr. Holmes, \"to see the sun; but I\nhave never gazed on it with more delight than at this moment.\"\n\n\"A fine emblem,\" Miss Holmes replied, \"of Him, who sometimes in an\nunexpected moment breaks in upon the midnight of the soul; and who,\nI trust, will arise and shine on the inhabitants of this benighted\nvillage, and bless them with the light of life and immortality.\"\n\nThe chapel, a neat plain structure, was erected on a piece of\nfreehold land, near the bank of the river, where the villagers had\nbeen accustomed to spend the sacred hours of the Sabbath in riotous\namusement. It was crowded to excess, many persons having come from a\ngreat distance to be present at the opening. The Rev. Mr. Broadley\nof B---- commenced the service by reading a hymn, which was sung\nwith great animation and delight. This was followed by reading\nthe Scriptures, and prayer; and then the Rev. Mr. Wyatt, who had\narrived for the occasion from London, preached a very beautiful and\nimpressive sermon from John iii. 16--\"For God so loved the world,\nthat he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him\nshould not perish, but have everlasting life.\"\n\n\"I am not aware,\" he remarked, after he had repeated his text,\n\"that I could have selected a more important, or a more interesting\npassage than that which I have just read. So powerfully does it\nexhibit the love of God towards fallen man, that though I could\nspeak with an eloquence equal to that of an angel, I should be\nincapable of doing it adequate justice. God so loved the world,\nthat he gave his only begotten Son; and yet, by many, this gift is\nesteemed as a thing of nought; and all references which are made\nto its immense value, are regarded as the sallies or excesses of a\ndisordered imagination, or a mean and contemptible fanaticism. He\nhas 'so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that\nwhosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting\nlife.' But alas! the danger which awaits us is disbelieved; and the\nhappiness the Son of God came to bestow is despised.\"\n\nMr. Wyatt divided his text in the following order:--\n\nI. The moral condition of men, of every rank, and of every\ndescription of character, is alarming.\n\nII. To deliver them from this state of moral danger was the express\ndesign of our Lord's mission.\n\nIII. Such is the tenderness of his compassion, that whosoever\nbelieveth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.\n\nIV. Saving us from the misery which we deserve, by the gift of his\nonly begotten Son, is a most astonishing display of the love of God.\n\nWhen speaking under the second division of his sermon, on the design\nof our Lord's mission, he delivered the following passage, which\nmade a deep impression on the audience:--\n\n\"Had one of the highest orders of angels assumed a human form, and\nannounced to us some scheme of redemption from evil and from ruin,\nit would have been on our part an act of folly and ingratitude to\nhave treated the message of mercy with indifference. But, brethren,\nno angel, however exalted, could redeem man from the curse of a\nviolated law, or conduct him to the repossession of that purity\nand honour, from which, by transgression, he has fallen. Therefore\nGod gave his only begotten Son, who united in his own person every\nattribute of Deity, and every perfection of humanity; displaying a\nmajesty, combined with a tenderness of character, which alternately\nexcite our awe and confidence. With what ease did he rule the\nelements of nature--heal the maladies and disorders produced by\nsin--recal the souls of the departed from the invisible world;\nwhile, with all the familiarity and compassion of a near and beloved\nfriend, he mingles his tears of sympathy with the suffering mourner,\nand diffuses the peace of heaven over the heart oppressed with\nsorrow.\n\n\"Suppose, my brethren, one of the elders of Israel, after having\nbeen present at the giving of the law at Sinai, and after having\nseen and heard the mysterious sights and sounds on that mount\nof awful majesty and terror, had then fallen into a trance, and\ncontinued in that state till the night before the vision of the\nshepherds on the plains of Bethlehem. Suppose he had then awoke\nand been told, that the law, which had been given with so many\nawful accompaniments, had been broken, and that the Lawgiver was\non the eve of sending his only begotten Son into the world--would\nhe not have concluded that his mission must be one of vengeance?\nBut no! 'God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world;\nbut that the world through him might be saved.' He gave his only\nbegotten Son that we might not perish, but have everlasting life.\nWhat is it for man to perish? I cannot tell--I have never seen\nthe judgment-seat of Christ!--I have never beheld the awful glory\nof that scene of terror!--I have never heard the final sentence,\nDepart!--I have never been banished far and for ever away from\nbliss!--I have not endured the agonies of the worm that never\ndies!--the fire that is never quenched! Indeed, my brethren, I\ncannot tell what it is to perish! It is a state of misery which no\nimagery can represent--which no language can describe--which no\nimagination can conceive.--'But have everlasting life!' It is life\nwhich gives to every other possession its determinate value. For\nwhat is beauty without life but a fading ornament? what is wealth\nwithout life but a useless substance? what is honour without life\nbut a bursting bubble? Skin for skin, all that a man hath will he\ngive for his life. So much do we prize this invaluable possession,\nthat rather than lose it, we will consent to part with one limb,\nand one sense after another, till all are gone. But, brethren, the\nperiod is not far distant, when, like our forefathers, we must\nresign it, and be numbered with the dead; yet Jesus Christ says,\nthat he that believeth in him shall never die. This promise must be\ntaken in a restricted sense, as his disciples are no less liable to\nthe visitations of death than his enemies. Their faith in him does\nnot operate as a charm to repeal the law of mortality; neither does\nit exempt them from the diseases and pains which usually precede\nits infliction. But though they die a natural death, yet they\nimmediately enter on the full enjoyment of eternal life--when they\ndissolve their connection with the inhabitants of this world, they\nbecome fellow-citizens with the saints in light--when they close\ntheir eyes on this earthly scene, they open them on the visions of\ncelestial glory--and when their bodies are committed to the tomb,\ntheir immortal spirits are enjoying that endless life, over which\ndeath has no power. This life will be a life of perfect purity--of\nperfect knowledge--and of perfect felicity; and will continue\nunimpaired by sickness, and undisturbed by care, for ever and for\never.\n\n\"And our text says, that _whosoever_ believeth in the Son of God\nshall have everlasting life. No one is denied the invaluable\nblessing on account of the obscurity of his origin, or the\ninferiority of his rank; for though these circumstances of\ndistinction have a powerful effect on us, yet they have no influence\nover the mind of the Saviour, who looks with as much benign regard\non a penitent villager as a repenting citizen; and is no less\nwilling to save a poor neglected pauper than the rich nobleman who\nfares sumptuously every day. Whosoever believeth in him shall not\nperish, but have everlasting life. The most debased, impure, and\nworthless, if they truly lay hold of the Saviour, come within the\ncircle of this comprehensive promise, and have the same warrant to\nexpect forgiveness and final salvation, as the apostles of Jesus\nChrist had. 'And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him\nthat heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And\nwhosoever will, let him take the water of life freely' (Rev. xxii.\n17).\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA short time after the Village Chapel had been set apart for\nthe worship of God, and the Rev. Mr. Swinson, its minister, had\ncommenced the discharge of his regular services, a spirit of\nopposition arose from a very unexpected quarter. Some of the more\nrespectable farmers, and two magistrates, waited on the clergyman of\nthe parish, to express their astonishment that he should give his\nsanction to a measure, which, in their opinion, was calculated to\nendanger the Church.\n\n\"Indeed, gentlemen,\" said the Rector, the Rev. Mr. Trevor, \"I have\nnot sanctioned it. When Mr. Holmes called on me to explain his\nmotives for building the chapel, he said his object was to reform\nthe village. I expressed a wish that he might succeed in that\nparticular, but at the same time told him that I did not think he\nwould.\"\n\n\"Reform the village, Sir!\" said one of the magistrates, \"the village\nwants no reformation. The people are honest, industrious, virtuous,\nand happy; and what reformation do they require?\"\n\n\"But they are rather remiss in their attendance at church; and they\nhave frequently pastimes on the green on a Sunday evening, which I\nthink ought not to be tolerated.\"\n\n\"Why, certainly, Sir, they do not attend the church quite so often\nas they ought to do; but as for the pastimes on the green, I rather\nthink you must have received some exaggerated report of them, for I\ncandidly confess that I never saw anything to disapprove of.\"\n\n\"I have heard of their dancing on a Sunday evening,\" replied the\nRector, \"and of many of them getting intoxicated, which you must\nallow, gentlemen, are not very reputable engagements for a Sunday\nevening.\"\n\n\"They are a cheerful, merry set of folks, Sir; and some of them may\nsometimes take a little more ale than is good for them; but I never\nsaw anything in their amusements to disapprove of. Indeed, I think\nthe scene which the green presents on a Sunday evening is one of the\nmost picturesque which a country life can exhibit; displaying, as it\ndoes, such varied lights and shades of rustic character. The young\nand old intermingle together; and those who are too infirm to engage\nin the innocent frolics of their youthful days, look on, while\nothers react the parts they once performed. The utmost degree of\nhilarity prevails amongst them; and in these relaxations they forget\nthe toils and cares of the week.\"\n\n\"Well, gentlemen,\" replied Mr. Trevor, \"I certainly think that the\npoor, no less than the rich, ought to be left to choose their own\npleasures, without being controlled by others; and if any of them\nprefer worshipping their Maker on a Sunday evening, to joining in a\npublic gambol, they ought to be permitted to do it. I cannot consent\nto impose any restraint on the consciences of others, as I should\nnot like to submit to any restraint myself. Indeed, opposition\non our part would be both impolitic and unjust; the spirit of an\nEnglishman rises up in defiance against any interference with his\nreligious opinions, and his opposition becomes more decided and\nmore zealous in proportion to the efforts employed to restrain his\nliberty of conscience.\"\n\nThough these persons could not induce their amiable and intelligent\nRector to unite with them in their attempt to put down what they\ntermed _the new religion_, yet they resolved to employ all the\ninfluence they possessed to accomplish their purpose. How to do it\nin the most effectual way, and yet not involve themselves in any\nhazardous responsibility, was a question which perplexed them. After\nvarious discussions they resolved to prohibit all their tenants and\nservants from attending the chapel--to withhold parish pay from\nthose paupers who went--and to refuse associating with the more\nindependent and respectable parishioners who gave it the sanction\nof their presence. Having agreed on their plan of operation, they\nproceeded to act on it with vigour, and the effects were immediately\nfelt; for on the following Sabbath the congregation assembling\nat the new chapel was reduced to less than one-half of its usual\nnumber. This determined opposition was rather discouraging; but\nas yet Mr. Swinson and those who adhered to him were permitted to\nremain unmolested. But a storm was gathering; and the evil spirits\nwho had set themselves against the introduction of evangelical\nreligion into the village, resolved to make one desperate effort to\nexpel it. Some of the baser sort were selected as the agents of the\nplot; and everything being arranged, they came in a body on a Sunday\nevening, and while Mr. Swinson was preaching, they entered the\nchapel, and by their noise and tumultuous behaviour, compelled him\nto desist and the people to retire. As he was quitting this scene of\nconfusion, he was grossly insulted, some of the rioters brandishing\ntheir sticks over his head, and threatening that if he dared enter\nthe chapel again, he should not be permitted to escape with his\nlife.\n\n[Illustration: MR. SWINSON ASSAULTED BY THE MOB.\n\n_Vol. ii. p. 396._]\n\nThe report of these proceedings soon spread through the neighbouring\ncountry; and while some raised the \"loud laugh,\" and defended the\nconduct of the assailants, others came forward to aid in resisting\nthe tyranny which was attempting to trample on the rights and\nliberties of the people. It was well known that the actors on this\noccasion were instigated secretly by parties behind the scenes--that\nthey were the mere agents of \"the respectable and intelligent\nfew,\" who had resolved on the extermination of this so-called new\nreligion; and though Christian sympathy wept over their ignorance,\nand mercy pleaded for their forgiveness, yet it was felt by Mr.\nHolmes and his friends, as a duty they owed to the reputation of\nthe clergyman who had been insulted, and to the liberties of the\npeople which had been trampled on, to bring the perpetrators of this\ndisturbance to punishment. Warrants were immediately granted by a\nneighbouring magistrate for the apprehension of all the culprits,\nand they were bound over to appear at the next sessions, there to be\ntried for disturbing Mr. Swinson and his congregation, while engaged\nin public worship, and for threatening the life of the minister, if\nhe attempted to continue the discharge of his pastoral duties.\n\nNo sooner had these thoughtless and misguided young men returned\nfrom the presence of the magistrate, than they began to regret the\npart they had acted; and frankly confessed, that they should never\nhave engaged in the affair, had it not been for Mr. Wingate, an\nextensive proprietor in the neighbourhood, and his friends. \"They\nput us up to it,\" one of them said, \"and promised that no harm\nshould come to us if we would kick up a _row_.\"\n\nThere is no class of men in society who occupy a more respectable or\na more enviable station than our country gentlemen. But living on\ntheir own patrimonial estates, in the midst of a thinly scattered\npopulation, consisting for the most part of poor and ignorant\npeasantry, they frequently display more of the domineering spirit\nof feudal times than any other class of men in the kingdom: and\nthough they have made some progress in intellectual cultivation,\nin accordance with the spirit of the age, yet they still lag\nfar behind the great body of their countrymen in liberality of\nsentiment and benevolence of disposition. They are too apt to regard\nthe peasantry with supercilious contempt, and endeavour to keep\ndown, by oppression, the rising spirit of freedom. They too often\nseem to consider those who have no riches, as beings having no\nrights--whose quiet complaint is to be considered as provocation,\nand whose mildest remonstrance is to be regarded as insolence. They\nhave been in past times most active in opposing the introduction\nof the gospel of Jesus Christ into the villages over which they\nexercise an authority; and many of the popular outrages which have\nbeen committed against the ministers of the gospel, have originated\nin their suggestions or direct efforts. But now a change has come\nover the land for the better. This may be partly attributed to\nthat spirit of independent inquiry which is spreading amongst our\npeasantry, who seem disposed to withstand all encroachments on their\nfreedom of choice and action; and while they are not wanting in\ncivility and proper subjection to their employers, bow not, as their\nforefathers did, to the yoke of arbitrary oppression.\n\nWhen the sessions came on, the friends of the accused made every\npossible effort to defeat the ends of justice, but they were\nfoiled in the attempt. The case was stated in a clear and forcible\nmanner--the evidence which supported it was full and conclusive--and\nthough their acquittal would have given many of the spectators of\ntheir trial a triumph, yet an honest jury returned the verdict which\nthe injured laws of the country demanded, and the rioters were found\nguilty. As they made, however, a handsome apology, and entered into\na recognizance to keep the peace, and to come up for judgment when\ncalled on to do so, Mr. Holmes and his friends consented to stay any\nfurther proceedings, and this gave general satisfaction.\n\nAfter this decision, the spirit of persecution declined, and the\npeasantry, finding that they were protected by the laws of the\ncountry, resolutely determined to enjoy the freedom which no man\ncould take from them. They now pressed in greater numbers to hear\nthe preacher, who had given such decisive proofs that he knew how\nto practise the forbearance which he enforced, and exercise the\nmercy which it was his duty and his delight to proclaim. When\npreaching one Sabbath evening, shortly after the trial, from 1\nTim. i. 13--\"Who was before a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and\ninjurious: but I have obtained mercy, because I did it ignorantly in\nunbelief\"--he saw two of the ring-leaders of the late riot sitting\nin a back seat in the gallery of the chapel. Without appearing to\nnotice them, he took occasion, from the subject he was discussing,\nto make a strong appeal to their consciences. After delineating the\ncharacter of Paul, as a blasphemer and a persecutor, and as one who\nhad injured the reputation and destroyed the peace of others, he\npassed by a natural transition to his present audience, and thus\naddressed them:--\"Happy would it have been for the world, if the\nspirit of persecution had died out of it when Saul of Tarsus was\nconverted to the faith of Christ; but alas! my brethren, it survived\nthat memorable event, and has continued in existence to the present\nday. In former times it dragged the disciples of the Redeemer to\nprison, confiscated their property, and then consigned them to the\nflames; and though its power is now restrained by the laws of our\ncountry, yet it still retains all its native rancour and malignity.\nIt would now react the part by which it formerly disgraced our\nnational history, and plunge us into all the horrors and sufferings\nwhich our ancestors endured; but thanks to a kind and merciful\nProvidence, we are guarded from its violence by the majesty of the\nBritish law, and are permitted to assemble together, where and when\nwe please, without dreading opposition or disturbance from any one.\n\n\"Our duty in relation to our persecutors is to pity them, for they\ndo it ignorantly in unbelief, and to pray that they may obtain\nmercy. And have we not encouragement to do this, seeing that God\nis sometimes pleased to transform the persecutor into a preacher\nof the gospel? Hence the apostle, when writing to the church at\nGalatia, says: 'But they had heard only, that he which persecuted\nus in times past, now preacheth the faith which once he destroyed.'\nWhat a change! What a miracle of grace! What a proof that Christ\nJesus came to save the chief of sinners! And am I now addressing\nany one who has attempted to disturb us in the enjoyment of our\nreligious privileges, or who has been in the habit of reviling or\nthreatening us? You see how we are protected, and though we have not\nchosen to enforce the full penalties of the law, yet a repetition\nof the offence will render such forbearance in future absolutely\nimpossible. But I flatter myself, that those who have opposed us,\nwill do so no more; and that even the persecutors themselves may be\ninduced to implore mercy. Yes, O persecutor, He against whom thou\nhast raised the rebellious hand, waits to be gracious--_he_, whose\nauthority thou hast trampled on, and whose grace thou hast despised,\nis now looking down with an eye of compassion, more willing to\npardon and to save, than to punish and destroy. If you continue in\na state of rebellious impenitence, you will treasure up to yourself\nwrath against the day of wrath; but if you now repent and pray, and\nbelieve in him, you will be forgiven, and finally admitted into\nhis presence in heaven, where you will enjoy a state of purity and\nhappiness for ever. Let me then urge you to return home, and on your\nknees pour forth the prayer of the publican, 'God be merciful to me\na sinner;' and should it please God, who 'delighteth in mercy,' to\nanswer this prayer, you will then feel a stronger attachment than\nyou ever felt aversion to the gospel of Christ.\"\n\nIt often happens that the cause of the Redeemer is promoted by the\nvery means employed to crush it; and of the truth of this remark\nthe above narrative furnishes a striking instance. Mr. Swinson's\ncongregation at Lynnbridge increased so rapidly, that _it_ became\nnecessary to erect a large front gallery in the chapel; and many of\nthe inhabitants of remoter parishes, being induced to come and hear\nthe man who had been so unjustly treated, solicited him to visit\nthem and preach during the evenings of the week. \"So mightily grew\nthe word of God, and prevailed\" (Acts xix. 20).\n\n\n\n\nVILLAGE CHARACTERS.\n\n\nA few weeks after the termination of the struggle, so successfully\nmaintained by the managers of the village chapel, against the\nencroachments of bigotry and intolerance, I received a letter\nfrom Mr. Newell informing me that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had quitted\nThornwood to return to the Elms, but had left Miss Holmes to remain\na little longer with him and Mrs. Newell. He proceeded to say,\nthat as his friends who had filled his house were now departed, he\nshould be very happy if I would pay him a visit, and that if I could\narrange to remain for a little time, I might then accompany Louisa\non her return to the Elms, and thus fulfil the promise which I had\nformerly made to Mr. Holmes. This invitation came very opportunely,\nas I had just been labouring under a slight indisposition, for which\nchange of air was strongly recommended. I had a great desire, too,\nto see again both Mr. Newell and Miss Holmes; and, accordingly,\nafter arranging matters for an absence of a short period, I took my\nseat in the coach to Lynnbridge, where Mr. Newell was waiting to\nreceive me with his chaise. Till then I had never before been in\nthat part of the country, and was quite delighted with the beautiful\ndrive from Lynnbridge to Thornwood. On arriving there I had the\npleasure of meeting again Miss Holmes and Mrs. Newell, neither of\nwhom I had seen since the marriage of the latter a few years before\nin London. I need not here enlarge on the kind reception which\nI received from all, or recount the details of the pleasant and\ncheerful conversation in which we spent the evening.\n\nThe following day, after an early dinner, Miss Holmes, Mrs.\nNewell, and myself (Mr. Newell having some business to attend to)\nsallied out for a walk. \"Louisa shall be our cicerone,\" said Mrs.\nNewell; \"I think she knows more of the country hereabouts than\nI, who have lived in it for several years.\" \"Perhaps, Mr. ----,\"\nshe continued, addressing me, \"you would like to see some of our\nVILLAGE CHARACTERS. They are to be found everywhere; but I think\nthis place has rather more than its share of them. Louisa, I\nbelieve, knows them all already, as she is a most ardent student\nof the different phases of humanity.\" I, of course, expressed my\nreadiness to accompany the ladies wherever they chose to lead me;\nand we, accordingly, bent our footsteps towards a homestead about\na mile off, occupied by Mr. William Harris, one of the finest\nspecimens of the old English farmer I had seen for a long time. He\nwas a stout-built man, rather inclined to corpulency, with a fresh\nruddy face and a sharp keen eye; but the best description I can give\nof him is that furnished me by Miss Holmes, as we walked towards his\nhouse.\n\n\"Mr. Harris,\" she said, \"is, as might be expected, blunt in his\nmanners, but frank and obliging in his disposition, of an hospitable\nand genial nature, and as regular as clock-work in all his domestic\narrangements. He lives in the house in which his grandfather was\nborn, and which is shaded by a large oak tree, that has outlived\nmany generations, and is likely to outlive many more. He rises in\nthe summer about five, breakfasts at half-past six, takes his dinner\nexactly as the clock strikes twelve, smokes his pipe in the porch\nbetween six and seven, then takes his supper, and retires at nine,\nto sleep away the long and tedious hours of night. He is, upon the\nwhole, a very worthy man, though rather pedantic in his way. He\nreceived what he calls an _edecation_, when young; his father having\nsent him for six months to a boarding-school about twelve miles off;\nbesides giving the old parish clerk two guineas to teach him the\nrules of addition and multiplication. He farms a small property of\nhis own, on which his modest mansion stands, and rents another farm\nabout double the size, under Lord ----; and is regarded by most of\nhis fraternity rather clever in his profession. He is a good judge\nof live stock; is celebrated for the excellence of his butter and\ncheese; decidedly attached to his Church and his Queen; generally\nconsulted on all parish questions; and universally admitted to be\none of the best weather-tellers in the neighbourhood, though the\nshepherd says he has known him out in his reckonings. He has served\nthe office of overseer eleven times, which forms one of his chief\ntales in all companies; has been churchwarden six times; was, when\na young man, regularly enrolled amongst the yeomanry of the country\nat the time of the threatened invasion in the year 1804, and often\nexpresses his regret that no opportunity ever occurred to enable him\nto distinguish himself in the annals of war. He goes to church with\nhis comely dame every Sunday; repeats the responses in an audible\nvoice; reclines his head on the top of his staff, while _appearing_\nto listen to the sermon; reads one chapter in the Old Testament and\none in the New every Sunday afternoon; and then indulges himself\nwith an extra glass and pipe with a few friends, either at his own\nhouse, or at the inn on the green. But he is, to quote his own\nlanguage, a _mortal enemy_ to the Methodists; and will not suffer\nany of his servants, if he knows it, to attend the chapel. He says\nthat the old religion is the best; and he thinks that no one ought\nto be suffered to change it. He often says he hopes to live long\nenough to see the Toleration Act repealed, which he declares is a\ndisgrace to parliament.\"\n\nHe happened to be smoking his pipe, with his arms resting on the\nlittle gate in the front of his house, as we were approaching it;\nand in exchange for the courteous salutation we gave him, he invited\nus to taste his ale, which, he said, was a prime fresh tap. This\noffer we declined with thanks, as we preferred a glass of cold\nwater, which excited his astonishment.\n\n\"You like water better than good ale! well, every one to his liking,\nI say; but give me a good tankard of prime home-brewed. You be a\nstranger, I think, Sir, in these parts,\" he continued, addressing\nme, \"I don't remember of ever seeing you here before.\"\n\n\"I have never been in this part of the country before,\" I replied,\n\"and have just been admiring the fine scenery which surrounds your\nvillage on all sides. There is a good proportion of hill and dale;\nand the parish church on the brow of the hill, looking down to the\nriver, is a most interesting object.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, it looks very well. There were no trees about it, except\nthe old yews, till I was appointed churchwarden, fourteen years\nago, last Easter Monday, when I had them planted, and they have\nthriv'd very well. I have heard many gentlemen say it is a great\nimprovement. They say it gives a kind of a finish to our church.\nThey have often drunk my health for doing it.\"\n\n\"But the inside of the church is not so neat and clean as the\noutside is imposing.\"\n\n\"No, Sir, it's sadly neglected now; but when I was warden, it was\nthe cleanest church in our parts.\"\n\n\"How often have you duty performed in it?\"\n\n\"Once every Sunday, when I and my dame go as regularly as the doors\nare opened; except when it's very wet, and then I go alone. She\nhas a touch of the rheumatics in bad weather; worse luck: and gets\ndeafish if she goes.\"\n\n\"As it is so small, I suppose it is crowded on the Sunday?\"\n\n\"Why, no, not much of that; for the people go to the chapel that's\nbuilt yonder on the green. People now-a-days an't satisfied with the\ngood old religion of the Church; they must have this new religion\nthat's springing up all over the country.\"\n\n\"Do you know what this new religion is?\"\n\n\"No, Sir. I'm satisfied with the religion my fathers had before me,\nand so I don't trouble my head about it; but I understand it makes\npeople very miserable. Now, my religion never made me miserable, and\nI don't think it ever will. I am for letting well alone.\"\n\n\"I suppose you wish to go to heaven when you die?\"\n\n\"Aye, to be sure, I do. I shouldn't like to go to t'other place.\nThey are badish off there, so the parsons tell us; and I suppose\nthey know all about it, as they studied at the univarsaty.\"\n\n\"But we ought not to expect to get to a place unless we go the right\nway.\"\n\n\"That's true, and no mistake.\"\n\n\"Have you ever thought much about the difficulty of getting into\nthe right way which leads to heaven? I suppose you have read\nwhat Jesus Christ says on this point? 'Enter ye in at the strait\ngate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to\ndestruction, and many there be which go in thereat: because strait\nis the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few\nthere be that find it' (Matt. vii. 13, 14).\"\n\n\"Aye, I recollect reading them _varses_ t'other Sunday, and I felt a\nbit puzzled to make out their meaning.\"\n\n\"But, Farmer, they have a meaning, and a very important meaning.\"\n\n\"So I guess, or Jesus Christ wouldn't had them put into the Bible.\nCan you tell me the meaning, as I should like to know?\"\n\n\"Why, the meaning is just this: the many get into the broad way,\nthat is, the wrong way, and they are lost, and perish in hell. Have\nyou not read the verses which almost immediately follow?--'Many will\nsay to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy\nname? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name done\nmany wonderful works? and then will I profess unto them, I never\nknew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity' (Matt. vii. 22,\n23).\"\n\n\"Now, Sir, allow me to ask you one question. If we go to church,\nand pay every one his own, and are as good as we can be, do you not\nthink that we shall go to heaven when we die? We can't be better\nthan that, you know, Sir; and there are not many in these parts so\ngood as that.\"\n\n\"As you have asked me a question, will you allow me to ask you one?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir; twenty, if you please.\"\n\n\"Are you as good as you can be?\"\n\n\"Why, to be sure, Sir, I might be a bit better; but you know we are\nall sinners: the more's the pity.\"\n\n\"Then, how can you expect to go to heaven on your own principle\nof reasoning? Now, Farmer, let me tell you, that you are under a\ndelusion which will prove fatal unless you are undeceived. If you\nread the New Testament with attention, you will perceive, that two\nthings are necessary to fit us for heaven: the first is, we must be\nborn again; and the second is, we must repent of, and forsake all\nour sins, and believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.\"\n\n\"Repentance: aye, that's very proper when people do wrong; but I\nhave never done anything I am ashamed of. Why, Sir, I have been\noverseer eleven times; and there's ne'er a pauper in the parish but\nwill say that I always acted with the greatest charity. I go to\nchurch--read my Bible--and pay everybody his own; and I don't think\nGod requires anything more than this; and I suppose you will think\nthis is very fair as times go?\"\n\n\"But are you born again?\"\n\n\"I don't know what that means; it puzzles my brains; but then I'm no\nscolard; though I know a good bit about farming, like.\"\n\n\"Then if you do not know what it is to be born again, that's a proof\nthat you are not born again, for if you were, you would understand\nwhat it is.\"\n\n\"Well, I suppose I should. Then according to your talk, though\nI go to church, I am not likely after all to go to heaven. If\nyou are right, I am on the wrong tack; but what must I do to get\nright? 'Tis time I looked about me, for I shall be sixty-eight next\nLady-day, and that's a great age; though my father lived till he was\nfourscore, and my grandfather was ninety-one when he died; and I\nhad an uncle who lived to see a hundred and three. You see we are a\nlongish-lived set--about the oldest livers in these parts.\"\n\n\"I think you can't do a better thing than overcome your prejudices,\nand go and hear the preaching at the village chapel, where these\nthings will be explained to you; and it is very likely that there\nyou will gain in a few months more information on religious subjects\nthan you have acquired in all your life.\"\n\nAt the mention of the chapel he shrugged up his shoulders and said,\n\"Why, if I was to go there I should have half the parish laughing at\nme. I shouldn't be able to show my face at market. My old friends\nwould give me the cold shoulder. No, no, it will never do for an\nold warden, who has been in office so often, to leave church and our\nold Rector, for a Methody chapel and a Methody parson.\"\n\n\"One word, Farmer, and I will soon finish. Are you such a coward as\nto care for what others say, when you are doing a thing for your own\nadvantage? Will you suffer the laugh of the ungodly to deter you\nfrom getting into the _narrow_ way that leads to heaven; and consent\nto be lost with the many, rather than saved with the few?\"\n\n\"These sartanly are plain questions, and I'll give them a turn over\nin my mind. I must confess that your talk has satisfied me--that I\nknow but little--the more's the pity--about the good things of the\nBible; and I think as how I shall take your advice, and go and hear\nthe gentleman who preaches in the chapel. If I don't like what he\nsays, I need not go again, and it is but right to give him a hearing\nbefore one condemns him.\"\n\n\"Very true.\"\n\nWe now wished Mr. Harris good day, and proceeded on our walk. A\nshort distance onward we passed a neat cottage by the roadside, in\nthe little garden in front of which we saw a lady walking up and\ndown at a solemn pace. As Mrs. Newell was acquainted with her she\nstopped to ask her how she did. As she did not perceive us before\nMrs. Newell spoke, being wrapped up in her own airy musings, she\nseemed startled, as though some spectre had suddenly made its\nappearance, but recovering her composure, she politely invited us to\nenter her modest habitation.\n\n\"I am sorry, Madam,\" said Mrs. Newell, in her usual kind manner, \"to\nsee you so indisposed.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Miss Newnham, \"I am very ill--very ill indeed. I was\nnever worse in all my life. I have not had a wink of sleep these two\nnights. I sent for the doctor yesterday, but he did not come till\nthis morning; and he says that I am not ill. But I feel that I am\nvery ill indeed. Dr. Bland does not understand my case. I shall send\nfor Dr. Gordon, who is more clever in his profession; so my aunt\ntells me, and so my old servant says.\"\n\n\"Have you been ill long, Madam?\" I inquired.\n\n\"O no, Sir! I was very well this day fortnight. I spent the evening\nat Mrs. Paul's with a party, and stayed rather later than usual; and\non coming home, just as I was passing along the churchyard, I saw a\nvery bright star shoot down from the sky.\"\n\n\"It did not, I suppose, fall on you?\"\n\n\"O no! it didn't fall on me; but, Sir, I had such a dream! and I\nawoke about three o'clock in the morning in such a terror, that I\nhave not been well since. And every night, but two, since then, the\nscreech owl has perched itself on the ledge of my window, and kept\nup its hideous noises so long, that I have been obliged to have my\nservant sleep in the same room with me ever since, and that's a very\nunpleasant thing: particularly so.\"\n\n\"And if, Madam, it be not an impertinent question, may I be\npermitted to inquire into the nature of your dream?\"\n\n\"O Sir! I dreamed I went to Weston to purchase a new dress; and the\nshopman, by mistake, took down some crape instead of printed muslin;\nand just at that time in came Mr. Noades, the undertaker, and said\nhe wanted some stuff for a shroud, for a lady who had died suddenly.\nAnd I awoke in such a fright! Indeed, I have not been myself since.\nMy nerves are so shook. My very shadow makes me tremble. I am afraid\nI'm going to die.\"\n\n\"Well, Madam, it is certain you will die, and you may die suddenly;\nbut do you think that this dream will hasten the time of your death?\"\n\n\"But, Sir, when I awoke I heard the death-watch as plainly as you\nnow hear me speak.\"\n\n\"And do you suppose, Madam, that the Supreme Being has communicated\nto this insect a knowledge of your approaching death, and sent it,\nin the stillness of the night, to give you warning?\"\n\n\"But, Sir, I heard the death-watch several times when my sister was\nill of a decline, and she died about six months afterwards. I said\nshe would die. I was quite sure she would.\"\n\n\"Very likely; and though you may trace a connection between her\ndisorder and her death, yet what connection can you trace between\nthe noise of this little insect and her death?\"\n\n\"But, Sir, since the screech owl left my window, our dog has done\nnothing but howl for the last two nights. O! it is so dismal to lie\nawake and hear it. It makes me tremble like an aspen leaf.\"\n\n\"And do you think that the howling of the dog is a prognostic of\nyour death, any more than the death of either of your servants?\"\n\n\"I remember, Sir, the dog howled most awfully just before my\ngrandmother died: and when she heard it she said she should be sure\nto die, and she did die sure enough.\"\n\n\"And how old, Madam, was your grandmother when she died?\"\n\n\"Ninety-two, all but four weeks and three days.\"\n\n\"And she really did hear the dog howl some short time before her\ndeath?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, about five nights before she died; and all the servants\nheard it; and they were so frightened; and they all said, nothing\ncan save her after these howlings.\"\n\n\"Very likely; and as most dogs occasionally howl in the night,\nit would be very strange if some person did not die after such\nhowlings; but can we suppose that the Supreme Being employs shooting\nstars, insects, owls, and dogs, to announce to us the approach of\nour death?\"\n\n\"And don't you believe, Sir, in such omens? Everybody does in our\nparish.\"\n\n\"I believe that ignorance and superstition have invested these\nsights and sounds with an ominous import, and that many allow\nthemselves to be terrified by them; but what can be a stronger proof\nof the absurdity of such a habit, than the fact that the star often\nfalls, the death-watch often ticks, and the dog often howls, when\nthe patient recovers, and lives for years to relate the terror and\nalarm which these scare-crows of superstition had excited in his\nbreast.\"\n\n\"I hope, Sir, I may live, and if I do, I shall then have a proof\nthat there is nothing in it.\"\n\n\"And pray, Madam, have you never known a patient recover from his\nillness even after he has been warned of his approaching death by\nthese omens of terror?\"\n\n\"O yes, Sir, my dear mother was once very ill, and for seven nights\nour dog howled as he did last night; but she lived seven years\nafterwards, and when she died no noises were heard.\"\n\n\"Now, dear Madam, excuse me, a stranger, taking the liberty of\ntalking so to you; after what you have just mentioned, what stronger\nproof do you require of the folly of being alarmed by sounds which\nthe inferior tribes of nature utter, and which you must know, on\nreflection, are no sure indications of any future event in the\nhistory of human life? That you will die is certain; and that you\nwill enter the eternal world is certain; and that you will stand\nbefore the judgment-seat of Christ is certain; and that you are\nignorant of the exact time when these great events will take place\nis equally certain; but instead of allowing your mind to be agitated\nby these senseless sounds, you ought to be preparing for the final\nissue of life.\"\n\nHere our conversation ended, and we then took our leave, Miss\nNewnham thanking me for the interest I had taken in her welfare, and\nhoping that I would call again on her before I left Thornwood.\n\nAddison has a good paper on the propensity which weak and\nsuperstitious people indulge, to give an ominous meaning to many\nof the casualties of life; and to allow themselves to be more\nterrified by the screeching of an owl, the clicking of an insect,\nor the howling of a dog, than the real and afflictive dispensations\nof Providence. As society improves in knowledge, especially the\nknowledge of the Scriptures, this propensity will become weaker and\nweaker; and though some traces of its existence may be discovered,\nat times, in the most cultivated minds, yet it is not invested\nwith that magic power which it exercises over the illiterate. Many\nefforts have been employed to expose its absurdity, but if we\nintermingle with the uninformed inhabitants of a village, we shall\nhave indubitable evidence that its influence still continues to\noperate. The same elegant writer to whom I have just referred,\nobserves:--\"I know but one way of fortifying my soul against these\ngloomy presages and terrors of mind, and that is, by securing to\nmyself the friendship and affection of that Being who disposes of\nevents, and governs futurity. He sees, at one view, the whole thread\nof my existence, not only that part of it which I have already\npassed through, but that which runs forward into all the depths\nof eternity. When I lay me down to sleep, I recommend myself to\nhis care; when I awake, I give myself up to his direction. Amidst\nall the evils that threaten me, I will look up to him for help,\nand question not but he will either avert them, or turn them to my\nadvantage. Though I know neither the time nor the manner of the\ndeath I am to die, I am not at all solicitous about it; because I am\nsure he knows them both, and that he will not fail to comfort and\nsupport me under them.\"[27]\n\n  [27] In connection with the above subject, the author may be\n  permitted to narrate the two following cases which occurred a few\n  years since in the town where he then resided:--The chief actors\n  in the scenes to be described were persons occupying a respectable\n  station in society, and who habitually associated with intelligent\n  and pious people. He and his wife accepted an invitation to dine\n  with a large party. The dinner was laid out in first-rate style,\n  grace was said with becoming solemnity, and we took our seats in due\n  form, when our hostess rose suddenly and rushed out of the room,\n  pale and affrighted, as though the turkey which she was preparing\n  to dismember had suddenly metamorphosed itself into a hobgoblin. We\n  then heard her exclaim, when she found herself alone in the hall,\n  nearly breathless with terror, \"O dear, O dear! there are thirteen!\"\n  I looked at my wife and she looked at me, in utter amazement,\n  wondering what presage of coming evil could lurk under the number\n  _thirteen_. At length our good-natured host said to one of his\n  daughters, \"Eliza, you must retire, and we will send your plate to\n  you in the other room. You know your Mamma's objection to sit down\n  at the table with such an unlucky number.\" Eliza quietly withdrew,\n  and then her mother silently entered, almost as pale as a corpse,\n  but her natural colour returned soon after she commenced her carving\n  labours. _Thirteen_ an unlucky number! How odd! I could not make it\n  out, and continued to puzzle my head with it during dinner. However,\n  we were informed, before the party broke up, that one person was\n  sure to die very soon after eating a hearty dinner with _twelve_,\n  however hale and vigorous they might all be.\n\n  The other case is as follows:--A friend of the author had been\n  married, and he and his wife went to pay the customary wedding\n  visit. The sister of the bride was in waiting to receive the\n  company; her mother keeping watch, to see that everything was done\n  in due order. There was a goodly muster of persons, including uncles\n  and aunts, first and second cousins, and friends and acquaintances\n  almost without number. At last the uncle of the bride, a fine\n  portly man, made his appearance, and was in the act of entering the\n  parlour with his hearty congratulations to his niece, when the door\n  was suddenly and rather unceremoniously slammed to by his sister,\n  as though he had been some grim demon, bent on mischief. \"Daniel,\n  don't come in; Daniel, you must not come in; Daniel, you shan't come\n  in,\" exclaimed the lady. \"What's the matter now?\" said Daniel, who\n  apparently was as much surprised at not being permitted to see us\n  as we were at not being permitted to see him. \"What's the matter!\"\n  re-echoed his sister; \"_why, you have got your black coat on!_\"\n  Daniel was obliged to doff his black coat and put on a blue one,\n  made for a much smaller man, and then he appeared amongst us. Moving\n  nearly as gracefully as a man would do in a strait waistcoat, his\n  appearance was a severe tax on our gravity. The mystery of the black\n  coat rejected, and the blue coat honoured by a presentation, still\n  remained unsolved to my wife and myself, till we overheard a grave\n  matron say, \"It was very lucky, as the dear creature wouldn't die\n  now.\" That is, as was more fully explained afterwards, the black\n  coat would have betokened the death of the bride, if she had seen\n  it. Alas! poor human nature. What a specimen of its absurdity and\n  folly! The black coat of the author was invested with no fatal\n  presage, as he belonged to the clerical order; otherwise, like Uncle\n  Daniel, he must have changed it before he could have tasted a bit of\n  the wedding cake.\n\nShortly after leaving Miss Newnham, we turned aside into a fine\nold park; and feeling rather fatigued, seated ourselves beneath a\nclump of trees that stood near the foot-path. As we sat watching the\nhares and rabbits which came out of a neighbouring coppice, and the\nstately deer which fed around us, unawed by our presence, the Squire\npassed by, and in a most good-humoured and kindly manner invited us\nto take some refreshment at the Hall. The invitation was accepted;\nand we soon found ourselves in a large antique parlour, in which the\nspirit of hospitality had dwelt from time immemorial.\n\nThe Squire, or to call him by his own name, Mr. Bradley, was a fine\nlooking old gentleman, of about sixty years of age, but with a deep\ntrace of melancholy imprinted on his countenance. He had one child,\nwho was sent, when eleven years of age, to a first-rate classical\nschool, to be prepared for Oxford. When about the age of fourteen,\naccording to a barbarous custom which still prevails in most of our\ngreat schools, he was chosen by a senior scholar to fight another\nboy about his own age. After contending till his strength was nearly\nexhausted, he received a blow on his right temple, which sent him\nlifeless to the ground. At first the boys thought him only stunned,\nand taking him up carefully, they carried him into a shed, when, to\ntheir horror, they found that he was dead! Horror-struck at this\nghastly spectacle, they knew not what to do; but at length the\ndismal news reached the ears of the master--medical assistance was\nsent for, but it came too late. This fatal catastrophe happened\njust before Christmas, when the fond parents were preparing to\nreceive their child once more under their roof during the holidays.\nWhen the tidings reached them, they were frantic with grief, and\nresolved to punish the authors of their calamity; but on cool\nreflection they forbore doing so, and sunk down into a state of\nmelancholy, from which they have never perfectly recovered.\n\nThis sad bereavement brought about a singular change in the habits\nof the Squire, who now became a very religious man. He had family\nprayer morning and evening, attended church regularly, and observed\nthe fasts with a degree of monkish austerity which is rarely met\nwith amongst Protestants. As his religion, however, contained no\nrecognition of a living Saviour, it did not reach his heart, nor\nproduce that exquisite taste for the enjoyment of spiritual things\nwhich is formed when the inner man is renewed in its spirit and\ndisposition.\n\nAnd here the author would remark, before he gives the sequel of this\ninterview with the Squire, that the Christian scheme of salvation\ndiffers from every other system of religion in one very important\nparticular--it does not admit any person to the denomination of a\nbeliever, who does not feel its influence on his heart; nor can a\nperson discern its adaptation to the moral condition of man, till\nsuch influence is felt. Hence it discriminates between the man\nwho holds the truth in unrighteousness, and the man who receives\nit with meekness and in faith; and while it imparts to the latter\nall its consolations and its hopes, it pronounces the sentence of\ncondemnation on the former, although his moral character may be\nadorned with the varied beauties of social virtue. To the one it\nunveils a scene of contemplation, which displays the purity and\ngrandeur of the Divine nature--the equity and glory of his wise, yet\nmysterious dispensations of providence and of grace; to the other it\nremains as an unconnected and unharmonious scheme of religion, which\nno skill can simplify, and which no labour can methodically arrange.\nTo the one it opens a fountain of living waters, of which they who\ndrink never thirst after a more salubrious draught of happiness; to\nthe other it is as a stagnant lake, whose waters are bitter, like\nthose of ancient Marah. To the one it makes known a Saviour, in\nthe efficacy of his death, in the riches of his grace, and in the\nprevalence of his intercession: to the other it exhibits him as the\nMan of sorrows, who once fasted in the desert, and preached in the\ntemple--who once wept on Olivet, and groaned on Calvary--and who\nderives all his celebrity from the records of history, rather than\nfrom the manifestation of his love in renewing and sanctifying the\nsoul. So that while these two persons profess the same faith, bear\nthe same denominational character, worship in the same church, and\nobserve the same ceremonial rites and institutions; they cannot hold\nany communion with each other in spirit, because their perceptions,\ntaste, and moral inclinations are as much opposed to each other as\nthe purity of the Divine nature is opposed to the impurity of the\nhuman.\n\n\"It is now,\" said the Squire, \"fifteen years since I lost my son.\nIt was a grievous affliction--one which has embittered life to me:\nand if I could overcome the dread of death, I should long to lie\ndown in our family vault, to rest in peace with the dead of past\ngenerations.\"\n\n\"To lose a child,\" I replied, \"in the common course of nature, must\nbe a severe affliction to a parent; but to lose an only son, and in\nsuch a way as you lost yours, must be a trial almost too heavy to be\nborne.\"\n\n\"O, Sir, it nearly bereft us of our senses; and we have gone but\nlittle into company since. There's his likeness,\" pointing to a good\npainting hanging over the fireplace, \"and it is a very correct one;\nand here is his favourite dog, which we have preserved; but you see,\nlike his master, his life is gone. This is the end of man.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, it is appointed unto man once to die, and after death the\njudgment.\"\n\n\"And it is this judgment after death which makes death so dreadful.\nI have been preparing myself for my latter end ever since the death\nof my child; and the more I think of its solemnity and importance,\nthe more I am alarmed. We know what this life is; but of the next\nlife we have no knowledge; and we know the beings with whom we now\nassociate; but who can form a conception of disembodied spirits?\"\n\n\"The dread of death often operates as a spell on the happiness of\nlife; and brings down the wealthy and prosperous to a state of\nmental wretchedness, equally deplorable with that of the destitute\nand forlorn.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the Squire, with great emphasis, fixing his eye on\nmyself as he spoke, \"it brings us lower, because, as we have\nstronger temptations to the love of life, we have greater reluctance\nto resign it. Here we are distinguished by greater possessions,\noccupy a more exalted station, and have a greater variety of\nenjoyments at our command; but we are not sure that we shall be even\nadmitted into the kingdom of heaven when we die; and, for aught we\nknow, the same fate may await us which befel a certain rich man, of\nwhom we read in the Bible.\"\n\n\"That fact, Sir,\" I replied, \"is calculated to excite a high degree\nof terror in the breast of a rich man, because it teaches us, that\nGod does not continue the line of distinction between the rich and\nthe poor beyond this life.\"\n\n\"The distinction, Sir, may be preserved, but it may be against us,\nas poor Lazarus was comforted, while the rich man was tormented.\nI have a servant, who works for me in my garden, on whom I often\nlook with envy; and if I could attain that composure in prospect of\ndeath which he possesses, I would gladly exchange my mansion for his\ncottage.\"\n\n\"I presume, Sir, he is a religious man?\"\n\n\"Yes, he is a religious man, and so am I; but he has the art of\nderiving consolation from his religion, while I can derive none from\nmine.\"\n\n\"But how is that? Is he a more learned or a more virtuous man than\nyou are?\"\n\n\"No, Sir; he is virtuous, and he is intelligent for a person in his\nrank of life; but he says he does not derive any consolation from\nhis virtue.\"\n\n\"I presume, Sir, he is a man of prayer?\"\n\n\"Yes, and so am I, though I use a form, and he prays extempore--so I\nhave heard.\"\n\n\"I presume he attends a place of worship?\"\n\n\"Yes; he now goes to the chapel which has lately been built in the\nvillage. This is the only thing in his conduct I disapprove of. I\nthink we ought to keep to the Church, and not sanction this new\nreligion, which is overrunning the country.\"\n\n\"But now, suppose this new religion, as you term it, should be the\nvery religion from which your gardener derives all his consolation\nagainst the fear of death, would it not be an act of cruelty and of\ninjustice if you were to attempt to deprive him of it?\"\n\n\"But why can't he derive his consolations from the religion of the\nChurch of England?\"\n\n\"Then, Sir,\" I replied, \"why don't you? You say that you have\nattended your parish church regularly for the last fifteen years,\nand yet you are as much in dread of death as you were when you first\nentered within its doors.\"\n\n\"Very true; there's a mystery about it which I can't unravel.\"\n\n\"Shall I explain it, Sir?\"\n\n\"I wish you would; and as it is a question which perplexes Mrs.\nBradley no less than myself, I will fetch her, if you will excuse me\nfor a few minutes.\"\n\nThe Squire soon returned, accompanied by his lady, who welcomed us\nto the Hall, with the greatest cordiality and politeness.\n\n\"Now, Sir,\" said the Squire, \"if you will explain to us how it is\nour gardener derives that consolation against the fear of death from\nthis new religion, which we cannot derive from the good old religion\nof our forefathers, you will confer a great favour, and we shall\nesteem your visit the most agreeable one we have ever received.\"\n\n\"In the first place,\" I observed, \"you have fallen into a mistake.\nThe religion of the chapel is not a new religion, but the religion\nof the Bible, exhibited in a simple and popular form, and does not\ndiffer from the doctrinal articles of the Established church.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Sir. Why, then, my gardener and I profess the same faith.\nBut how is it he derives so much consolation from that which gives\nme none?\"\n\n\"Because, to quote the language of the Scripture, he has been\nrenewed in the spirit of his mind, and has had the eyes of his\nunderstanding enlightened, so that he is enabled to trace the\nconnection between the facts of Christianity and their application\nto his mind; while you, for want of this supernatural illumination,\nadmit the facts only, without perceiving how they can, or how they\ndo, produce the intended effect. For example: you admit that you\nare a guilty sinner in relation to God, and under a sentence of\ncondemnation, which is the reason why you dread death; and you admit\nthat Jesus Christ died for sinners; but you cannot perceive _how_ it\nis that his death operates to remove guilt, and to inspire a hope\nof eternal blessedness. There is, if I may use such an expression,\na palpable darkness intervening between the fact of human guilt,\nand the fact of the Saviour's death for its expiation, which\nprevents your seeing how the latter does actually become the means\nof removing the former. Hence your faith in the death of Christ\ndoes not give you that consolation of which you sometimes hear your\npious gardener speak; because, for want of an adequate power of\nperception, you cannot see how to apply its moral efficacy to your\nheart and conscience.\"\n\n\"How to apply the moral efficacy of the death of Christ to my\nheart and conscience! Why, I was not aware that anything more was\nnecessary, on my part, than simply admitting the fact of his death.\"\n\n\"Then what meaning can you affix to the language of the\napostle--'God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our\nLord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I\nunto the world?' But such is the spiritual darkness that rests\non the human mind, that the moral design of his death cannot be\nperceived without the illumination of the Holy Spirit. Why, the\nprayers and liturgy of your own Church most unequivocally recognize\nthe necessity of this supernatural illumination.\"[28]\n\n  [28] See vol. i. p. 313.\n\n\"I never felt the necessity of this spiritual illumination to which\nyou refer, or most likely I should have sought after it.\"\n\n\"I presume you would; but your not feeling the necessity of it forms\nno valid objection against the necessity of it. It may be necessary,\nand yet you may not perceive it; as the natural man, according\nto the testimony of St. Paul--that is, the man unaided by Divine\nassistance--'receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God; for they\nare foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are\nspiritually discerned.\"\n\n\"You have certainly opened a new path of inquiry before me; and\nthough I cannot at present see the need of any supernatural\nassistance to enable me to understand what I read in my Bible, yet,\nif the necessity of it be clearly stated in Holy Writ, I shall not\nhesitate to admit it.[29] But, to advert to the religion of this\nvillage chapel, am I to understand that the doctrines of the Church\nof England are preached in it?\"\n\n  [29] The reader is referred to vol. i. p. 249.\n\n\"Yes, Sir.\"\n\n\"Then they have not brought a new religion into the village?\"\n\n\"No, Sir; they have brought no new religion into the village, but\nmerely present the old religion of the Bible and of Protestantism in\na new form.\"\n\n\"And yet when they talk on religious subjects, they employ a very\ndifferent phraseology of speech from that which we have been\naccustomed to use.\"\n\n\"Very likely, because they are more familiar with the phraseology of\nthe Scriptures than you are; and they feel the power of religious\ntruth on their heart more forcibly than you profess to do. Your\nreligion, if I judge from your conversation, is the religion\nof opinion, theirs of belief--yours of speculation, theirs of\nprinciple--yours of forms and ceremonies, theirs of knowledge and of\nfeeling--yours of times and seasons, theirs of habitual devotion;\nand while you derive no consolation from the routine of duties which\nyou perform, they have peace with God through Jesus Christ.\"\n\n\"I have heard,\" said the Squire, \"that their religion makes them\nhappy, and raises them above the fear of dying--the great points I\nhave been aiming to reach for fifteen years, but I am as far off as\nwhen I first began the pursuit.\"\n\n\"If, Sir, you had been labouring under some physical malady for\nthe space of fifteen years, without deriving any benefit from the\nprescriptions of your regular family physician, I presume you would\ncall in other advice?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt of it, Sir; I should suspect his want of judgment.\"\n\n\"Why not, Sir, act on the same principle, on the more important\nquestion relating to your soul--its peace, and its salvation?\nYour attendance at the church has been in vain. Why not dismiss\nyour prejudices, and go to the village chapel? You have ocular\ndemonstration, that the people who worship there are happy, and\nlive in the anticipation of future happiness. Why not make the\nexperiment, which can subject you to no loss, and may lead to a\nglorious issue?\"\n\n\"We are slaves, Sir, to prejudice. Yes, we create our own tyrant,\nand then yield to his iron sway! What fools we all are!\"\n\n\"I should not object,\" said Mrs. Bradley, \"to go to the village\nchapel, if I thought I could obtain any spiritual benefit. I am\nweary of life. I want something to bring peace to my heart.\"\n\n\"Make the experiment, Madam.\"\n\n\"I feel inclined to do it; but yet I have a strange reluctance.\"\n\n\"I will venture,\" said the Squire, \"and give a proof that I am\nsincere in my efforts to obtain the hope of salvation.\"\n\nWe now left the Hall, much pleased with our visit, and bent our\nsteps towards home. It was a beautiful evening, and as we passed\nalong we were charmed by the varied notes of my favourite bird, the\nthrush, whose harmony was occasionally disturbed by the cawing of\nthe rooks on their return from their daily pilgrimage. We returned\nto the public road just as the sun was setting, and while admiring\nthe lustre which he threw around him on his departure, I remarked\nto Miss Holmes, what a fine emblem it presented of the dying\nChristian, whose pathway through life resembles the shining light,\nwhich shineth brighter and brighter, yet reserves its brightest\nsplendour for its setting, when a halo of glory encircles him as he\ndisappears, leaving spectators astonished and delighted more by the\nclosing scene, than by the progressive majesty of his course.\n\nOn ascending the slope leading to the entrance of the village, a\nrespectable looking man stepped out of a cottage by the roadside,\nand on recognizing Mrs. Newell and Miss Holmes, with myself, as a\nclergyman, invited us to walk in. His large Bible was on the table,\nand the family were preparing for evening worship. After a little\ndesultory conversation, he begged that I would lead their devotions,\na request with which I gladly complied--reading a chapter of the\nBible and offering up a prayer.\n\n\"I am happy, ladies,\" said the cottager's wife, when service was\nconcluded, \"to see you in my house; it is an honour which I have\nlong coveted, but never expected; and we are much obliged to you,\nSir, for your kindness in praying for us this evening. May the Lord\nreward you.\"\n\n\"And I am happy,\" I replied, \"that you have an altar of devotion\nerected in your family; and I hope that your morning and evening\nsacrifices, like those of the Hebrew temple, will regularly ascend\nbefore the Lord of hosts, and be accepted by him.\"\n\nI was now agreeably surprised to find myself in the cottage, and in\nthe company of the gardener, whose religion had been the subject of\ndiscussion at the Hall.\n\n\"We have just had,\" I remarked, \"a long and interesting conversation\nwith the Squire on religious subjects; and we were much pleased\nwith the seriousness of his manner, and the eagerness with which\nhe listened to our remarks, but like many others, he has no clear\nperception of the nature or design of the gospel of Christ.\"\n\n\"He is, Sir,\" said the gardener, \"a most singular man. Sometimes\nhe is very devout--reads his Bible with great attention, and will\noften come to me in the garden, to talk about religion, and I have\nsometimes seen him so powerfully impressed by it, that he has shed\ntears when speaking of the restless state of his mind; but at other\ntimes he is equally gay and thoughtless, and disposed to turn\nreligion and religious people into ridicule. He is very unhappy,\nthough he is very rich; and has many good qualities, though he is\nnot a spiritual man.\"\n\n\"I suppose,\" I said, \"you would not exchange your cottage for his\nmansion, if you were obliged along with the exchange to part with\nyour consolations and hopes?\"\n\n\"O, no, I would not exchange situation and state with my master; for\nI am happy, but he is not--I can think of death with composure, but\nhe dreads it--I can look forward to eternity with delight, but he\nshrinks back from its approach, as a child would recoil in terror on\nseeing some hideous figure.\"\n\nThis pious gardener was the only son of a venerable elder of the\nScotch church, who rented a small farm in the county of Stirling. He\nwas a most industrious hard-working man; and his wife was a pattern\nfor economy and frugality. For more than fifty years they lived\ntogether in the enjoyment of domestic happiness; but just as they\nreached the evening of life, they experienced a series of reverses,\nand poverty advanced upon them as an armed man, compelling them to\ngive up their farm, to be cultivated by other hands. Their son took\na little cottage for them near the church in which his venerable\nfather had worshipped God for many years; and having acquired a\nscientific knowledge of horticulture, he obtained, through the\nmedium of a friend, his present situation at the Squire's; and to\nhis honour he supported his aged parents till it pleased God to\ntake them to himself. When he came to England, he was a moral but\nnot a pious man; nor did he feel the influence of the truth on his\nheart till after his marriage. His wife was the daughter of a worthy\nman, who gave her a superior education; and to this the God of all\ngrace had added the ornament of a meek and a devotional spirit. By\nher chaste conversation, and the influence of her example, she won\nover her husband to the reception of the pure faith of Christ; and\nthough, like most others, they have had the ebbings and flowings of\nprosperity and adversity; yet, to quote their own language, goodness\nand mercy have followed them all the days of their life.\n\nHad the gardener's father remained exempt from misfortunes, his\nson might have been living in the house in which he was born, and\ncultivating the farm his father tilled for fifty years; but then he\nhad never seen his pious wife, and might still have possessed only\nthe form of religion. That dispensation which came as the whirlwind\nand the storm, to drive him from his home and his country, led him\nat length to attain the blessings of contentment and peace. Thus\nwe often see in the history of life, disastrous events proving the\nprecursors of personal and domestic happiness, as the dark and\ntempestuous morning is not unfrequently followed by a serene and\njoyous evening; exciting gratitude and love to the wise Disposer of\nall human affairs, in exchange for the perplexity and sorrow which\nthey may have occasioned.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PIOUS COTTAGER.\n\n\nAfter staying for about a week under the hospitable roof of Mr.\nNewell, I quitted Thornwood, to pay my long promised visit to\nthe Elms, and was accompanied thither by Miss Holmes. We had the\ngratification of finding all well on our arrival, and I spent with\nmy old friends a few days very pleasantly; after which it was\nnecessary for me to return home, though much urged by Mr. and Mrs.\nHolmes to remain with them for a little time longer. During my stay\nat the Elms, I more than once accompanied Louisa to call on Mrs.\nKent, in whom I felt much interested, but who, for some time past,\nhad been in a very feeble state of health, and was now evidently\nhastening to her end. The evening before my departure she rallied a\nlittle, and on the ensuing Sabbath felt herself so strong as to be\nable to walk to chapel, at about a quarter of a mile's distance. On\nMonday, however, she was again obliged to return to her bed, from\nwhich she never rose. She now gradually sank, and in the course\nof ten days peacefully expired. Her history, and some incidents\nconnected with her death, will be found in the following letter from\nMiss Holmes to Mrs. Loader:--\n\n     \"THE ELMS, _17th June, 18--_.\n\n     \"MY DEAR FRIEND,--I have just sustained a great loss. Poor\n     Mrs. Kent died yesterday, and I feel that I have indeed lost a\n     friend. You have often asked me to give you some particulars of\n     her history, and this I shall now endeavour to do.\n\n     \"She was left a widow when about the age of forty, with four\n     children, almost entirely dependent upon her for support.\n     Her husband, who was a pious man, died of a consumption; the\n     symptoms of which made their appearance within a few years after\n     their marriage. But as his outward man decayed, his inner man\n     was renewed day by day. During his protracted illness, though he\n     had no raptures when anticipating his death, and the glory to\n     follow, yet he was favoured with great composure; and when the\n     hour of his departure came, he died in peace. While he lived, he\n     and his wife had regularly attended the little Dissenting chapel\n     in the village, and had always been allowed to do so unmolested,\n     but shortly after his death the steward of Lord Harwood informed\n     his widow, that unless she gave up her religious notions, and\n     went to the parish church, she should not be allowed to remain\n     any longer in her little cottage. Her reply to this unmanly and\n     anti-Christian threat, at once displayed the characteristic\n     independence and firmness of her mind:--'As I would not give\n     up my religion to please his Lordship, you cannot suppose that\n     I will do it to please you, Sir. You may turn me out of the\n     cottage, but my Father, who knows that I want a dwelling for\n     myself and children, will provide me with another, over which\n     you will have no authority.'\n\n     \"As soon as this threat was known, a very general murmur was\n     expressed through the hamlet. Many, indeed, thought that it\n     would not be carried into execution; but a pious gentleman, who\n     felt a great respect for the memory of her husband, and who knew\n     that she would always live in terror, while under the power of\n     this petty tyrant, built a little cottage for her on his own\n     estate, which she occupied, free of rent, till her death. Three\n     of her children, one after the other, fell victims to their\n     father's complaint, and were all buried in the same grave. She\n     was a very industrious, frugal, and prudent woman; greatly\n     respected by her religious friends, who, much to their honour,\n     provided an ample maintenance for her, when she became, through\n     infirmities, unable to support herself.\n\n     \"Her cottage, which was built on a piece of rising ground,\n     within sight of the turnpike road, was the neatest in the\n     parish, and bore, in legible characters, the following\n     inscription:--'A refuge from persecution.' This memorial of\n     his cruel spirit mortified the steward, by exciting public\n     attention; and after smarting under it for some time, he offered\n     to make any apology to the widow, on condition that it might\n     be effaced. She became his advocate with her landlord, and the\n     stone was removed; but ere he had made the application, Lady\n     Harwood, on riding past in her carriage, having seen it, was\n     induced to stop, and ask Mrs. Kent why her cottage bore such\n     a singular inscription. The reason was given, and when she\n     informed his Lordship, on his return from the Continent, he felt\n     so indignant, that he sent for his steward, and, after a severe\n     reprimand, dismissed him from his situation.\n\n     \"I have spent many pleasant, and I trust profitable hours in\n     Mrs. Kent's company; and now she is gone, I find the remembrance\n     of our conversations a source of great consolation. Her\n     knowledge of the Bible was very accurate and extensive; and\n     the remarks which she sometimes made on different passages\n     were pertinent and striking. In her the word of Christ dwelt\n     richly; it composed her perturbed feelings--induced a spirit of\n     resignation to the will of God--opened before her the prospect\n     of future bliss, and supplied her with subjects of reflection\n     and conversation, which made her society a source of much\n     improvement to others. She was well qualified to guide the young\n     Christian, amidst the perplexities which are apt to entangle\n     his faith in the early stages of his experience, and guard him\n     from the fatal evils by which he is often surrounded in his\n     passage through life. To her conversation my sister Jane is more\n     indebted than to any other means of religious instruction; and\n     even Emma would often gladly spend an hour in her society.\n\n     \"A few months ago her infirmities began to increase upon\n     her; but we were not alarmed by any symptoms of approaching\n     dissolution, till about a week before our visit to Lynnbridge.\n     When sitting with her one fine spring evening, listening to the\n     song of the blackbird and the thrush, I spoke of the bountiful\n     provision which our heavenly Father has made for our necessities\n     and gratifications, she replied in the beautiful language of the\n     poet: 'Yes,\n\n                      '----not content,\n      With every food of life to nourish man,\n      He makes all nature beauty to his eye,\n      And music to his ear.'\n\n     But this is not the only provision he has made for us. He is now\n     preparing a place for us, and soon he will come to receive us to\n     himself.'\n\n     \"On asking her if she had any fears in anticipation of the end\n     of her faith, she said--\n\n     \"'I have had many, but they are all gone, and though I still\n     have my spiritual trials, yet I can anticipate the final issue\n     with great composure. I know in whom I have believed, and am\n     persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed\n     unto him against that day.'\n\n     \"'You long to be gone, I have no doubt?'\n\n     \"'I certainly long to see HIM, whom unseen, I have loved for\n     nearly fifty years, because then I shall be like Him; but I am\n     not impatient. Indeed, I am not yet prepared to go, for the ties\n     which bind me to earth are not all broken.'\n\n     \"'Then this earth still possesses some attractions?'\n\n     \"'Yes; I have enjoyed, and do enjoy a large proportion of its\n     comforts; and though I have felt, at times, the storms of\n     adversity, yet I can say, 'The lines are fallen unto me in\n     pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.' Here I am,\n     in my calm retreat--far away from the noise of contention and\n     strife--waiting patiently the great change; and if the Lord\n     should be pleased to answer my prayers for the salvation of my\n     dear son, I should then say, 'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant\n     depart in peace, according to thy word.'\n\n     \"'Then you think your son is still living, notwithstanding the\n     report of his dangerous illness in the hospital at the Cape?'\n\n     \"'Yes, I believe he is. As Abraham saw Isaac in a figure rising\n     from the dead, so the Lord gave me a somewhat similar vision,\n     the night after I received my son's letter. I saw him leaving\n     the hospital well, though leaning on his staff, and pale and\n     wan, as if just recovered from illness. I have now only one\n     painful trial.'\n\n     \"Presuming that she referred to the spiritual state of her son,\n     I remarked, that parents must feel intense agony of mind, in\n     prospect of having their children separated from them in the\n     eternal world.\n\n     \"'I have not that prospect to distress me. I have three already\n     in heaven, and I doubt not but the grace of God will ultimately\n     reach the heart of my prodigal son. I cannot doubt it. It would\n     be a sin to doubt it. I have felt such a spirit of prayer come\n     upon me at times, on his behalf, that I have wrestled for his\n     conversion, as Jacob wrestled with the angel at Peniel; and\n     though I have heard no voice saying to me, 'It shall be unto\n     thee even as thou wilt,' yet I have departed from the throne of\n     grace in peace, and found my faith strengthened with power from\n     on high. My faith is so strong and so uniform in its exercise,\n     that it has cast out fear from my heart; and I can rejoice in\n     prospect of meeting all my children in my Father's house.'\n\n     \"During my absence at Lynnbridge her illness continued to\n     increase, and Jane used frequently to call on her, and take\n     her some little comforts which her feeble state required. On\n     my return I took Mr. ----, who was paying us a short visit,\n     to see her, and she seemed to derive great comfort from his\n     conversation and sympathy. She now gained a little strength,\n     and in a day or two felt herself so much better as to be able\n     again to go about, and on Sabbath actually walked to chapel. The\n     exertion, however, had been too much for her, and on calling at\n     her cottage on the Monday forenoon I was grieved to learn that\n     she had found herself so weak as to be obliged to return to bed.\n     I left with her a little wine, which I had brought with me,\n     and called again to see her in the evening. I perceived that I\n     must now forego all hopes of her recovery, as her strength was\n     evidently sinking fast. After some conversation regarding her\n     bodily ailments, she said to me, 'I have been struggling through\n     deep waters since your last visit, and even now the swellings of\n     Jordan are rising higher and higher upon me; and though I have\n     not lost my anchor, I have been tossed as upon the billows of\n     the great deep. I trust, indeed, all will be well at last; but\n     I now feel a terror in prospect of death, which I never felt\n     before. I am now on the verge of eternity. I shall soon, very\n     soon see God--the final sentence will soon be uttered; and if I\n     have been deceiving myself and others, what will be my doom!'\n\n     \"'But, my dear Mrs. Kent,' I remarked, 'you should look back on\n     your past life, and think of the sacrifices which you have made\n     for the cause of the Redeemer, and the numerous indications of\n     his approbation which you have received.'\n\n     \"'I dare not look back,' she replied, with great solemnity,\n     'unless it be to increase the intensity of the anguish which\n     at times weighs down my soul, for I have been an unprofitable\n     servant, and am one of the greatest of sinners that ever\n     indulged a hope of entering into heaven. Look back! no, my\n     dear. I am obliged to 'lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from\n     whence cometh my help.'\n\n     \"Two days after this visit I again called, and found her sitting\n     up in her bed. On extending her hand, she said with great\n     animation, 'The storm is over, and now the sun is shining upon\n     my soul, in his full noon-tide strength. The bitterness of death\n     is passed; and I have nothing more to suffer, except a few\n     convulsive struggles, which nature will feel, when the moment\n     of my departure comes.' Then raising her hands and her eyes to\n     heaven, she burst forth into a strain of enraptured devotion. I\n     have preserved a few of her expressions, which were principally\n     quotations from the Bible, or Watt's Hymns; but it is not in\n     my power to portray the calm dignity of her countenance, or\n     the intense fervour of feeling with which she spoke. 'Blessed\n     Saviour! thou art my Redeemer! Thou hast borne my sins, and\n     carried my sorrows! Thou hast suffered the just for the unjust,\n     to bring me to God! Thou art the chief among ten thousand, and\n     altogether lovely! Thou art the author and finisher of my faith!\n     To thee do I yield myself, to be redeemed from all evil--to be\n     sanctified--to be presented faultless before thy Father's glory\n     with exceeding joy! Yes,\n\n                   '----every smile of thine,\n       Does fresh endearmonts bring;'\n\n     and fixing her eyes, as though she saw her Lord, she extended\n     her arms, and said,\n\n      'Haste, my Beloved, fetch my soul,\n        Up to thy bless'd abode,\n      Fly, for my spirit longs to see\n        My Saviour and my God.'\n\n     \"I happened just then to turn my head to the window, when I\n     saw a soldier walking up the pathway in front of her cottage.\n     Without thinking what I was saying, I exclaimed, 'Here is your\n     son, Mrs. Kent, come back to you from the Cape!' Never shall I\n     forget the scene which followed.\n\n     \"'My son!--impossible!'\n\n     \"We heard the latch of the door lifted up, and a deep manly\n     voice calling 'Mother!' On that word reaching her ear, his\n     mother sprang up in her bed, and exclaimed, 'It is my son!' but\n     her feelings were so strongly excited that she had not strength\n     to restrain them, and before I could return to her assistance,\n     she fell back, and for some moments we thought her gone. I felt\n     her pulse, but it had ceased to beat--her eyes were fixed--and\n     while engaged with her faithful nurse in employing the usual\n     means to restore suspended animation, the door of her chamber\n     was opened, and her son entered with a smile on his countenance,\n     which was soon exchanged for the strong expressions of filial\n     grief. He saw what was the matter, and forbore to speak, but\n     stepping gently to her bedside, he kissed her, and let fall a\n     tear on her face. 'How long has she been ill?' he inquired; and\n     just as these words were uttered, we saw a slight motion of her\n     hand, and soon after she began to breathe softly. On returning\n     to consciousness, her first impulse was to embrace her long lost\n     child. No words were uttered by them, but a frequent interchange\n     of the expressions, 'My child!' 'My mother!' I withdrew to the\n     window while they remained for many minutes locked in each\n     other's embrace. I then handed the dying saint a glass of\n     wine, which revived her; and after reclining on the bosom of\n     her son for some time, giving vent to her feelings, she became\n     sufficiently composed to converse with him.\n\n     \"'O mother, I am sorry to find you in this state; but you will\n     get well soon, I trust.'\n\n     \"'Never while I remain in this world, my dear son. But I have\n     every reason to be thankful. God has always dealt graciously\n     with me. Even in the midst of the greatest tribulation, He has\n     enabled me to sing,\n\n      'Bless'd is the sorrow, kind the storm,\n      That drives me nearer home.'\n\n     But this last expression of his kindness, in permitting me\n     to see you before I die, is so unexpected, that it is like a\n     miracle wrought in answer to prayer.'\n\n     \"'O mother,' the soldier replied, weeping as he spoke, 'your\n     prayers have been the means of my salvation, and I am thankful\n     that your life has been spared till I could come and tell you of\n     it.'\n\n     \"She sat and listened with great interest to his account of\n     his adventures. While in hospital at the Cape he was visited\n     by a pious missionary, to whose conversation he ascribed his\n     conversion to God. 'Before I saw him,' he continued, 'I had many\n     qualms of conscience; and was often terrified at the thought of\n     death, but never _felt_ that I needed a Saviour till he spoke\n     to me. His appeals were like an arrow shot through my soul,\n     and I could get no comfort till I prayed to Jesus Christ.'\n     He paused to weep, and we wept with him; when he renewed his\n     narration, and after giving us a detailed account of his recent\n     preservation during a violent storm on his return to England, we\n     knelt down, and he commended the soul of his dying mother into\n     the hands of the Lord Jesus, after which I took my leave.\n\n     \"Mrs. Kent remained for several days without undergoing any\n     material change; but on the eighth day after her son's return,\n     he called at the Elms, and said that his mother was not expected\n     to live through the day, and wished to see me. I immediately\n     went, accompanied by my sister Jane. We found her in a most\n     heavenly frame of mind. After a conversation which lasted about\n     half an hour, I observed a sudden alteration in her countenance,\n     which convinced me that the time of her departure was drawing\n     nigh. She now sat for several minutes in perfect silence; a\n     death-like stillness pervaded the room, and we all felt an awe\n     on our spirits that seemed to betoken some great event. She then\n     raised her head, and first expressed her gratitude to her nurse\n     for her kind attention; thanked me and Jane for the few favours\n     we had been enabled to show her; and then taking the hand of\n     her son, she pressed it to her lips, and said, 'Yes, thou art\n     a faithful God! and as it hath pleased thee to bring back my\n     long lost child, and adopt him into thy family, I will say, 'Now\n     lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word:\n     for mine eyes have seen thy salvation;' then smiling, she fell\n     back on her pillow, and with one deep sigh her gentle spirit\n     passed away and left us.\n\n     \"Thus lived, thus suffered, and thus died, one of the Lord's\n     '_hidden ones_,' set apart for himself, to show forth his praise\n     first here on earth, and now for ever in the celestial world.\n\n     \"I am happy to say that I can now refer, with some degree of\n     satisfaction, to dear Emma, in whose welfare I know you take\n     a deep interest. I speak with caution, yet I think I can say\n     there are some appearances, which give us reason to hope, that\n     her afflictions are beginning to yield the peaceable fruits of\n     righteousness. She is now more frequently alone and with her\n     Bible; still very reserved on the question of personal piety,\n     but references and allusions accidentally escape her lips, which\n     induce me to believe that the Lord is gradually drawing her to\n     himself. Dear creature! she has passed through a sad ordeal,\n     but I trust she will yet be enabled to say with David, 'It is\n     good for me that I have been afflicted.' Pray for her, my dear\n     friend, and also for your attached\n\n     LOUISA.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE CLOSING SCENE OF THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN'S CAREER.\n\n\nMiss Holmes, as the reader has already been informed, had suffered\nmuch in her health, by the unfortunate marriage of her sister\nEmma; but her visit to Lynnbridge had contributed greatly to her\nimprovement, and her parents now fondly hoped that she was in a fair\nway of recovery. Shortly after the death of Mrs. Kent, however, she\nexperienced a return of her former alarming symptoms, and an eminent\nphysician was consulted, whose opinion, though rather reservedly\ngiven, was not of a very hopeful nature. Conscious herself of the\nextreme delicacy of her constitution, and apprehensive that she had\nnot long to live, she now prudently declined an advantageous offer\nof marriage which she had received. Her suitor was Mr. Alfred Reed,\nthe only son of an intimate friend of her father's; a young man,\nabout her own age, decidedly pious, and who was likely to come into\nthe possession of a large fortune. He had been bred to mercantile\npursuits, but eventually decided on entering the Church. His father\nopposed his inclination, till, being fully convinced that he was\nactuated by proper motives, he cordially gave his consent. He had\npassed through his examinations at Cambridge with great distinction,\nand was now spending the vacation at home, preparatory to taking\norders. His person, his manners, and his profession combined to\nrender him an acceptable suitor to Miss Holmes, who united in her\ncharacter the varied excellencies which are necessary to qualify a\nfemale to fill the important station of a clergyman's wife. She was\nintelligent, amiable, discreet, and zealous in the cause of religion\nand benevolence, without the smallest tincture of ostentatious\ndisplay. Her sense of duty, however, would not permit her, in her\npresent state of health, to contract a union which might speedily be\ndissolved, and involve her husband in much perplexity and grief.\n\nBy the advice of her medical man, she was induced again to try a\nchange of air as the best means of arresting the progress of her\ndisorder. After much deliberation it was decided to go to Dawlish\nin Devonshire, both because they had so much enjoyed their former\nvisits there, and Louisa preferred its retirement to the noise\nand gaiety of a more fashionable watering-place. Mr. Reed, who\nstill continued faithful in his attentions to her, notwithstanding\nher refusal of his offer, and still cherished the hope of his\nproposals being accepted, on Miss Holmes' restoration to health,\nwas allowed, at his earnest request, to form one of the party. He\naccordingly set out first, to secure a suitable lodging, and it\nwas no small gratification to the family when they found he had\ntaken the same house which they had occupied some years before.\nAs they had travelled by easy stages, and had been favoured with\npleasant weather, Miss Holmes appeared much better on her arrival at\nDawlish than when she left the Elms; and she continued to improve so\nrapidly, that all began to anticipate her entire convalescence. Her\nspirits, which had at times been deeply depressed, soon rose to the\nlevel of her accustomed cheerfulness; and though the hectic flush\noccasionally added fresh beauty to the sweetness of her countenance,\nyet, as it did not return so often, nor appear so deeply tinged\nby the florid hue as formerly, it did not occasion any alarm. On\nreturning from a lovely walk, as they passed the little chapel which\nbenevolence raised for the accommodation of the Christian pilgrim,\nwho thirsts for the pure water of life, she facetiously remarked,\naddressing herself to Mr. Reed, \"I presume, Sir, we cannot calculate\non your accompanying us to-morrow to this unadorned house of prayer.\"\n\n\"Why not, Miss Holmes?\"\n\n\"Of course, Sir, your clerical profession will lead you elsewhere!\"\n\n\"I am happy to say, that I am not ashamed to go to offer up my\nsacrifice of prayer and of praise in any place in which the God of\nsalvation will condescend to accept it. I prefer the village church\nto the village chapel, most certainly; but, as I have no wish to\nbecome a _dissenter_, I shall conform to the religious customs of\nthe party during our visit.\"\n\n\"A clergyman in a Dissenting chapel! The last wonder! Of course, we\nmust all be sworn to secrecy, and keep our pledge, or no bishop will\nordain you.\"\n\nThere is no indisposition under which the human frame labours that\nassumes such a deceptive appearance as a consumption. In its early\nstages it will often work so insidiously on the constitution, that\nits subject is unconscious of its presence; and even, when it\nhas advanced to a very considerable extent, there are generally\nthose intervals of vigour and vivacity, that occasion sanguine\nexpectations of a recovery to be entertained even to the last.\nAnd it is during these seasons, when the animal spirits return\nwith great force--giving a degree of energy and activity which is\nregarded as an unequivocal proof of restored health, that exertions\nare made by walking and by visiting, which often accelerate the\nfatal issue. To confine to the house the invalid, who longs to\nbreathe the fresh air, or to keep her out of company, when the\npleasures of social intercourse relieve the spirits from languor,\nis a task which the kindness of friendship cannot always perform;\nand hence she is often permitted to run the risk of shortening her\nlife by efforts which exhaust her strength; or by exposures to the\nkeen night air, which give a fresh impetus to the disease. It was\nduring one of these intervals of renewed strength that Miss Holmes\nwas induced to pay a visit to a family, who resided about two miles\noff; and though her father proposed to take her in a carriage, she\npreferred walking. She reached her friends' house without feeling\nfatigued; after dinner enjoyed a ramble in the country; and then,\nhaving taken tea, returned to Dawlish. It was a pleasant evening,\nbut the air was rather cold; and though she bore the exertions of\nthe day with great cheerfulness, yet before she got home she began\nto feel exhausted. On entering the drawing-room, she threw herself\non the sofa, and said, \"I fear I have gone beyond my strength.\"\nAfter resting herself some time, she retired for the night; but\nwhen she awoke in the morning, instead of rising at her usual hour,\nshe requested to have her breakfast in bed. At noon she made her\nappearance amongst the family, in apparently good spirits; but her\nmother, who had watched the progress of her disorder with deep\nanxiety, felt alarmed on seeing the hectic flush on her cheek,\naccompanied by an occasional cough. Towards the evening the height\nof her pulse was considerably increased; the palms of her hands\nbecame dry and hot, and she complained of being chilly. These\nsymptoms excited fresh alarm; yet, as they came on immediately\nafter the fatigue of a long day's excursion, her friends flattered\nthemselves that they would go off when she had taken another night's\nrest; but in this they were disappointed. On the following morning\nthey assumed a more threatening aspect; her cough became more\ntroublesome, the pain in her side returned, and though she appeared\ncheerful, yet it was accompanied by an unusual gravity of look and\nmanner. At length it was judged expedient to call in a medical man,\nwho prescribed some medicines that afforded her a little temporary\nrelief. When asked for his opinion, he said, \"I do not despair of\nher recovery, though she must be very cautious. She must not exert\nherself beyond her strength, nor yet expose herself to the night\nair.\" The following letter, written to her friend Miss Martin, whom\nthe reader will remember accompanying Miss Holmes to call on Mrs.\nKent,[30] exhibits the state of her mind at this critical period:--\n\n     \"MY DEAR MARY,--An all-wise Providence has been pleased to\n     guide my steps once more to Dawlish, where we expect to spend a\n     few months. In revisiting it again, I naturally advert to that\n     period of my life when I was living in a state of alienation\n     from God--devoted to the pleasures and vanities of the world.\n     Happy should I now be to ramble with you through this beautiful\n     country, and talk of Him who lived and died for sinners; but,\n     as that pleasure is denied me, I will converse with you through\n     a more circuitous medium. You are aware that our journey here\n     is mainly on my account. On my arrival I grew much better,\n     and continued for some weeks to improve in my general health;\n     but a short time ago I caught a severe cold, and have never\n     been well since. Though my friends still cling to hope, as\n     the sinking mariner hangs on the broken plank of the vessel,\n     till the returning wave comes to drive him off, I am now very\n     apprehensive as to the result. I know that my heavenly Father\n     can lengthen out the thread of my life, and restore to full\n     vigorous health the constitution which disease is gradually\n     wasting away; but I think He is about to remove me. It costs,\n     indeed, a hard struggle to view with composure the approach of\n     death at my age, and nothing could reconcile me to it but the\n     hope of immortality by which I feel animated and sustained. My\n     Alfred is with me, and his kind attentions often depress me.\n     He is still anticipating the day when he shall lead me to the\n     altar; but alas! fond youth, I am marked out as a victim for\n     the grave! Yes! and though I still feel I love him, yet I must\n     give him up, and all the prospects which open before me on this\n     side the tomb, to go and dwell with Him whom unseen I love! But\n     'thy will, O my Father, be done!'\n\n     \"Though I have received the sentence of death, I do not expect\n     that it will be executed speedily. No! I shall not be taken till\n     all are prepared to resign me; and till every tie is loosened\n     which now fastens my affections to 'things seen and temporal.'\n     This is a kind provision which our heavenly Father usually makes\n     to afford some alleviation to the sorrow of surviving friends;\n     and to enable his children to retire from this vale of life,\n     without retaining any lingering desires for a longer continuance\n     in it.\n\n     \"I have hitherto concealed from the eyes of others the most\n     alarming symptoms of my complaint, nor have I yet given them an\n     intimation of my own opinion; as I do not feel inclined to be\n     at present the bearer of such heavy tidings. They still try to\n     amuse me with the visions of futurity, and talk of my marriage\n     with Alfred, and all its attendant circumstances, as if length\n     of days was appointed for me: and though I feel conscious that\n     a few months, unless a miracle of mercy prevent, will change\n     the theme of social discourse, yet I cannot bring my mind to\n     the severe trial of attempting to banish these fond hopes and\n     anticipations from others.\n\n     \"I am happy to inform you that my dear sister Emma is become\n     decidedly pious. Her severe afflictions have had a salutary\n     effect; and now, being purified and softened by their influence,\n     she exhibits the features of the Christian character in all\n     their attractive loveliness. Her natural volatility and\n     satirical humour are now transformed to chastened vivacity and\n     the sportive sallies of innocent wit.\n\n     \"I need not say how much I should enjoy your company at Dawlish,\n     if you could make it convenient to pay us a visit; but as that\n     is too great an indulgence for me to expect, you will not\n     refuse me the gratification of hearing from you as soon as\n     possible. All here join me in kindest love to you, and your\n     Papa and Mamma, who, I trust, are both enjoying their usual good\n     health.--I am, yours most affectionately,\n\n     LOUISA.\"\n\n  [30] Vol. ii. p. 297.\n\nTo this letter Miss Martin returned the following reply:--\n\n     \"LONDON, _15th September, 18--_.\n\n     \"MY DEAR LOUISA,--I received yours of the 10th, but it is not\n     possible for me to describe the impressions which it produced\n     on my mind. I alternately wept tears of sorrow and of joy; and\n     though that overpowering excitement, which its first reading\n     produced, has somewhat subsided, yet I feel almost incapable of\n     replying. And is the wise Disposer of all events about to remove\n     you from amongst us? And have you, at such a comparatively early\n     period of the spiritual contest, fought the good fight of faith,\n     and gained the crown which fadeth not away? If so, I will say,\n     'Happy, thrice happy saint!' thou art highly favoured of the\n     Lord! Yes, you will soon see the King in his beauty, and mingle\n     your notes of praise with the multitude around his throne! You\n     will soon partake of the fulness of joy, in which the spirits of\n     the just made perfect participate!\n\n     \"But how can we give you up? How can we take this cup of sorrow\n     without praying that it may pass from us? How can we offer up\n     the prayer, 'Thy will, O Father, be done on earth, even as it\n     is done in heaven,' without feeling it quiver on our lips as we\n     attempt to utter it? I now find that entire resignation to the\n     Divine will, when those objects are placed in jeopardy on which\n     our affections are strongly fixed, is an attainment which I have\n     not yet acquired; and though I doubt not but the grace of Christ\n     will be found sufficient for its full display, when the day of\n     trial comes, yet, at the present moment, I am bowed down with so\n     much heaviness of soul that I cannot give vent to my feelings.\n     What a contrast do you exhibit! While I am restless, under the\n     agitations of fear, you are calm, in the anticipations of hope!\n     While I am praying that you may still be detained amongst us, to\n     share our joys and our sorrows, you are fluttering on the wings\n     of eager expectation, ready to say, as you soar away from us,\n     'Weep not for me, but weep for yourselves.' Happy spirit!\n\n     \"Indeed, my dear Louisa, your sweet composure at this awful\n     crisis--your bright anticipations, viewed in connection with\n     your attachment to your friends around you, have given me such\n     an exalted opinion of the efficacy of the Christian faith to\n     sustain the human spirit on the great occasions of its history,\n     that I am not so much astonished at your tranquil joy, as I am\n     at my own timid misgivings; and though I still hope I possess\n     the faith which is the evidence of things not seen, yet in me\n     it is small, like the grain of mustard seed, while in you it\n     resembles the wide-spreading tree, beneath whose branches you\n     rest in safety.\n\n     \"As you, my dear Louisa, when drawing nearer the closing\n     scene, may be subjected to the influence of the fears which\n     not unfrequently disturb the peace of the dying Christian, I\n     have taken the liberty of sending you an extract from a very\n     interesting memoir, which I have just read with great pleasure,\n     and which, with a degree of precision we rarely meet with in\n     theological works, points out the difference between faith and\n     hope.\n\n     \"'This difference,' the writer justly observes, 'is not always\n     sufficiently attended to; and much presumption on the one hand,\n     and despondency on the other, have arisen from confounding them.\n     One person considers himself a believer of high attainments,\n     because he entertains no doubt of his being in a state of\n     salvation; and another doubts whether he be a believer at all,\n     because he cannot persuade himself that his sins are forgiven.\n     But it is obvious that two distinct and very different acts\n     of the mind are here confounded and blended together;--one,\n     which assents to the fact of Jesus Christ being the only and\n     all-sufficient Saviour of sinners; and which places a reliance\n     on the atoning sacrifice, for pardon of sin and acceptance\n     with God, which is the province of _faith_; and another, which\n     appropriates to itself the blessings of this salvation, and\n     confidently expects a future state of felicity, which is the\n     province of _hope_. Now, it is clear that these persuasions\n     of the mind may exist separately from each other; and that one\n     of them may be very strong, whilst the other has scarcely any\n     existence at all. St. Paul clearly recognizes this distinction,\n     when he offers up a prayer for the Romans, that the God of hope\n     would fill them with all joy and peace in believing. It is\n     here implied that genuine faith may exist without either joy\n     or peace; and by addressing his prayer to 'the God of hope,'\n     he remarks that joy and peace are the fruits of hope, and are\n     distinct blessings to be superadded to the grace of faith.'\n\n     \"I regret that it is not in my power to visit you at Dawlish,\n     but I assure you that I have you in my remembrance, when bowing\n     before the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; and while I\n     pray that you may yet be spared to us, I do not forget to pray,\n     that if you are to be removed, you may be favoured with a joyful\n     entrance into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ.\n     You will present my kind affection to your dear parents, and\n     your sisters.--Your affectionate friend,\n\n     MARY.\"\n\nThe alarming symptoms which immediately followed this return of\nMiss Holmes' disorder, suddenly disappeared, and she was once more\nrestored to comparative health, though it was evident to all her\nfriends that the vigour of her constitution was greatly impaired.\nShe was again permitted to resume her rambles, and to breathe the\ngenial air of Dawlish, which once more enlivened her spirits. As she\nnow felt able to endure the fatigues of exertion, she was induced to\ncomply with the wishes of her kind friends in the country, to pay\nthem another visit. She rode there and back, and cautiously avoided\nrunning any risk, either by too much exertion, or by any exposure to\ndamps or cold.\n\nOn reaching home, she changed her dress, and soon after retired\nto rest; but on awakening in the morning, felt a hoarseness,\naccompanied by a slight fever. She remained within for several days,\nbut on the following Sabbath, felt so much better that she ventured\nto go to chapel, where she commemorated the death of the Redeemer.\nThis religious service she afterwards spoke of as one of the most\nimpressive and the happiest of her life. When adverting to it, in a\nletter which she wrote to Mrs. Loader, she observed, \"I have often\nfelt a great degree of solemnity and delight when receiving the\nsacramental memorials of the Saviour's death; but last Sabbath, at\nchapel, I felt a joy which was unspeakable and full of glory. When\nthe minister repeated the memorable words, 'This do in remembrance\nof me,' I could not refrain from saying, in the language of Dr.\nWatts,\n\n    'Why was I made to hear his voice,\n    And enter while there's room;\n    While thousands make a wretched choice,\n    And rather starve than come?'\n\n\"I think I have more than once alluded, in my free correspondence\nwith you, to my ceaseless dread of self-deception; and this makes\nme hesitate to ascribe to a supernatural operation, the religious\nimpressions and tendencies of my heart; yet, on this occasion, I\ncould respond to the following declarations with perfect composure:--\n\n    ''Twas the same love that spread the feast\n      That sweetly forced me in;\n    Else I had still refused to taste,\n      And perished in my sin.'\n\n\"Till that morning a gloomy shade always darkened my prospects\nof the future; but then the true light shone into me with such\na bright radiance, that I abounded in hope through the power of\nthe Holy Ghost. I retired from the hallowed service refreshed and\ninvigorated; and in the evening, when denied the privilege of\nreturning to the house of prayer, I made a more solemn surrender\nof myself to God, than at any former period. What scenes of wonder\nopened to my view! The Lord of life and glory expiring on the cross!\nThe high and lofty One condescending to admit a sinful creature\ninto his presence! The Saviour making intercession for me! The gay\nand the thoughtless may pour contempt on the sublime pleasures of\ndevotion, and rush for happiness into a world which abounds with\nevil; and under the spell of a fatal illusion, may imagine they\nhave found it. But our joys would be ill exchanged for theirs;\nand though it may not be in our power, while encompassed with the\ninfirmities of our nature, to perpetuate the vivid impressions which\nwe sometimes receive, yet they serve to demonstrate the superlative\nvalue of the faith which originates them; and may also tend to\ninspire within our breast an intense longing for that fulness of\njoy in which the spirits of the just made perfect are allowed to\nparticipate in the heavenly world.\"\n\nA few days after Louisa's visit to the chapel, the symptoms of her\ncomplaint returned with renewed violence. The physician was again\nsent for, and on entering the room, she said, with a smile on her\ncountenance, \"I am happy to see you, Sir; but I am now convinced\nthat my disorder is beyond your power to remove.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, it is; God can restore me if he please, but I do not\nexpect it.\"\n\nHe sat and conversed with her about a quarter of an hour, and then\nleft her.\n\n\"Pray, Sir,\" said Mrs. Holmes, \"what is your opinion?\"\n\n\"She is very ill, Madam.\"\n\n\"Do you think it is a confirmed consumption?\"\n\n\"I do. I fear the disease has made great progress.\"\n\n\"Do you think that a longer continuance in the country will prove\nbeneficial to the dear sufferer?\"\n\n\"To be candid, Madam, I do not think that it is in the power\nof human means to arrest the progress of the disease, though a\njudicious course of management may greatly alleviate her sufferings.\"\n\n\"Do you think, Sir, she can be removed without much inconvenience to\nherself?\"\n\n\"She may, in the course of a few days, when her strength rallies;\nbut I am clearly of opinion, that if you wait much longer, it will\nbe impossible to remove her.\"\n\nThis information came as a death-blow to the hopes of all the\nfamily. Mrs. Holmes, with Jane and Emma, sobbed aloud. A more\nsilent though not less poignant grief marked the countenances of her\nfather and Mr. Reed. \"If she must die,\" said her father, \"she had\nbetter be taken home to die.\" \"My Louisa die! My dear Louisa die!\"\nsaid Alfred, clasping his hands in an intensity of anguish, \"And\nmust she die? and must she be taken from me?\" At length he became\nmore composed, when informed by Mrs. Holmes that Louisa had just\nawaked out of a sweet sleep, much revived, and wished to see him.\nThe family sat conversing together the whole of the evening, and\narranged the plan for returning to the Elms, whither they determined\nto proceed immediately.\n\nFor the space of a fortnight after her return home, Miss Holmes\ncontinued to improve so rapidly in appearance that the hope of life\nbegan to beam once more upon all except herself. At this time she\nwrote the following letter to Miss Martin, who had now gone with her\nparents to Hastings for a short period:--\n\n     \"MY DEAR MARY,--A kind Providence has permitted me to see the\n     Elms once more, and once more to commune with my absent friend\n     from my own room, a privilege which I could not have anticipated\n     a few weeks since. After the reception of your kind letter, my\n     disorder took a turn, and we again thought that the bitterness\n     of death was passed; but in the midst of our joy the symptoms\n     reappeared, and I was brought near to the grave. I have again\n     revived, but it is only to protract my course for a little\n     time longer. I may live through the winter, and I may live to\n     see another spring opening with all its beauties, but I do not\n     expect it. The symptoms of death are upon me. The silver cord\n     is broken, and my affections are dying off from earth. I am\n     beginning to feel as a stranger amongst my most endeared friends\n     and relatives; and though their sorrows excite my sympathy,\n     yet I have no wish to remain here longer. No! I hear a voice\n     they do not hear, and see a form of beauty they cannot see. I\n     long to depart. I can look through my window on the walks which\n     wind round our shrubbery, without wishing to retrace my former\n     footsteps. I can muse on the pleasures which I have enjoyed in\n     the social circle, without desiring to taste them again. I still\n     feel that I am a sinner--an unworthy sinner; my perceptions of\n     the evil of sin are more clear and affecting than at any former\n     period of my life; and at times I am almost overwhelmed by the\n     indescribable manifestations of the Divine purity; but it hath\n     pleased God to impart to me corresponding views of the efficacy\n     of the precious blood of Christ, so that I have no fears\n     ruffling my peace. I am entering the valley, but it is not dark:\n     nor do I hear any sounds but those of Mercy's voice. The enemy\n     has not yet been suffered to stir up his strength against me,\n     nor have I been once tempted to mistrust either the fidelity of\n     the Saviour, or his willingness to save me. I thank you for the\n     extract which you sent me. It defines the essential difference\n     between faith and hope with great accuracy and precision; but\n     I have now done with all human compositions. The only book\n     I now read is the Bible. This is the fountain from whence I\n     now draw the pure water of life; and though I feel thankful\n     for the writings of those good men which have contributed to\n     my spiritual improvement and consolation, yet, like withered\n     flowers, they have lost their beauty and their fragrance.\n\n     \"I do not think that I should have preferred any other period\n     of my existence for my departure, to the present, even if I had\n     been permitted to choose. If I had been taken earlier, I should\n     have left some of my relatives in the gall of bitterness; and if\n     spared longer, I might have left some hapless children; but now\n     I can embrace all as fellow-heirs of the grace of life, who are\n     nearly allied to me by the ties of nature, and I can quit the\n     world without leaving any chasm which may not soon be closed. My\n     friends will weep over my grave, but the hope of a re-union in\n     a better world will mitigate the violence of their sorrow; and\n     soon the days of their mourning will be ended, and earth will be\n     exchanged for heaven.\n\n     \"Farewell, my dear friend; but only for a season. We are soon to\n     be separated, but we shall meet again. With kind remembrance to\n     all.--Your dying friend,\n\n     \"LOUISA.\"\n\nMiss Holmes had now another relapse, which destroyed all hope of her\nrecovery. Addressing her mother, who was communicating, in a low\nvoice, to Mr. Reed the opinion of the physician, she said, \"You need\nnot whisper, I have long known that I should not recover; and now\n_you_ know it, let us converse together as those who are on the eve\nof parting.\"\n\n\"I have long feared it,\" said Mrs. Holmes, \"though I have been\nunable to express my fears.\"\n\n\"But why, my dear Mamma, should you fear it? Death has lost its\nsting. The grave has lost its gloom. I am merely preceding you, and\npreceding you under the most auspicious circumstances.\"\n\n\"Then has my dear Louisa no dread of death?\"\n\n\"No. I have outlived that dread of dying which once bowed down my\nspirits; and can smile on the king of terrors, who now appears\ntransformed into an angel of deliverance.\"\n\n\"But have you,\" said Mr. Reed, \"no wish to live?\"\n\n\"I had, Alfred, but now I have not. I once wished to live to share\nyour sorrows and your joys, and animate you in the discharge of your\nsacred duties; but now I wish to depart and be with Christ, which is\nfar better.\"\n\nOn seeing her mother and sisters weep, she said, \"I am not surprised\nby your tears, because, if either of you were in my place, I should\nweep. I know that nature must give vent to her feelings; but you\ncannot expect _me_ to weep. Weep I cannot, unless I shed the tear of\ngrateful joy. No! My days of weeping are passed away; and soon my\ndays of suffering will be over.\"\n\nThough her disease had been for some time making rapid progress\ntowards the fatal issue, her spirits were yet buoyant, and\noccasionally she was as energetic and cheerful as in former days.\nOne evening, when the family were sitting with her, she talked with\na vivacity and fluency which induced them to hope that she might be\nspared to them for some months, if not years longer. While indulging\nthese expectations, they were aroused from their reverie by the\nsudden entrance of Emma, who brought her the following letter, from\nher friend Mrs. Loader, which the postman had just delivered:--\n\n     \"MY DEAR FRIEND,--The affectionate letter which I have just\n     received from dear Emma, brings the mournful intelligence\n     of your relapse, and that now all hope of your recovery has\n     vanished away. This intelligence, though mournful to others, is\n     not, I am thankful to hear, a cause of sorrow to yourself. You\n     are now on Pisgah, with the dreary wilderness behind you; and\n     the goodly land of promise in view, overshadowed by no darkening\n     cloud. My sympathies I reserve for others; to you, I offer my\n     congratulations. The contest is over; the victory is won, and\n     ere long you will receive the fadeless crown of immortality. In\n     a few weeks or days, you, who are now an inhabitant of earth,\n     will be a glorified spirit, beholding the face of the Holy One,\n     and uniting with the saints in heaven in the grand chorus of\n     adoration and praise. What you will then feel, on looking back\n     on the scene through which you are now passing; or how you will\n     give expression to your thoughts and emotions, is beyond all\n     power of conjecture; but it is sufficient to be assured that you\n     will be perfectly happy, and released from all earthly cares\n     and anxieties. Happy spirit!--happy, because redeemed;--happy,\n     because brought in safety to the end of your pilgrimage;--and\n     happy, now that the shadow of death is flitting across your\n     path--the visible sign of the coming of your Lord, to take you\n     to himself. Adieu, my much-loved friend, but not for ever; the\n     hope of a re-union sustains the dying and the living. We shall\n     weep when _you_ are rejoicing with the spirits of the just amid\n     the unfading glories of the celestial world.\n\n     \"The Lord be with you. Again I say adieu, my much-loved friend;\n     but only for a season. My love and sympathy to all the dear\n     members of your family.--Ever yours,\n\n     E. LOADER.\"\n\nMiss Holmes read this letter, shed a few tears, and then presented\nit to Emma, saying, \"When the crisis is over, acknowledge for me\nreceipt of it; and tell Mrs. Loader what pleasure it gave me.\"\n\nThe tide of life was now rapidly ebbing; and on her father entering\nher room, a few days after receiving Mrs. Loader's letter, she\nstretched forth her hand, and said, \"I hope you are prepared to\nresign me, for I have not long to be with you.\"\n\n\"I have had,\" he replied, \"a hard struggle to do it; but the Lord\nhas at length enabled me to say, 'Even so, for so it seemeth good in\nthy sight.'\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear it; and I hope you will all be enabled to feel\nthe same resignation to the Divine will. I wish you would now pray\nwith me, that I may be strengthened in my soul to endure the last\nstruggle.\" When this hallowed and deeply affecting exercise was\nended, she reclined her head on the pillow, and slept for two hours.\nWhen she awoke, she rose up in her bed, and casting a smile on all\naround her, said, \"My sleep has refreshed me.\" After giving a few\ndirections respecting her funeral, she delivered the keys of her\ndesk, &c., to her mother, with a request that she would distribute\nthe few trifling presents she had marked for her friends, and then\nadded, \"Now I have done with earth. Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly!\"\nAs she gave utterance to this prayer, her countenance beamed with\nan indescribable glow of rapture, and with a gentle bending of\nthe neck, she bid all farewell, her lips distinctly articulating,\n\"Precious Saviour! thou art come,\" as they were closing in perpetual\nsilence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe sketch which I have exhibited of Miss Holmes' character and\nreligious experience, has been taken from real life; and though\non some points her experience may differ from that of the pious\nreader, yet that circumstance will not diminish the degree of\ninterest which may be felt on examining it. We see what human nature\nis, even with all the advantages of a pious education, before the\ngreat spiritual change takes place; we see the process which is\nobserved in the production of this change--the evidences by which\nit is attested--the various and the numerous conflicts which the\nsubject of it has to encounter, while passing through this vale\nof tears--and the influence which a pure faith in the efficacy of\nthe atonement has in sustaining the mind in affliction, and in\nthe prospect of death. And who can turn away from such a scene,\nwithout wishing to be made a partaker of the like precious faith?\nand without exclaiming, \"Let me die the death of the righteous?\"\nCompare Miss Holmes' character with that of the devotee of fashion;\ncompare the uniform tranquillity of her mind, after she had obtained\npeace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, with the restless\nuneasiness which agitates the gay; compare her death with the death\nof the thoughtless and the trifling, and what will be the result?\nWhat! a firm conviction must be produced, that the religion of\nthe Scriptures, when it is brought to operate on the human mind,\ndoes more to elevate and refine it, and prepare it for its final\ndestiny, than all the discoveries of science, all the speculations\nof philosophy, or all the boasted triumphs of reason. This is a\nfact, which is not merely supported by opinion, but also by the\nevidence of experience and testimony; and though it may not excite\nthat degree of attention which its importance demands, yet the\nperiod may not be far distant when the reader will feel the force\nof it. Yes, the hour may not be far distant, when you may be called\naway from that circle in which you are now moving, and from those\nscenes of pleasure which now captivate and hold you in subjection;\nto bid farewell to lover and to friend, and let go your hold of\nlife. Yes, the hour may not be far distant, when you will feel\nyourself entering an eternal world, when the solemnities of the\nfinal judgment will open upon you in all their awful grandeur, and\nwhen conscience, roused from her long repose of guilty quietude,\nwill speak to condemn. Yes, the hour may not be far distant, when\nthe raptures of bliss, or the agonies of despair, will be yours,\nand yours for ever. And will you remain in a state of indifference,\nwhile such solemn events are at hand? Will you pass on to meet\nthem, as though they were cunningly devised fables? Can no argument\nproduce a conviction of your danger, and can no motive induce you to\navoid it? Will you resolutely withstand all the efforts which are\nmade to save you from going down to death unprepared to meet your\nGod? and as resolutely devote yourselves to the follies and the\namusements of the world, as though you were to live for ever? God\nforbid!\n\nBut I hope that the intelligent reader has felt that moral\nrenovation of heart, without which all the attainments of the\npurest morality will prove unavailing; and is looking for pardon\nand eternal life through faith in the death and mediation of our\nLord Jesus Christ. If so, though you may have your occasional fears\nrespecting your personal interest in him; though you may often\ndread, lest at some future period, the deep impressions under which\nyou now labour should be effaced from your mind; and though you may\neven start back from the approach of death, as from the visitations\nof a destroying angel, yet He who has begun the good work will\ncarry it on--He who has drawn you into fellowship with himself\nwill perpetuate it--He who has inclined you to hope in his mercy\nwill sustain that hope in the final hour, and give you a peaceful\nentrance into the joy of your Lord.\n\nGo, then, to the footstool of the Divine throne, and there offer\nup the sacrifice of praise to Him who has made you alive from the\ndead, and yield yourself unto God, and your end will be everlasting\nlife. You may be reproached for such an act of decision--you may\nbe contemned--you may excite the pity of some, and the sarcasm\nof others; but you will not repent the course you have taken,\nespecially when your latter end approaches. Reflecting, then, on\nyour past career in the world you are just quitting, and directing\nyour anticipations forward to that on which you are entering, you\nwill feel an elevation of soul which no remembrances can depress,\nand without a sigh of regret, or emotion of fear, will close your\neyes in peace.\n\nAnd when the conflict is over, and you have gained the prize of\nimmortality--when you have undergone the anticipated assimilation\nto the likeness of God, and are as perfect in purity and knowledge\nas in blessedness--beholding the person and the glory of the\ndear Redeemer--uniting with the innumerable multitude around\nhis throne, in their anthems of adoration and praise--you will\nthen feel, that in being a redeemed sinner, you have experienced\ngreater manifestation of Divine favour and love, than if you\nhad been created from the first an angel of the highest order.\nAnd in your then glorified state you will often advert to your\nearthly sojourn--to your sins and to your sorrows--retracing the\nmysterious path of your Christian course, with the ineffably joyful\nconsciousness pervading your heart, that you have not again to\nsuffer, or to sin; that you have not again to pass through \"death's\ndark vale,\" or again to dread the possibility of perishing; but to\nlive for ever in the full enjoyment of unmingled happiness. Then,\nwith what emotions of gratitude will you adore and bless God for\nhaving made you, when in this world, refrain from following the\nexample of the gay and thoughtless; who, alas! will then be where\nthe voice of mercy is never heard, and where the light of hope never\ndawns!\n\n\n\n\nTHE HAPPY MARRIAGE.\n\n\nDuring all this time that has elapsed, what has become of our\nfriends at Fairmount?\n\nThe reader has now probably conjectured from the account of my visit\nto Fairmount at Christmas,[31] that a marriage would ere long take\nplace between Mr. Lewellin and Miss Roscoe. It had been arranged in\na subsequent visit paid by Mr. Lewellin at Easter, that the wedding\nshould take place in the following June, and preparations were\nalready made for the joyful occasion, at which I was invited to be\npresent. On returning to London, however, to adjust some business\nmatters, Mr. Lewellin found to his dismay, that an affair of great\nimportance, which even threatened the stability of the mercantile\nhouse with which he was connected, required him immediately to\nproceed to Australia. The disappointment and vexation thus\noccasioned to the youthful lovers may be conceived, but there was\nno alternative, and the wedding was accordingly postponed to the\nfollowing spring, by which time it was hoped that the bridegroom\nwould have returned. Unfortunately, however, the business which\nrequired Mr. Lewellin's attention at the Antipodes, proved of so\ntedious and protracted a nature, that instead of reaching home in\nthe spring, as he expected, nearly two years elapsed before he could\nreturn to his native country. In the interval poor Miss Holmes, Miss\nRoscoe's attached friend, died, as I have narrated in the foregoing\nchapter, and her loss was deeply felt by Sophia. During Miss Holmes'\nlast illness, Miss Roscoe was on a tour in Italy with her father\nand mother; and though her friend had been suffering from a severe\ncold when she quitted England, Sophia had no idea of the fatal issue\nto which this would lead, and frequently anticipated, during her\ntravels, the pleasure with which, on her return, she would describe\nto Louisa the beautiful scenery and objects of interest she had\nseen while abroad. As Mr. and Mrs. Roscoe and Sophia travelled much\nin Italy, seldom staying long in one place, their correspondence\nwith their friends in England was very irregularly maintained, and,\nconsequently, no tidings of Miss Holmes' illness reached them;\nand it was not till passing through London, on their return from\nthe Continent, that they learned, to their grief and dismay, that\nLouisa had expired about a fortnight previously. Before proceeding\nto Watville, they paid a visit to the Elms, and did their utmost to\nconsole the bereaved family. They were also very urgent in pressing\nEmma and Jane to pay them a visit, which the feelings of the\nlatter would not permit them to do at the time, but they expressed\ntheir readiness to do so as soon as their minds were somewhat more\ncomposed.\n\n  [31] Vol. i. p. 544.\n\nNot long after Miss Roscoe's return home, her spirits were most\nunexpectedly revived by the arrival of Mr. Lewellin, who having\nbrought his business to a satisfactory termination, had immediately\nthereafter stepped on board ship and reached England, a few days\nbefore the letter which he had sent to announce his return.\nThe joy of the youthful pair at meeting again, after so long a\nseparation, is more easily imagined than described. Preparations\nwere now made for the consummation of their union, at which I was\nearnestly invited to be present, but the multiplicity of my pastoral\nengagements prevented me from doing so, much to my regret. I,\nhowever, readily promised to pay a visit at Fairmount as soon as the\nmarried couple should have returned from their wedding tour.\n\nAt first it had been decided that the young people should settle\nin the vicinity of London, and that Mr. Lewellin should continue\nhis mercantile pursuits as formerly, but this plan was ultimately\nabandoned. \"I presume,\" said Mr. Roscoe to Mr. Stevens, when they\nmet to adjust the final arrangements, \"that your nephew will inherit\nyour property, as my daughter will inherit mine, when it shall\nplease God to remove us to a better world; and if so, I think they\nwill possess a fortune quite large enough, without running the\nrisk of losing any part of it by the speculations of commerce, and\nwithout encumbering themselves with the difficulties and anxieties\nnecessarily attendant on them.\"\n\n\"This question,\" replied Mr. Stevens, \"has often engrossed my\nattention, and I am happy to find that our sentiments on it\ncoincide.\"\n\nWhile Mr. Stevens and Mr. Roscoe were thus debating this grave\nsubject, and determining what income they would portion off for\nthe young people, they were disturbed by the sudden entrance of\nMr. Lewellin and the ladies, who were ignorant of the point under\ndiscussion. \"You two gentlemen look very grave,\" said Mrs. Stevens;\n\"one would almost suppose that you have been discussing some\nquestion in which the destinies of Europe are involved.\"\n\n\"No, Madam,\" said Mr. Roscoe, \"we have not been agitating any such\nquestion, but another, if not of equal importance, yet of equal\ninterest to you.\"\n\n\"And what may that be, Sir?\"\n\n\"I see your curiosity is awakened; but cannot you restrain it for a\nfew hours, till you can coax your husband to gratify it?\"\n\n\"Why, Sir, a woman very naturally feels anxious to know what, when\nknown, will deeply interest her; and though you gentlemen sometimes\npractise the art of tantalizing, yet you must admit, that we can\neasily get at your secrets. When together, you can keep up the game;\nbut when you separate, you give up the prize. You glory in your\nstrength, when supported by each other's courage; but alone, you\nsoon surrender.\"\n\n\"Ah! so it is; we, the lords of the creation, are compelled to pay\ntribute.\"\n\n\"Of course, Sir, tribute to whom tribute is due.\"\n\n\"To C\u00e6sar, Madam!\"\n\n\"And to C\u00e6sar's wife, Sir.\"\n\n\"I see you are restless; and as I have too much compassion to keep\nyou on the rack, I will announce in due form the question which we\nhave been agitating. It is this--Shall your nephew and my daughter,\nafter a certain event takes place, go to reside near London, or\nshall they reside near us?\"\n\n\"A question, I presume, Sir, no less interesting to you than myself.\"\n\n\"Equally so, Madam.\"\n\n\"And how have you decided it, Sir?\"\n\n\"We have come to no decision; but we should prefer their settling\nnear us, rather than going so far away.\"\n\n\"I am happy to hear you are of that opinion; it completely coincides\nwith my own views. I was always averse to George and Sophia being\nsettled at a distance from us.\"\n\nThe reader will no doubt remember Miss Denham, whose death I\nnarrated in a previous part of the book.[32] Her mother did not\nlong survive the melancholy event; and Mr. Denham, being now left\nalone, soon sank into a morbid melancholy, which embittered his\nlast days. He had outlived nearly all the companions of his youth;\nfollowed those to the grave who were to have inherited his property;\nand after languishing in a state of mental gloom and depression\nfor several years, he bowed his head and gave up the ghost. His\nproperty, which consisted principally of land, he ordered to be\nsold, and the proceeds to be divided amongst his poor relations,\nwith the exception of a small estate which he bequeathed to an\nintimate friend. Mr. Roscoe became the purchaser of one of his\nestates, which was situated in the parish of Broadhurst, not far\nfrom Mr. Ingleby's rectory; and as the gentleman who had rented it\nhad just resolved on removing to a more distant part of the country,\nMr. Roscoe deemed it a most eligible location for the young people.\nIt consisted of a good house, very pleasantly situated, with about\neighty acres of arable and pasture land, well wooded and watered.\n\n  [32] Vol. i. p. 421.\n\nWhen it was known that Mr. Roscoe had made this purchase, Farmer\nPickford called on him with the view of obtaining a lease of it for\nhis son Harry.\n\n\"I hear, Sir, as how you have bought one of the farms belonging to\nMr. Denham; and I have made so bold as to call and say, I can get\nyou a goodish sort of a tenant if you should want one. One that will\ndo justice to the land, and no mistake.\"\n\n\"And who is it you have been thinking of?\"\n\n\"My son Harry. He'll make as good a farmer as his father, and that\nis saying a good deal; though, perhaps, I shouldn't blow my own\ntrumpet. I will stand score for the rent, and the proper tillage of\nthe farm.\"\n\n\"I thank you, Farmer, for your offer; and I should have much\npleasure in accepting your son as a tenant, but I have purchased the\nfarm with an intention of offering it to Mr. Lewellin, if he should\nfeel disposed to become a farmer.\"\n\n\"I beg pardon, Sir; I hope no offence. I wouldn't have said a word,\nif I had known that. Howsomever, I shall be glad to have him for a\nneighbour; and anything I can do to sarve him, I shall have a power\nof pleasure in doing.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Farmer. He will need instruction beyond what I can give\nhim; and I had resolved to call on you for a little advice.\"\n\n\"That, Sir, I will give at any time, with a power of pleasure.\"\n\n\"It is pretty good land, I believe, Farmer?\"\n\n\"The land, Sir, has a good heart in itself; but it has been\ndesperately run out. It will take a power of trouble and expense to\nbring it into a good working condition, and no mistake. Mr. Denham\nwas a bad landlord. He never would make no improvements, nor help\nhis tenant to make any. And I always find a bad landlord makes a bad\ntenant.\"\n\n\"I am very glad, Farmer, that you have called, and have referred to\nyour son Harry; and I will now tell you what has been running in my\nmind. I know the farm has been mismanaged, and that it will require,\nas you say, much trouble and expense to bring it into a good working\ncondition; now, could you not spare your son Harry for a year or\ntwo, to act as bailiff to Mr. Lewellin; and thus he will be doing\nsomething for himself, which you know won't prevent him from taking\na farm, when you have an opportunity of doing so?\"\n\n\"It shall be, Sir, as you say.\"\n\n\"Well, then, you and your son had better call in the course of a few\ndays, and we will settle the terms of agreement.\"\n\n\"With a power of satisfaction. This will mainly please my mistress,\nand Harry too, and no mistake.\"\n\nFarmer Pickford then took his leave, and Mr. Roscoe proceeded to\nFairmount to acquaint the family with the projects he had in view,\nin which they all gladly acquiesced. \"Indeed, George,\" said Mrs.\nStevens, addressing herself to Mr. Lewellin, \"I think you will\nsustain no loss by exchanging the smoke of London for the salubrious\nair of Rockhill, and may part with your prospects of civic honours\nwithout regret, to be enrolled on the list of country gentlemen.\nThough you may not at first be so expert in farming as in mercantile\ntransactions, yet in process of time your rural occupations will be\nno less interesting, if not quite so profitable.\"\n\n\"The exchange, Aunt, will be made without regret, especially when\nmade in accordance with the wishes of my friends.\"\n\n\"We all wish it,\" said Mrs. Roscoe, who had accompanied her husband\nto Fairmount; \"and it quite reconciles me to the idea of parting\nwith my dear Sophia.\"\n\nIn the course of a few months Mr. Lewellin disposed of his business\nin London; the house at Rockhill underwent a thorough repair, and\nwas neatly furnished, Harry Pickford was duly installed into his\noffice, the farm stocked with the usual variety of live cattle,\nand the day for the celebration of the nuptial ceremony fixed. At\nlength the wedding morning dawned, when the sun shone without a\ncloud, a circumstance which Sophia's good old nurse hailed as a\nhappy omen of her future happiness. Every one was astir at an early\nhour. The friends invited to the wedding arrived, and the bride,\nwith her father and mother and the rest of her party, drove off to\nthe rectory, where they found Mr. Lewellin and Mr. and Mrs. Stevens\nand their friends waiting to receive them. \"I am happy,\" said the\nvenerable Rector, \"that I have lived to see this day; and more happy\nthat Divine Providence has conferred on me the office of uniting you\nin the bands of matrimony.\"\n\nHe then knelt down and prayed with them, and as he prayed warm\ntears were shed, but they were not tears of sorrow. Prayer being\nended, they at once proceeded to the church. The good old Rector,\ndressed in the habiliments of his office, walked first, followed by\nthe bride leaning on her father's arm and the rest of the marriage\nparty. On entering the church they passed direct to the altar, where\nthe ceremony was performed by Mr. Ingleby with great solemnity, in\npresence of a larger concourse of people than had been remembered in\nthe village on such an occasion for many years. As soon as it was\nfinished, the married pair proceeded to the vestry to attach their\nsignatures to the register of their marriage, when Mr. Ingleby thus\naddressed them:--\"I hope you will enjoy the excursion you are about\nto take; that a kind Providence will watch over you, to preserve\nyou from all evil; and that you will return to us in health and\npeace. Accept this small packet as a token of the interest I feel\nin your happiness, and possibly you may retain it as a relic of\nfriendship long after I have left you for a better world.\" He then\nplaced it in the hands of Mrs. Lewellin, saying, \"You may open and\nexamine it at your leisure.\" On re-entering the church, they were\nboth unexpectedly greeted by the village choir, who sung in sweetest\nmelody the 128th Psalm, from Sternhold and Hopkin's version--\n\n    \"Blessed art thou that fearest God,\n       And walkest in his way;\n     For of thy labour thou shalt eat,\n       Happy art thou, I say.\n\n    \"Like the fruitful vines on thy house side,\n       So doth thy wife spring out;\n     Thy children stand like olive plants,\n       Thy table round about.\n\n    \"Thus art thou blest that fearest God,\n       And he shall let thee see\n     The promised Jerusalem,\n       And her felicity.\n\n    \"Thou shalt thy children's children see,\n       To thy great joy's increase;\n     And likewise grace on Israel,\n       Prosperity and peace.\"\n\n[Illustration: M. S. MORGAN     T. BOLTON\n\nTHE BRIDAL PARTY WELCOMED BY THE VILLAGERS.\n\nVol. ii. page 456.]\n\nThe bridal party on coming out of the church were received with\nacclamations by the assembled rustics, who, all attired in their\nholiday clothes, thronged the churchyard, and pressed forward to\nwish the new married couple a long and a happy life. Nothing could\nmore unequivocally testify to the universal popularity with which\nMr. and Mrs. Lewellin were regarded among the villagers. The bells\nin the old tower rung forth their merriest peals, while the village\nchildren, with their little baskets, strewed the path with flowers.\nOn reaching the churchyard gate, the wedding party stepped into the\ncarriages which were waiting for them, and drove off to Mr. Roscoe's\nmansion. There the young couple proceeded to dress for their\njourney; and having partaken of some refreshment, left for the usual\ntour. The wedding party were entertained at dinner, by Mr. and Mrs.\nRoscoe, in celebration of the joyous occasion: while the company was\ncheerful and lively, there was no appearance of that levity which\ntoo often attends the celebration of the nuptial vow, even amongst\nthe decidedly pious. \"There are some of the customs of the world,\"\nsaid the venerable Rector, \"which a Christian may follow without in\nthe least compromising his character; I shall therefore offer no\napology for giving the following toast--'MR. AND MRS. LEWELLIN, AND\nMAY THEY LIVE LONG ON EARTH, AND FINISH THEIR COURSE WITH JOY.'\"\nThis toast was duly honoured by the whole party, who soon afterwards\nretired to the drawing-room, where the remainder of the day was\nspent in innocent festivity and social intercourse. A sumptuous\nrustic feast was likewise spread on the lawn for the villagers,\nwho were thus furnished with the means of participating with their\nsuperiors in the general rejoicings of the day.\n\nWe now return to the wedded couple. \"I wonder,\" said Mrs. Lewellin,\nas they rode along in the post-chaise, \"what this packet contains:\nI must open it, and have my curiosity gratified. Ah!\" said she, on\ndiscovering its contents, \"it is just like Mr. Ingleby, he is always\nso kind and considerate. Here is his pastoral advice to us, who have\njust returned from the altar.\" She then proceeded to read to her\nhusband as follows:--\n\n\"I am happy, my dear young friends, that, in the union which has\ntaken place this day, there has been no sacrifice of Christian\nprinciple--no violation of filial duty, and that it has been\nconsummated under the most auspicious circumstances. You are both,\nmy young friends, fellow-heirs of the grace of life; so that you\nhave each obeyed the Divine injunction by marrying in the Lord.\nHere are your parents and your guardians offering you their\ncongratulations, while Providence is opening before you a scene of\nprosperity, which, I trust, you will ever continue to enjoy. But\nyou will not find this world a paradise; nor will you be allowed\nto pass through it without meeting with trials. It is not my wish,\ncertainly, on this joyful occasion, to darken your prospects with\nthe shades of threatening evil, but permit me, an old man on the\nbrink of the grave, to address a few words to you, which may be of\nservice after I have gone to rest with my fathers.\n\n\"Ever remember that you are both imperfect Christians, which will\nkeep you from forming extravagant expectations, and guard you\nagainst the depressing influence of those momentary disappointments\nwhich you may feel. It is generally admitted, by the most competent\njudges, that temper is the hinge on which the happiness of domestic\nlife turns; and if you can contrive to keep this always in a\ngood condition, you will never be disturbed by the gratings of\ndiscontent, or the harsher sounds of anger or of discord. You are, I\nbelieve, both amiable, and have, during a long courtship, preserved\nthe equilibrium of your temper--\n\n    'Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breaks,\n    Which humour, interposed, too often makes;'\n\nyet you have now entered on a course in which you will find the\ncorrectness of the poet's remark exemplified--\n\n    The kindest and the happiest pair,\n    Will find occasion to forbear;\n    And something, every day they live,\n    To pity, and perhaps forgive.'\n\n\"I have known some who have been very fond of each other before\nmarriage, and for some time after it, but their affection has\ngradually dwindled into indifference, even while they have been\nunconscious of any change. This is an evil against which I wish you\nto be on your guard. You may now suppose that such an event cannot\noccur; but what _has_ befallen others _may_ befal you. Pure love\nis a delicate plant, which suffers by neglect; and though you may\nimagine that by virtue of its inherent strength, it will perpetually\nyield the fragrance and the fruit of conjugal felicity, yet it will\nnot do so without the most assiduous care. Endeavour, then, ever to\nexercise towards each other an amiable and forbearing temper, which\nwill make you appear no less lovely in each other's estimation when\nthe gray hairs of age come upon you, than when in the full bloom of\nyouthful vigour.\n\n    'The love that cheers life's latest stage,\n    Proof against sickness and old age,\n    Preserved by virtue from declension,\n    Becomes not weary of attention:\n    But lives, when that exterior grace\n    Which first inspired the flame, decays.\n    'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,\n    To faults compassionate and blind;\n    And will with sympathy endure\n    Those evils it would gladly cure.'\n\n\"But if pure affection may be regarded as the foundation on which\ndomestic happiness rests, it is the province of good sense to raise\nthe superstructure--to decorate and embellish it--to secure its\ninternal harmony, and to cast up those mounds and bulwarks which\nwill protect it from external annoyance and danger. I do not know\nthat I can define this expression better than by calling it, that\nsense of propriety which is suited to the situation in which the\nmember of a family is placed. Good sense will teach you to keep your\nproper station in your family; when to see and when not to see the\nfaults and the excellencies of others; when and how to administer\nreproof, or to give commendation; and how to uphold your authority\nwithout the appearance of severity. It will also induce you to\npay great attention to the little things of domestic life, which\nexercise so material an influence in promoting its happiness.\n\n\"As _your_ manners will have a material influence over all the\nsubordinate members of your household, the exercise of your good\nsense will teach you the importance of keeping your proper station,\nlest you should, by an act of encroachment, give excitement to any\nevil tempers or dispositions, which the occasion may appear to\njustify. I am aware of the extreme difficulty of marking out the\nexact boundary within which you ought to keep in the exercise of\nyour authority, or in your habit of personal inspection; but as an\nimproper interference with the opinions or the prescribed duties of\nothers very rarely fails to give offence, even when no offence is\nintended, good sense will keep you on your guard against rousing\nunnecessarily irritable feelings. I do not wish you to suffer\nyour servants to govern you, nor do I wish you to stand in awe of\nthem, as I am convinced, from long observation, that the sceptre\nof authority should be held by the heads of a family; but as your\ncomfort will depend very materially on those by whom you are served,\nI would advise you to study their temper and their disposition,\nand so to shape your commands as to secure obedience without a\nmurmur, and bring about reform without opposition. Remember that\nyour servants are not slaves, to be governed by authority without\nreason--that they are not stoics, to be treated as though they had\nno feeling; but are your equals in relation to God, though your\ninferiors in relation to civil society--who have as strong a claim\non your generosity, as you have on their fidelity, and who will in\ngeneral reward your kindness and sympathy by their affection and\ngrateful obedience.\n\n\"If there be one sight more lovely than another in the present\nworld, that sight is a happy family, whose different members live\ntogether in love and in peace, bearing each other's burdens,\nanticipating each other's wants, and endeavouring, by the thousand\nnameless expressions of kindness which they may show to each other,\nto secure and augment each other's felicity.\n\n\"As you are both disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ, you will, I\nhave no doubt, erect an altar of devotion in your habitation; but\nyou must guard against the supposition, that all the duties of\nfamily religion are discharged when you have presented the morning\nand evening sacrifice. You may have servants to instruct who are\nignorant of the nature and design of the gospel of peace, or whose\npositive aversion to every form of religion renders remonstrance or\npersuasion necessary. Though you may imagine that the instruction\nof the pulpit will prove the means of removing their prejudices,\nand imparting to them clear perceptions of the truth as it is in\nJesus, yet I would advise you not to trust entirely to it. A little\nprivate conversation with them, when a favourable opportunity\noccurs, or a few familiar remarks made before or after reading a\nportion of the Scriptures, when you are collected together for\nthe purpose of family prayer, may have a powerful effect on their\nminds, and lead them to work out their own salvation with fear and\ntrembling. And if you should be instrumental in bringing any of them\nto repentance, and to the knowledge of the truth, you will have an\nample compensation for your anxiety and labour, in the more ardent\nattachment which they will feel for you, and the greater fidelity\nwith which they will serve you.\n\n\"I have more than once heard it remarked, that social intimacy very\noften proves injurious to that intimate Christian fellowship, on\nwhich the growth, if not the vitality of personal religion very\nmaterially depends. Hence, husbands and wives, parents and children,\nfrequently converse more freely on the experimental influence of\nreligion with distant associates or comparative strangers than with\neach other. But this ought not to be. They who are animated by the\nlike precious faith, and who have to encounter the same spiritual\ndifficulties, ought not to suffer the closeness of their union to\noperate as a reason why they should hold no spiritual communion with\neach other. Let me then entreat you, now you are just on the eve of\nforming your domestic habits, to avoid this evil, into which too\nmany fall; and by the most unreserved mental communications, become\nhelpers of each other's faith and hope.\n\n    'If pains afflict, or wrongs oppress,\n    If cares distract, or fears dismay,\n    If guilt deject, or sin distress,'\n\ndo not lock up your grief as a profound secret, which a false\ndelicacy may wish you to conceal from one another; but rather\ndisclose it without reserve, and you will meet in your reciprocal\nsympathy a relief from your burden of sorrow. And that you may\ncultivate this intimate religious fellowship, allow me to suggest to\nyou the adoption of a habit, which I think eminently conducive to\nyour spiritual prosperity. Always retire, during some part of the\nday or the evening, to pray _with each other_, and for each other;\nand you will find that the line of the poet records a fact, which\nyour own experience will soon attest to be true, that prayer\n\n  'Brings ev'ry blessing from above.'\n\nIt enriches the mind with the treasures of spiritual wisdom, while\nit imparts a sweetness to the disposition, and an amiability to the\ntemper, which cares and anxieties will not impair.\n\n\"And though, my young friends, I cannot cheer you with the hope of\nbeing able to pass through life without coming into contact with\nits temptations, its disappointments, and its bereavements, yet He\nin whom you trust, and to whom you have both devoted yourselves in\nthe spring-time of your life, will never leave you nor forsake you,\nbut will be a very present help in every time of trouble. If you\nare spared till the time of old age, I trust you will be 'like a\ntree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth fruit in\nhis season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth\nshall prosper.' And if you should be removed in early life, you will\nbe transplanted to that celestial paradise, where you will flourish\nin undecaying strength and glory for ever. It is but a little while\nthat I shall live on earth as a spectator of your bliss; but if\nspirits are allowed in their disembodied state to visit, though\nunseen, the abodes of mortals, I shall often be with you, 'joying\nand beholding your order, and the steadfastness of your faith in\nChrist.'\"\n\n\n\n\nAN OLD FRIENDSHIP REVIVED.\n\n\nAfter a delightful tour through the west of England, and part of\nSouth Wales, Mr. and Mrs. Lewellin arrived at Malvern, where they\nintended to remain for some time previous to returning home. On the\nSaturday after their arrival, in ascending the hill behind the town,\nthey passed two ladies, when Mrs. Lewellin said, \"I think I know the\ntallest; she appears to be an invalid, and, to judge from her fixed\nlook, I should infer that she had a faint recognition of myself.\"\n\nThey turned back to pass them again, if possible, but they lost\nsight of them in the little crowd of fashionables enjoying their\nmorning promenade. As they were sauntering along on their return\nto their hotel, they passed what appeared to be a small place of\nworship, and on making inquiries, they found it was a Dissenting\nchapel.\n\n\"We ought,\" Mr. Lewellin remarked, \"to be devoutly thankful to\nDivine Providence for raising up so many of these unobtrusive little\nsanctuaries--they are the retreats of the gospel, when it is driven\nout from the Established Church, as is too often the case.\"\n\n\"To me,\" replied his wife, \"any place is a Bethel, if its walls echo\nto the name of Jesus.\"\n\nThe next day was the Sabbath. They were seated near the door of the\nchapel, when they saw the two ladies enter whom they had observed on\nthe preceding day; but as they passed on to occupy a pew near to the\npulpit, they could not get a sight of the face of either of them.\nThe service was conducted as usual with extreme simplicity--singing,\nwithout the aid of any instrumental music, and extemporary prayer,\nfree, however, from monotony or tautology. The sermon was short\nand impressive, setting forth the grand truths of revelation in\na simple, earnest manner, and enforcing them in tones of mild,\npersuasive, yet commanding eloquence. The text would be considered\nby many a very commonplace one, yet it is one which embodies the\nwhole theory of Divine truth--\"This is a faithful saying, and worthy\nof all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save\nsinners; of whom I am chief\" (1 Tim. i. 15). When the two stranger\nladies were walking up the passage, after the close of the service,\nMrs. Lewellin contrived to be standing with her pew door partly\nopen, but drew it back as they were in the act of passing. The eye\nof the invalid lady caught hers; she paused, and exclaimed with\nemotion--\"And is it you, my dear Miss Roscoe?\"\n\n\"Not Miss Roscoe _now_,\" replied Mrs. Lewellin, waving her hand\ntowards her husband; \"I have exchanged it for Lewellin. And is it\nyou, my dear Miss Rawlins?\"\n\n\"Yes, still Miss Rawlins, your old friend. How marvellous that we,\nwho were once two such giddy girls, should meet after so great a\nlapse of time in a Dissenting chapel!\"\n\n\"The God of grace often works wonders.\"\n\n\"Always when he saves sinners.\"\n\n\"And does my dear Miss Rawlins feel herself to be a sinner?\"\n\n\"Yes, and one of the chief. Some others may be more vile, but no one\ncan be more worthless.\"\n\n\"Is this an illusion, or a reality? Am I in some fairy land?\"\n\n\"I do not wonder at your exclamation. It is more like romance than\nreality.\"\n\nThey walked away from the chapel together, and when parting, Mrs.\nLewellin said, \"If you are at the chapel in the evening we will sit\nin the same pew.\"\n\n\"O yes, my dear; we greatly prefer the chapel to the church. _There_\nwe have the pomp of religion; _here_ its beautiful simplicity. At\n_church_ we hear the Church itself and its ceremonial rites held up\nto us from day to day; _here_ the Saviour himself is placed before\nus as the Alpha and Omega of the service. We are more partial to the\nsubstance of the truth, than to shadowy forms.\"\n\nIn the evening a minister officiated, who was on a visit to Malvern\nfor the improvement of his health. He was a fine looking man, though\nmuch emaciated, and preached as one whose eye was turned away from\nthe vanities of time, contemplating steadfastly the glories of\neternity. His text was strikingly appropriate to his own condition\nand to ours:--\"The fashion of this world passeth away\" (1 Cor. vii.\n31).\n\n\"The context to this passage,\" said the minister, \"tells us, my\nbrethren, what experience confirms--that our abode on earth is\nshort. St. Paul, therefore, exhorts us, and we will do well to\nattend to his exhortations, to guard against too fond an attachment\nto any relation or possession in life. You who weep, and you who\nrejoice, should moderate the intensity of your emotions; as you\nwill soon be far removed from the influence of the causes which\nproduce those feelings, and the possessions which you now hold\non the most secure tenure will soon be claimed by others. Set\nnot, therefore, your heart on this world, which you must so soon\nleave. Its appearance is attractive, like the shifting scenes of\na theatre, or a gaudy pageant in a public procession; but it will\nsoon vanish from your sight, to amuse and beguile others in like\nmanner. There is another world--more splendid, more glorious, and\nmore durable--towards that you should turn your attention, and seek\nwith the most intense ardour of soul to be prepared to enter it.\nOtherwise, when you depart from this world--and you may very soon\ndepart--you will go into outer darkness, and be lost for ever.\"\n\n\"I hope, my dear Mrs. Lewellin,\" said Miss Rawlins, on the following\nmorning, when they were promenading by themselves in a retired walk,\n\"you will forgive me for not replying to the last letter I received\nfrom you. Indeed, I have often reproached myself for not doing it.\nIt has been the occasion of bitter grief, and some tears, especially\nof late.\"\n\n\"I can very easily forgive you, dear Miss Rawlins; but will you\npermit me to ask you why you did not reply?\"\n\n\"It was, at that period of my life, absolutely unintelligible. I\nconcluded you were become a mystic; and I foolishly imagined you\nwere contemplating taking the veil, and that I should soon hear you\nhad entered a convent. You will not be surprised at this when you\nadvert to the foolish letter I wrote to you about religion.\"[33]\n\n  [33] Vol. i. p. 451.\n\n\"If agreeable to you,\" said Mrs. Lewellin, \"I should like to hear by\nwhat means you were brought to see and to feel your real character\nand condition in relation to God and the eternal world.\"\n\n\"My history is a very singular one--abounding with incidents that\nillustrate the workings of the special providence of God. You know,\nmy dear, in what a gay circle I moved. The concert, the drama, the\nball-room, card-parties, and novels absorbed my whole soul. I lived\nin a perpetual whirl of excitement and gaiety. But I was not happy,\nand often felt disgusted with my own frivolous pursuits. At length,\nI had a severe and dangerous illness, brought on by imprudently\nexposing myself to the cold damp air, in returning from a ball. For\nsome weeks my life was despaired of, and these were weeks of terror.\nI was brought to the verge of the dark world, and felt appalled at\nthe thought of entering it. I was rebellious, too, and murmured\nagainst God for depriving me of life at such an early period.\"\n\n\"It was by a cold, caught at a ball, that your old friend, Miss\nDenham, lost her life.\"[34]\n\n  [34] Vol. i. p. 410.\n\n\"Yes; I recollect you alluded to her death in a letter I received\nfrom you. Were you intimate with her?\"\n\n\"I was with her when she died.\"\n\n\"Indeed! I know she was a gay devotee to the world; and, therefore,\nit may be painful to hear how she died. What myriads are offered as\nvictims to the Moloch of fashion!\"\n\n\"No, my dear, not painful. Her head was reclining on the bosom of a\npious friend, who was present with me at the interview; and her last\nwords were--'I am dying, but not without hope of attaining eternal\nlife, through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.'\"\n\n\"How thankful I am to hear that. It is like the rescue of a\nfriend from shipwreck. But to resume my story. I was gradually\nrestored to health, and re-entered the gay world, amidst the warm\ncongratulations of my friends. At the close of the season we came to\nMalvern to spend a few months. Here the mystic roll of Providence\nbegan to unfold itself. One day, when rambling by myself over\nthe common, I saw a neat little cottage, which I entered. It was\noccupied by an old woman, who sat reading her Bible. I apologized\nfor my act of intrusion; when she requested me to take a seat.\n\n\"'I hope,' she added, looking at me benignantly as she spoke, 'you\nlove your Bible. It tells us about Jesus Christ; about his love\nfor poor sinners; and about his dying for them, to save them from\nperishing; and it tells us that if we come to him He will never\nforsake us. There is no book like God's Book.'\n\n\"I felt confused, and soon left her; but her words followed me.\nThey were perpetually sounding in my ears; and yet I could not draw\nout of them any intelligible meaning. A few days after this I met an\nold school-fellow, looking very ill; and having promised to call on\nher, I did so the following week. I found her confined to her bed,\nand evidently with but a short time to live. She said to me, when\ntaking leave of her, 'You see, my dear Miss Rawlins, that I am now\ngoing into another world: and I go in peace, because I look by faith\nto Jesus Christ, who died to save sinners. He has assured me, in the\nBible, that if I come to him, and trust in him, He will save me. You\nhave been near death, but your life is spared; let me entreat you\nto leave the gay and thoughtless crowd, and come by faith to Jesus\nChrist to save you, and to make you happy.'\n\n\"These last words made a deep impression on my heart, and gave\nrise to some painful reflections. Must I then, I said to myself,\nwithdraw from the gay world to be happy? Can Jesus Christ make me\nhappy? How is this possible, when he is dead, and gone to heaven?\nThese references to Jesus Christ reminded me of your letter, which,\nas it happened still to be in my writing desk, I again perused. I\nwas struck with the harmony of sentiment and testimony between your\nletter, the observations of the old woman, and the appeal of my\ndying friend; and I felt its influence, even though it appeared to\nme, in a great measure, unintelligible.\"\n\n\"It is said of Samson,\" remarked Mrs. Lewellin, \"that the Spirit of\nthe Lord moved him at times; that is, he was occasionally acted on\nby an unusual impulse. And something analogous to this may be traced\nin our moral history; the recurrence of impressions and emotions, of\na singular character, proceeding from some unknown cause. The Lord\nthe Spirit is at work in the heart, but his operations are veiled in\ndarkness; happily, the time for explanation comes at last.\"\n\n\"It has been so, my dear Mrs. Lewellin, in my experience. Singular\nevents have been employed to produce those singular emotions; but\nat the time, I could trace them to no perceptible cause, nor did I\never suppose they would lead to any important issue. But the mystery\nis now graciously explained. Soon after our return home, another\nincident occurred, which exercised a material influence on my mind.\nWe went to dine with an old friend of my father's, who lived about\nten miles from town, and intended to return in the evening, but such\na violent storm came on, that we were glad to accept our friend's\ninvitation to remain for the night. At nine o'clock the parlour bell\nwas rung, and in a few minutes the servants entered, and our own\ncoachman with them, when a large Bible was placed near a clergyman,\none of the party. He read the second chapter of St. Paul's Epistle\nto the Ephesians, and offered up a very solemn and impressive\nprayer. This was quite novel; I had never before been present at\nsuch a service. I was again brought into contact with the great\nfacts of revelation; and when on my knees before God in prayer, I\nbecame still more restless in my mind. I felt a strong inclination\nto go again to scenes of gaiety, to dispel the strange thoughts, and\nstill stranger forebodings, which haunted me; and yet I recoiled\nfrom doing so, under an instinctive apprehension that they would\nmake me still more restless and unhappy. I felt, at times, so\nmiserable, that I took no interest in life. At this crisis, another\nincident occurred, trivial in itself, and apparently casual, but\nit was one of those agencies which were working together for my\ngood. Our coachman brought with him, from the pious family which we\nhad been visiting, some religious tracts; and on passing through\nthe kitchen I saw one on the dresser; it was _Poor Joseph_.[35]\nI took it and read it. It delighted me from its singularity. I\ninvoluntarily exclaimed, when I had finished reading it, 'What a\ncontrast between this poor half-witted man and myself! he is in\necstasy when referring to Jesus Christ coming into the world to save\nsinners, but I can only refer to this great fact with apathy and\nindifference. How is this?' It appeared strange, and was a heavy\nburden on my heart.\"\n\n  [35] Vol. i. p. 152.\n\n\"Our Lord says, 'They that be whole need not a physician, but\nthey that are sick' (Matt. ix. 12). A man in health looks with\nindifference on the physician; but not so the dying patient. It\nis a deep sense of personal guilt, and a vivid apprehension of\npositive danger, that fits a sinner to form a correct estimate of\nthe need and value of a Saviour. When such a discovery is made and\nfelt, then it is hailed with rapture, and mental repose is enjoyed\nas the consequence of trusting on the Saviour for pardon and\nsalvation.\"\n\n\"I now perceive and feel this; but it would still have been hidden\nfrom me, had it not been for another circumstance. I had one gay\nfriend to whom I was much attached; indeed, with the exception of\nmy parents, she was the only person I really loved. She completely\nruled me, though one of the most gentle creatures I ever knew.\nI was never so happy as when in her company. She was as fond of\nthe gay world as myself. On one occasion we had both accepted an\ninvitation to a grand ball given by Sir John Markham, but in the\nmorning I received a note from my friend requesting me not to expect\nto meet her there; adding, 'I withdraw from the gay world, and\nfor ever. It is a vain show, which promises happiness, but yields\nnone. Don't be alarmed; I will explain when I see you.' This note\ntook me by surprise; but I was more pleased than distressed. I\nrefrained from going to the ball, and went to see my friend. She\nthen informed me that her attention had recently been turned to her\nBible, by a sermon she heard preached by the Rev. James Harrington\nEvans, and she had resolved to seek lasting happiness by yielding\nherself to God, through the redemption of Christ Jesus the Lord. Her\nconversation, though somewhat unintelligible to me, was in perfect\nharmony with the sentiments I had previously heard others express. I\nnow readily complied with her earnest solicitation to accompany her,\non the following Sunday morning, to hear the same eloquent preacher.\nWe went together. His text was, 'For through him we both have access\nby one Spirit unto the Father' (Eph. ii. 18). When he was explaining\nto us the nature of access to the Father, and showing us why and how\nwe ought to come to Him, the veil was removed, and the light of life\nshone with clear radiance into my heart. I felt subdued, captivated;\nand, for the first time of my life, I could say, 'Now I know where\ntrue happiness is to be found.' _Now_ I could understand your\nletter. I followed, then, without hesitation, my friend's example,\nin withdrawing from the gay world.\"\n\n\"I suppose,\" here remarked Mrs. Lewellin, \"the secession of two such\ngay devotees from the circle of fashion, occasioned some little\ntumult?\"\n\n\"O, yes, we had a few calls from some of the more inquisitive, who\nlive on excitement; but we were both inflexible, and now we are\nsubjected to no annoyance.\"\n\n\"What did your parents say?\"\n\n\"I think they were more pleased than otherwise, especially my dear\nmother, whose health had been rapidly declining for some months.\nVery soon afterwards she was confined to her room; and God honoured\nme to be the instrument in directing her to the Lamb of God, who\ngave his life a ransom for many. She passed through a severe ordeal\nof mental suffering during her long illness; but when descending\ninto the dark valley, she saw, by faith, Jesus coming to receive\nher; and she died in peace.\"\n\n\"These varied conflicts, my dear Miss Rawlins, in which you have\nbeen engaged, must have proved a severe trial to you.\"\n\n\"They have rather seriously affected my health, which has given way,\nand occasioned our present visit to Malvern.\"\n\n\"I congratulate you on your rescue from the allurements of a vain\nand giddy world. Now that you are made alive from the dead, you must\nyield yourself to God, to fear, and love, and glorify him, and show\nforth his praise.\"\n\n\"As I have now, my dear Mrs. Lewellin, unbosomed to you the secrets\nof my heart, I shall feel more at ease. But, O! where can I find\nwords adequate to express my grateful feelings to my adorable\nSaviour, for the marvellous manifestations of his sovereign\ncompassion and love to my dear mother, my beloved friend, and\nmyself!\"\n\nThe next day Mrs. Lewellin went with Miss Rawlins, to see the old\nwoman who lived in the cottage on the common. On entering, they\nfound her in her arm chair, with her Bible open before her, so\nintent on what she was reading, that she did not appear to notice\nthem, till she was spoken to.\n\n\"Sit down, ladies; I am glad to see you.\"\n\n\"At your old employment, I see,\" said Miss Rawlins.\n\n\"Why, Miss, I don't know that I can be at a better. It is proper\nthat a child should read his father's epistles of love, and that a\nservant should study to know what his master requires him to do and\nsuffer.\"\n\n\"Do you ever feel weary of reading the parts of the Bible you have\nread before?\"\n\n\"It is, Miss, with God's Word, as it is with God's world. We enjoy a\nserene evening and the beauties and melodies of the spring, as much\nthis year, as we did in any gone-by year of our life. I was just\nthinking, before you ladies came in, that I could say nearly off at\nheart the third chapter of John's Gospel; and yet I could read it\nagain, with as much pleasure and profit, if not more, than I did the\nfirst time I read it. There is such a wonderful depth, and such a\nrich fulness and living power in God's Word.\"\n\n\"What book,\" inquired Mrs. Lewellin, \"do you like next to the Bible?\"\n\n\"O, dear, Ma'am, I have long done with all other books. I used\nto like good John Bunyan's _Pilgrim_, and I have read it through\nmany times; but now I care about no book but my Bible. I sometimes\nthink I should like to take the Bible with me to heaven, as then I\nshould be able to have some dark sayings explained, which I can't\nunderstand now.\"\n\n\"You have no doubts, I suppose, about the certainty of your\nsalvation?\"\n\n\"No, Ma'am; not _now_. Some time since, I was greatly distressed\nwith doubts and fears, but now all my anxieties are at rest. I stand\nwith my staff in my hand, waiting to hear my Father call me home. He\nwill call soon.\"\n\n\"How simple, and how dignified,\" said Mrs. Lewellin, as they were\nleaving the cottage, \"are the anticipations of an old disciple, when\napproaching the entrance to the heavenly kingdom!\"\n\n\"And what a contrast,\" replied Miss Rawlins, \"to the devotees of\nfashion! They will amuse themselves at the card-table, till their\nhands become too enfeebled to play; and even on a death-bed will\nlisten with deep interest to descriptions of operas and plays, a new\nsinger, or a new actor; inquire with eager curiosity who wore the\nmost splendid dress at the ball--what new marriage is now on the\n_tapis_--in short, will listen to anything, however trifling, to\nkeep off the thought of dying.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Lewellin; \"and when, for form's sake, the\nofficiating priest is sent for, and he has gone through the\nprescribed ceremonies--has read the absolution and given the\nsacrament, and they have thus made their peace with God--they still\nlive on, as long as they can live, amidst the gay scenes of former\ntimes now gone from them for ever. But to that one great event in\ntheir moral history, which is so certain, and so near at hand,\nall references or allusions are imperatively forbidden, as though\nits entire oblivion could prevent its actual occurrence. O, it is\npainful to think of the terrific surprise and overwhelming horror\nwhich will seize on their spirits, when they pass into the eternal\nworld!\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear; and if _our_ preparations for death, and if our\nreminiscences and anticipations when dying, should bear, as I trust\nthey will, a nearer resemblance to the dignified deportment, and the\nsweet serenity of the old woman on the common, than to the criminal\nfrivolity of these self-doomed devotees of fashionable life, we\nmust, in imitation of the devout Psalmist, and with tears of joyous\ngratitude, ever say--'Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy\nname give glory, for thy mercy, and for thy truth's sake'--(Psalm\ncxv. 1.)\"\n\nOn their return from this visit, Mrs. Lewellin said, with some\nembarrassment of manner, \"We have now, my dear Miss Rawlins, been at\nMalvern longer than we contemplated. We leave to-morrow, but I hope\nthat we may again meet somewhere on earth, to renew the sweet and\nhallowed intercourse we have so much enjoyed here.\"\n\n\"I am thankful that you kept the secret of your departure to the\nlast moment. An earlier intimation of the exact time would have had\non my heart a very depressing effect. Our conversations at Malvern\nwill ever be held by me in pleasing remembrance, and I shall long\nfor an opportunity to renew them. Good night. We will have no formal\nparting. It will be too painful.\"\n\nAs Mr. and Mrs. Lewellin had exceeded the time which they had\noriginally contemplated spending on their tour, they now proceeded\nhomewards to Rockhill, where they found Mr. and Mrs. Roscoe, and a\nfew other friends, waiting to welcome them to their new home. The\nmeeting was a delightful one, nothing having occurred to either\nparty, during their absence, to occasion annoyance or perplexity.\n\nA few months after their return, Mrs. Lewellin received the\nfollowing letter from Miss Rawlins:--\n\n     \"DEAR MRS. LEWELLIN,--It will give you, I have no doubt, some\n     pleasure to hear that I am again in my father's house, and in\n     the enjoyment of perfect health and vigour. And you will, I\n     doubt not, unite with me in humble adoration and gratitude to\n     the God of all grace, not only for the grace bestowed on me--one\n     of the most worthless of the unworthy--but for his marvellous\n     loving-kindness to my dear father, who is so much delighted,\n     and so deeply moved by the preaching of the Rev. J. H. Evans,\n     that he attends his chapel with me regularly every Sabbath.\n     Though there is no decisive evidence that he is become a new\n     creature in Christ Jesus, yet I hope he is entering the narrow\n     way that leads to life. He spends much of his time in reading\n     his Bible and Doddridge's _Exposition_, and is very earnest in\n     his inquiries about coming to Christ to be saved. Truly the\n     God of grace often works wonders. My endeared friend, Miss\n     Forrester, whom you saw with me at Malvern, is now, and is\n     likely to continue to be for some time, an inmate in our family.\n     We were one in spirit when we were living and moving amidst the\n     frivolous and ensnaring gaieties of life; and we are still one\n     in spirit now we are both united to the Lord; but it is a spirit\n     of a purer nature, and one that death cannot destroy.\n\n     \"I often think of our unlooked-for meeting at Malvern, and the\n     pleasant hours of Christian intercourse we spent together when\n     there. I hope both you and Mr. Lewellin have been enjoying good\n     health since your return home. I need not say how glad I shall\n     be to hear from you. Write soon, and believe me, ever yours,\n\n     \"LETITIA.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE WANDERER'S RETURN.\n\n\nSome months having now elapsed since Mr. Lewellin's marriage, I\nset off to pay my long promised visit to my esteemed friend and\nhis lady. I was accompanied by Mrs. Orme, who joined me in London\nfrom the Elms, and after a pleasant journey we arrived safely at\nRockhill. It was promptly decided that the first half of my time\nshould be spent with them, and the other at Fairmount, with Mr. and\nMrs. Stevens. The day after my arrival, I took a stroll round the\nfarm with Mr. Lewellin, and I was much gratified by its general\nappearance. I did not see his bailiff, Harry Pickford, as he was\ngone to Weyhill fair, to purchase a few South-down sheep; but I\nhad great pleasure in hearing that his master had every reason to\nbe satisfied with him, and that great confidence was placed in his\njudgment and activity. \"He is,\" Mrs. Lewellin facetiously remarked,\n\"an able professor in the science of agriculture; and I think,\nSir, if you examine Mr. Lewellin, you will pronounce him an apt\nscholar. He has made much rapid progress in his studies during the\nsession;--he may possibly take a degree.\"\n\nOn the Sabbath it was arranged, while we were at breakfast, that\nMrs. Orme should ride to church with our kind host and hostess;\nbut I preferred walking, as I wished to take the same route I\nhad taken some years before, and ascertain, if possible, what\npractical effect had resulted from my casual advice to Robert\nCurliffe, whom, on a previous occasion, I had found working in his\ngarden,[36] with his two sons. It was a fine autumn morning, without\na cloud; the air was genial and invigorating, and the stillness of\nthe solitary lane along which I was passing formed an agreeable\ncontrast to the noise and bustle of the thronged streets of my town\nresidence. Robert's cottage still stood where I first saw it, but\nits appearance was greatly improved, and his garden was in a higher\nstate of cultivation. These were auspicious signs, and formed, as\nwill shortly be seen, fresh illustrations of an oft-repeated remark,\nthat the work of grace in the heart contributes to the promoting of\ntemporal as well as spiritual comfort. On entering his cottage, I\nfound him dressed in his Sunday clothes, with his Bible beside him\non the table, and in his hand Fuller's _Gospel its own Witness_. He\nexpressed great joy at seeing me; and his wife, offering me a chair,\nsaid, \"You will see a change here, Sir, since your first visit; the\ngrace of God is a wonder-working power.\"\n\n  [36] Vol. i. p. 110.\n\n\"And I suppose you are both happier than when you preferred working\nin the garden on the Sabbath to going to church?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir,\" said Robert, \"we are; and we are better off in worldly\nmatters. Our home is a quieter home. Our lads are more orderly in\ntheir manners, and both go to Mr. Ingleby's Sunday-school. We are a\nreformed family.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't like,\" said Robert's wife, \"for things to go back into\ntheir old state; it would be like a good garden going back to a\ncommon waste.\"\n\n\"You have now something of more importance to think about and talk\nabout, than about planting and weeding your garden.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, the wonderful facts of the Bible; especially God's\nunspeakable gift of a Saviour who is able and willing to save us.\"\n\n\"What the Lord has done for us in our souls, since you had the first\ntalk with our Robert, has given me a wonderful liking to the Bible,\nand to Mr. Ingleby's preaching. Before that time, if I read a bit\nof a chapter, I could not make out its meaning; and if I heard a\nsermon, it made no impression on my heart; it came in at one ear,\nand went out at t'other. Ah! dear; things are wonderfully changed\nin us. I shouldn't like them to be changed back again; it would be\nworse than seeing our garden overrun with thistles and nettles.\"\n\nI now pressed on to church. The Curate read the Liturgy with\ngreat solemnity and pathos. My Dissenting prejudices subsided as\nI listened to the solemn words of prayer; and the responses had a\nsoul-inspiring effect. \"Yes,\" I said to myself, \"the prayers are\nsimple, sublime, and appropriate; they are such as a sinner should\noffer up, when kneeling before the Lord; they prepare the heart to\nunite with the voices of the heavenly kingdom in their chorus of\nthanksgiving and praise.\" At length I saw the vestry door open; the\nvenerable Rector walked out, ascended the flight of stairs, and\nentered his pulpit. After a short extempore prayer, he announced his\ntext--\"And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a\ngreat way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and\nfell on his neck, and kissed him\" (Luke xv. 20).\n\nOn my previous visit to Fairmount, I had observed that the\ninfirmities of age were fast creeping upon Mr. Ingleby, and this\nwas now much more manifest, though it could scarcely be wondered\nat, as the good Rector had considerably advanced beyond the period\ngenerally allotted to the life of man, being now upwards of eighty\nyears of age. His voice, however, was still clear and sonorous; and\nthough there was less activity and brilliancy of imagination, yet\nthe same bold and impassioned appeals to the conscience and the\nheart came from his lips as when I first heard him. He commanded\nthe attention of his audience, and he rewarded it. After describing\nthe old man walking anxiously up and down in the cool of the\nevening in front of his rural mansion, situated, it might be, in\nsome remote quarter of Palestine, he proceeded to recount his\nsupposed soliloquy, while thinking of his long-lost child:--\"'Is he\nstill living, or has he been devoured by some wild beast of prey!\nIs he in affluence, or is he in want! Does he ever think of his\nhome, and of his father, or has he forgotten both! Shall I ever\nsee him again! Shall I ever embrace him again, as I embraced him\nthe morning he left me! Shall I ever hear him address me 'father,'\nas I was once accustomed to hear him call me!' The old man is now\njust going to retire for the night, when something is seen moving\nin the distance--it advances--it is a man--a poor forlorn outcast,\ncome to ask for shelter; he shall not be denied; he looks more\nfixedly--the figure advances, yet it is still a great way off; it\nis--no, it cannot be; he looks--it is, it is my son! See how the\nold man runs to embrace the traveller! What a joyous meeting! what\na night of gladsome mirth and hallowed devotion! And who, beloved\nbrethren, supplies me with the materials for this dramatic sketch?\nJesus Christ. For what purpose? To assure us that our heavenly\nFather feels more compassion for a relenting sinner than he can feel\nsorrow for his sins; and that He feels more paternal delight in the\nexercise of mercy, than a sinner can feel joy by having all his sins\nforgiven him.\"\n\nWhen the sermon was over, I saw Farmer Pickford and his wife\nstanding at the corner of the lane, waiting for my approach.\n\n\"I am glad to see you back again. I have looked for this day, many\na day, and many a night, since you were preaching in the barn. You\nlook well, Sir. Time makes no change in your appearance.\"\n\n\"I hope, Sir,\" said Mrs. Pickford, \"you will come and see us; we\nshall be so much pleased.\"\n\n\"We have had, Farmer, a very touching sermon this morning.\"\n\n\"It touched me to the quick, and no mistake. I have shed more tears\nthis morning than I ever shed in any morning since I was born. It\nmade me feel a power of trouble, like.\"\n\n\"And it greatly affected me,\" said Mrs. Pickford; \"it made me think\nof our long lost George; shall we ever see him again?\"\n\n\"He, my dear friend, who brought back the prodigal of the gospel,\ncan bring back your dear son.\"\n\n\"I hope he will,\" replied the Farmer. \"I don't care in what\ncondition he comes home, so that he does come back, and I live long\nenough to receive him. He may come in rags for what I care. I'll\ngive him a capital supper, and a new suit; and we'll have a joyous\nmerry-making, and no mistake. You'll give us another sarmunt in the\nbarn?\"\n\n\"Yes, do, Sir,\" urged his wife; \"we shall be so pleased, and\nprofited, too. One of our neighbours, Mr. Richards, was so impressed\nby your discourse on the conversion of Zaccheus, that he is quite a\nchanged character. He was, before he heard it, a very irreligious\nman; but now he regularly goes to church every Sabbath morning, and\nto Mr. Stevens' chapel every Sabbath evening. And he comes to our\nweekly prayer-meeting; and we often have edifying conversation with\nhim.\"\n\n\"Before he heard that sarmunt,\" said the Farmer, \"Richards was just\nwhat I was before your first talk to me about my soul--a drunken,\nswearing sort of chap; but now he keeps as sober as a judge; and\nhis talk is quite heavenly. He gets on in the good things faster\nthan I do; I'm still but a dullish sort of a scollard; worse luck.\nBut after all, I know something about the one thing needful; that's\nworth knowing. The Lord be praised; and many thanks to you, Sir.\"\n\n\"I hope, Farmer, by this time, that you enjoy a well-grounded\nassurance, that you are accepted in the Beloved, and feel safe for\neternity.\"\n\n\"As for that, Sir, I must speak with great care. I must not be\ntoo bold. Howsomever, I don't fear dying, and that's a main good\nthing; a kind of a triumph, like; the Lord be praised. I love Jesus\nChrist--that's certain; I love my Bible, and I love the services of\nGod's house more than I used to love the ways of sin, and that is\nsaying a good deal. Will you give us another sarmunt in the barn,\nSir?\"\n\n\"Yes; and I will let you know when I can do it.\"\n\nI dined in the course of the following week at Mr. Roscoe's, and\nmuch enjoyed my visit. It revived a recollection of the discussions\nof former times, between him and his Tractarian brother, now become\nan able advocate of the faith he then laboured to destroy. I never\nsaw Mr. Roscoe looking better; his spirits were buoyant, rising at\ntimes to youthful cheerfulness. He abounded with anecdotes, both\ngrave and facetious; and was, indeed, the soul of the social circle.\nWe were deeply interested by the narration of an occurrence which\nhappened on the preceding day, and which I will give in his own\nwords:--\n\n\"I walked yesterday as far as Brushwood House, on a little matter of\nbusiness, and on my return home, just as I came to the corner of the\ncoppice, I saw a respectable looking young man sitting on the stump\nof a tree in the hedgerow. He rose, bowed, and said, 'My name, Sir,\nis George Pickford, and I am just back from a long roving trip, on\nboard of a merchant ship, and I have been watching a long while for\nsome one to go and tell father and mother that I am back safe and\nsound. I am afraid to go home till some one has told them that I am\nhere, because, as they don't know whether I am dead or alive, my\nabrupt appearance may startle them. And if, Sir, you will be so kind\nas to do this little job for me, I shall feel a power of gratitude.\nIt won't take you far out of the way.' After chatting awhile with\nhim about the places he had visited, I asked him whether he had been\nsuccessful and taken care of his money, 'Why, Sir,' he replied,\n'as I am so near home, I don't mind confessing to you what I have\nconfessed to no man since I came on shore. I have saved upwards of\n\u00a3130; and I have it in a leather bag belted round my body under my\nshirt. I kept clear of the land sharks in every port we entered. I\nhave for the last four years kept within compass--never gaming on\nboard, and never drinking on shore; but before then I used to do\nsuch things.'\n\n\"Mrs. Pickford saw me approaching the farm-house. She was all hurry\nand bustle to get herself, and her neat little parlour, in order\nfor my reception. I took a chair and talked some time about things\nin general, and then alluded to the sermon we had heard on Sabbath\nmorning. The tear fell from her eye, as she said to me, 'Sir, it was\na most painful sermon; it brought my George so forcibly before my\nmind,'\n\n\"'You may possibly,' I remarked, 'see him again.'\n\n\"'I don't expect it, Sir. He has been gone six years come the 8th of\nOctober; and we have not heard from him, or a word about him, since\nhe left us.'\n\n\"'Be of good cheer; you will see him ere long.'\n\n\"'Her look was now wild and penetrating; and she exclaimed, 'What,\nSir, do you say, and shall I see my George ere long?'\n\n\"'Be composed,' I added, 'I bring you glad tidings. Your George is\nback safe and sound; and he has requested me to come and tell you.'\n\n\"'Back, Sir! safe and sound; and you have seen him; tell me,' rising\nas she spoke, 'where he is, that I may see him too.'\n\n\"I then said, 'If you will sit down, and promise to remain seated\nfor the next quarter of an hour, you shall see him.'\n\n\"'A hard promise, Sir; but I thank the Lord he has given me an\nopportunity to make it.'\n\n\"I stepped through the fold-yard, hailed George, who was on the\nwatch, and then led him to his mother. I shall not attempt a\ndescription of the scene that followed. She sprang into his arms,\nand he into hers.\n\n\"'Mother, forgive me.'\n\n\"'I do, my child.'\n\n\"'I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight, my mother.'\n\n\"'I forgive all, my dear, dear George; and bless the Lord for giving\nme this opportunity of telling you so.'\n\n\"His younger brother and his sisters, who stood gazing and weeping,\nall gathered around him, as soon as his mother withdrew her\nembraces. 'But where is father?' I heard him say, as I retired from\nthis scene of domestic joy and happiness.\n\n[Illustration: M. S. MORGAN.\n\nT. BOLTON.\n\nTHE WANDERER'S RETURN.\n\nVol. ii. page 480.]\n\n\"One thing I must not forget to mention. When it came up in the\ncourse of our conversation, at our first interview, that I knew his\nold master, his robbery of whom occasioned his running away, he put\na letter into my hand, and asked me if I would deliver it to him. It\ncontained the amount stolen, with interest, and compound interest up\nto the present date: with a confession of his crime, and an entreaty\nfor forgiveness.\"\n\nWe were all deeply affected by this touching tale, particularly Mrs.\nLewellin and Mrs. Orme, who said, both speaking at the same time,\n\"We must go and see George and his mother, and congratulate them on\ntheir happy meeting.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the midst of life, we are in death. We had a most unexpected\nconfirmation of this during my stay at Fairmount. Mr. Stevens had\nengaged to accompany Mr. Roscoe to Norton, on a trifling matter of\nbusiness; and as they were to start at ten o'clock, Mr. Roscoe rose\nrather early, took breakfast with Mrs. Roscoe, conducted family\nprayer as usual, and then retired into his study. Mr. Stevens\ncame, and as Mr. Roscoe did not make his appearance, Mrs. Roscoe\nrang the bell, and desired the servant to call him. The servant\nwent to his room, knocked several times, but receiving no answer\nshe opened the door, and saw her master in the attitude of prayer.\nThis circumstance induced her quietly to retire, but on closing the\ndoor, she was so much struck with the singular position in which she\nhad seen his head, that she returned towards him, and immediately\nexclaimed in consternation, \"My master is dead!\" This exclamation,\nwhich was heard by Mr. Stevens, induced him to run up stairs,\nwhere he found the servant standing, petrified by terror, near\nher venerable master, who had, when engaged in the holy exercise\nof communion with God his Saviour, left the scene of his earthly\ncares and bliss, to take possession of his heavenly inheritance.\nHis hands were yet warm, and his countenance had undergone no\nchange, but the eyelids and the mouth had fallen--there was no\nrespiration, no motion, for he had ceased to be a citizen of earth.\nThe consternation which this unexpected event occasioned cannot\nbe described. It burst upon the family like a thunder-storm. Mrs.\nRoscoe hastened into the study. \"My husband, my dear husband!\"\nshe exclaimed, and was carried fainting into an adjoining room,\nwhere she remained for a quarter of an hour in a state of total\ninsensibility, unconscious of her loss, till she saw Mr. Stevens\napproaching her.\n\n\"And is my husband dead, Sir?\"\n\n\"Be composed, my dear friend, it is the Lord's doing.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, I know it; but it is still a terrible trial. Does Sophia\nknow it? Oh! tell her to come to me immediately.\"\n\nMr. Stevens hastened to convey the mournful tidings to Mr. and Mrs.\nLewellin. When he rode up the lawn in front of their house he saw\nthem returning from a morning's walk, and after an exchange of a few\ncommon-place inquiries, he took Mr. Lewellin aside, and communicated\nthe intelligence. Mrs. Lewellin, on looking through the parlour\nwindow saw that Mr. Stevens was the bearer of some news that deeply\naffected her husband; and feeling apprehensive that it bore some\nreference to her parents, she immediately rushed out, and asked if\nall was well.\n\n\"Yes, my dear,\" said her husband, \"all is well that the Lord does.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know it; but what has he done?\"\n\n\"Your father\"----\n\n\"My father! What! tell me!\"\n\n\"Your father,\" said Mr. Stevens, \"was taken suddenly ill this\nmorning, and when I left him was not able to speak to me.\"\n\n\"Is he living, Sir? O, tell me! Suspense tortures me! Let me know\nthe full extent of the calamity!\"\n\n\"Your father is now mingling his praises with the redeemed before\nthe throne!\"\n\n\"What! and have I lost my father? Is he gone without giving me his\nblessing? How did he die?\"\n\n\"We found him dead on his knees in the study.\"\n\n\"On his knees! O, happy saint!\"\n\n\"His death has indeed been a translation.\"\n\n\"And how does my dear mother sustain the blow?\"\n\n\"She wishes to see you immediately.\"\n\nThey hastened to the house of mourning, but on entering the\nbreakfast-parlour in which Mr. Roscoe had only a few hours before\npartaken of his last meal on earth, Mrs. Lewellin's feelings\novercame her. On recovering from this hysteric fit she became more\ncomposed, and expressed a desire to see her afflicted mother, and\nbeing supported by Mr. Lewellin and Mr. Stevens, she was led into\nthe room where the bereaved widow sat, silent and motionless, in all\nthe solitude and agony of grief. She rose to meet her daughter, and\nin a moment they were closely locked in each other's embrace, but\nthey were too much overpowered with anguish to utter any words but\nthose of sorrow. They wept aloud, but in their weeping there was the\nmajesty of grief, bending in unmurmuring submission to the will of\ntheir heavenly Father.\n\n\"And is my father dead?\"\n\n\"Yes, my child, you have lost your father, and I have lost my\nhusband.\"\n\nMrs. Lewellin looked round the room, and having fixed her eye on\nhis full-length picture, she approached it, and said, \"There he is!\nyes, there he is! My father! speak, my father! It is thy Sophia that\nspeaks to thee!\" She stood silent for a few moments, and then sunk\nin the arms of her husband. For several hours she continued in a\nstate of high delirium, but became gradually composed, and retired\nto rest. Next morning she awoke with her feelings less agitated;\nand though she wept when she saw her mother, yet she spoke of their\nmutual loss with more tranquillity.\n\n\"Though it has pleased God,\" said the bereaved widow, \"to deprive\nus of the visible presence of one we so ardently loved, we must not\nabandon ourselves to unavailing grief--we must not sorrow as others\nthat have no hope; but rather bow down our souls in submission to\nhis holy will and say, 'Even so, O righteous Father, for so it hath\nseemed good in thy sight.'\"\n\n\"I hope, my dear mother, I can repeat that sentiment; but still I\nfeel that I have lost one of the best of fathers that ever called a\nchild his own; and if I should be unable to control my feelings, I\nhope you will bear with me. Ours is no common loss.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTo relieve myself in some measure from the depression which this\nbereavement had occasioned, I bent my footsteps towards Farmer\nPickford's homestead, and there I saw his son George, and had from\nhim a rough outline of his adventures, which I will briefly narrate.\n\nHe left the port of London, on board a merchant vessel, in company\nwith Jack Summers, who had seduced him into the ways of iniquity;\nbut poor Jack fell overboard, and was drowned, before he set sail.\nHis first voyage was to Havana; where, one day, he went on shore\nwith the ship's carpenter. They visited the slave-market, where\nthey saw men, women, and children sold like beasts of burden. This\nsickened them, both of the West Indies and slavery; but he said,\n\"We served them out,\" for, on stepping into their boat they found,\ncoiled up in the jib-sail, a negro lad, about the age of fifteen,\nwho said, \"Me let go wid you.\" They contrived to get him on board\nwithout his being seen; George took off the top of an empty water\nbutt, put the negro in, gave him a bottle of water and some bread\nand cheese, and told him to lie still till the ship was under\nweigh. Early the next morning the negro's master came to inquire if\nthere was a black boy on board; and when the captain, who didn't\nknow anything about it, assured him that there was not, he turned\nback; and soon after the vessel set sail. \"We brought him away with\nus,\" said George, \"and he has been with me ever since, and he is\none of the best fellows of the crew for work.\" This voyage, upon\nthe whole, was a very pleasant one, and he took a strong liking\nto a seafaring life. His second voyage was to Madeira, and this,\nalso, was a pleasant one, notwithstanding a short though violent\nstorm, which, to quote his own expression, \"the little snug vessel\noutrode in gallant style.\" His third voyage was to Calcutta; but,\non rounding the Cape, they encountered a tremendous hurricane,\nwhich lasted several days and nights without intermission; fears\nwere entertained for the safety of the vessel, as she got fearfully\nstrained; and now it was that the captain discovered the superior\ncapabilities of George, for, having been apprenticed to a carpenter,\nhe was able to take the berth of the ship's carpenter, who died some\nweeks before. On his return to port, the mate was promoted to the\ncaptain's berth, who took the command of another ship; and George\nPickford took the berth of the mate. His character for sobriety and\nactivity gave much satisfaction to Messrs. B., his employers; and\nhe was a great favourite with the crew. Nothing occurred of any\ngreat importance for the next three years, till his last visit to\nCalcutta, when the ship was detained for upwards of two months; the\ncaptain giving him permission to go ashore as often as he pleased.\nHere he met a young man whom he knew--a native of Broadhurst, but\nnow a resident in Calcutta--a decidedly pious man, who invited\nhim to spend the following Sabbath with him. He did so; and they\nwent together to the chapel in which Mr. James Hill, an English\nmissionary, preached. As he sat directly opposite the pulpit, the\neye of the preacher fell directly upon him--at least he thought so;\nand the text, \"Be sure your sin will find you out,\" (Num. xxxii.\n23), brought his sin of dishonesty to his master, undutifulness to\nhis parents, and his uniform forgetfulness of God, and contempt\nfor his authority, with such vividness to his recollection that he\nhastened on board as rapidly as possible. There, in the quietude\nof his own berth, he pondered over this new discovery, which was\naccompanied by a train of novel and poignant emotions. His soul\nwas overwhelmed with grief; but yet it was a grief which gave him\nmore relief than pain. It was pungent, but it did not drive him\nto despair. Mr. Hill, in the conclusion of his discourse, quoted\nthe words of Jesus Christ--\"Whosoever believeth in him should not\nperish.\" \"I caught hold of that promise,\" he said, \"and I kept hold\nof it; and I found it a rope strong enough to save me. I believed I\nshould not perish; I tried to pray, but could not get further than\nthe prayer of the publican, 'God, be merciful to me a sinner.'\" He\nstated that he longed for the return of Sabbath during the whole of\nthe week; and when it came, though his duties on board required his\nattention in the morning, yet in the evening he was at liberty, and\nhe again heard the same minister preach the glorious gospel of the\nblessed God. He felt its great moral power on his heart, reducing\nthe wild tumult of feeling to a peaceful calm, and giving him a good\nhope, through grace, of pardon and salvation. The next morning the\nship weighed anchor, and set sail; and he closed his statement to me\nas follows:--\"I left my home a wild lad, and a criminal; I lived in\nbold rebellion against God up to the age of twenty-three; I acted a\nmost unkind and undutiful part towards my dear parents, by keeping\nthem in a state of ignorance of my whereabouts. When I went into\nMr. Hill's chapel I had no more desire for conversion than I have\nnow to be unconverted; but the Lord had compassion on me, and has\nsaved me: glory be to his holy name. I am a brand plucked from the\nburning, if ever there was one plucked; now I wish to live to show\nmy gratitude to the Lord Jesus Christ, for saving me; and to do good\nto my fellow-sailors. I am glad to say that two of our crew are\nGod-fearing men; and we often meet together for reading the Bible\nand prayer. I had many precious moments, in prayer to the Lord, on\nour voyage back; and sometimes felt his presence near me, especially\none night in a fearful storm. I knew he had the winds and the waves\nunder his command. I trusted in him, and felt secure.\n\nOn my return to Fairmount, after this interview with George, I met\nthe Farmer, who gave me his usual hearty shake of the hand.\n\n\"Have you been to my homestead?\"\n\n\"Yes, and have seen your son George, and had a long chat with him.\"\n\n\"He is grown a finish sort of a chap. He's more of the gemman than\nhis father, and no mistake. He has seen a main bit of the world,\nlike. How well he talks; and what a power of matter he has to say.\nHe keeps us up rather latish with his stories. Some are funny\nand make us laugh; and some are shocking. Man is a bad fellow\neverywhere till the grace of God touches his heart. Howsomever,\nGeorge has scraped up a goodish bit of money. Ay, if a man has any\nluck at sea, he often gets on faster than we do here on land.\"\n\n\"Your son, I rather think, has found something more valuable than\ngold, or silver, or precious stones.\"\n\n\"The Lord be praised. Yes, he has found the precious pearl of great\nprice. That's a proof to my mind that Jesus Christ is everywhere,\nor my George would not have found him in Calcutta, which, he says,\nis thousands of miles off. I suppose he has told you about the\nsarmunt that made him feel all at once that he was in a new world?\nHe must have been as much surprised, when going out of the chapel as\nZaccheus was when he dropped down out of the sycamore tree. What a\nwonder-working power the grace of God is, and no mistake!\"\n\n\"You were not at home, I believe, when your son arrived?\"\n\n\"No, I had been all the morning, along with two of my men, doing\na bit of hedging and ditching in one of my lower meadows, t'other\nside of the hill. And all the while I was working, I was thinking\nover the sarmunt Mr. Ingleby preached on Sunday morning. It was one\nof great power; it touched me to the quick, like. And just as I was\ncoming down the hill, to get a bit of dinner, I saw a chap running\nacross the fold-yard into the house. I wondered who it could be.\nAfter a bit, he came out, and my mistress with him, and I saw her\npointing towards me. I felt all at once a power of strange thoughts\nrush into me; and I stood still as the chap was running towards me,\njumping over hedge and ditch, like a greyhound after a hare. When\nhe got a bit nearer, about five hundred yards off, I thought all\nat once it was the step and swing of George; and I heard him cry\nout, 'Father! father!' as loud as he could bawl; but for the life\nof me I couldn't speak a word more, and I couldn't have been more\nfrightened if I had seen two ghosts. I seemed stuck fast into the\nground with my tongue tied; so that I was obliged to leave him to do\nall the work of hugging, and kissing, and such like. When I got a\nbit over my fright, I told him I was main glad to see him back; and\nthat I would give him as good a supper as was put on the table the\nnight you gave us the sarmunt in the barn about the conversion of\nZaccheus.\"\n\n\"It must have been a joyous meeting to you.\"\n\n\"I have been thinking two or three times since, that it is almost\nworth while to lose a youngster for a year or two, for the delight\nof seeing him come back safe and sound. You should hear him read the\nBible and pray. It would do your heart good, Sir. Now, Sir, when\nwill you come and give us the sarmunt in the barn? George shall read\nout the hymn, and pitch the tune, and then you will have a sample\nof his cleverness in such matters. Old William, the shepherd, says\nhe'll take the biggest wether-bell he can find, and he'll go round\nto all the cottages and farm-houses in those parts, and cry notice\nof it. I must clear out both barns to find room for the people;\nthey'll come as thick as rooks after the plough. The Lord be praised\nthat I should ever live to see such joyous times and such wonderful\ndoings: no sham work; and I must not forget to thank you for the\npart you have had in them.\"\n\n\"You may expect me next Wednesday week.\"\n\n\"Very well, Sir, I shall expect you on that day.\"\n\n\"But one thing I have to request, and that is, that you don't get\nsuch a splendid supper as you did last time.\"\n\n\"I never trouble myself about kitchen matters. I leave that to my\nwife, whose name is Martha; and you know that the Bible tells us\nthat Martha always has a liking to give a good treatment to our best\nfriends. No, no, I mustn't speak about such a matter; if I do, there\nwill be a rookery in the kitchen.\"\n\n\"Then I must send her a note and make the request myself.\"\n\n\"Well, just as you like, Sir; but I guess it won't matter. Women,\nyou know, don't like to be put out of their way; and I am sure of\none thing, that if you give us a good sarmunt, as you are sure to do\nif you preach, she will give you a good supper, which she is sure\nto do if she does the cookery. Why, Paul says, if you mind, Sir,\nthat we must give our carnal things to them that give us spiritual\nthings.\"\n\nAs I was taking my leave of him, he said--\"Please, Sir, just stop\none minute. It almost got out of my head; but it's back again. Did\nGeorge tell you what he says to his mother and me? He says he is\nmate of this ship, which I suppose is a goodish sort of a thing;\nand he says he thinks he shall be made a captain after he has had\nanother voyage or two, which I suppose is something better; and he\nsays he'll take his brother Sam with him and show him Calcutta and\n----, I forget what he calls it, but it is where our tea comes from;\nand he says he'll make him a bonny sailor, which he says is better\nthan ploughing or turnip sowing. But his mother don't like this\ntalk, for she says she shall never sleep at night when the wind gets\nup and the lightning comes. Well, I would rather keep them both at\nhome, than let either of them go; but George has a desperate liking\nfor the sea: and it seems to be his calling, and we must trust the\nLord to take care of them. O dear, how I forget things! My thinkings\nabout George coming back to us and Sam going from us, drives almost\neverything out of my head. I heard Bob Curliffe say, as I was\ncrossing the lane on the top of the hill, that he heard his master\nsay to Mr. Hyde that Mr. Roscoe is dead, is that true, Sir?\"\n\n\"Yes; he died suddenly, yesterday morning, when on his knees in\nprayer.\"\n\n\"That's just how I should like to die, and no mistake. What a\nwonderful change for a man--all in a moment; from earth to heaven\nin no time! Mr. Ingleby will give us a grand sarmunt on Sunday on\nthis subject, or I am no prophet. I shouldn't wonder if he takes the\nmatter of Enoch's getting into heaven without dying. I should like\nthat way of going, but we must leave all to the Lord. After all, I\ndon't care how I go, or who sees me go, so as I get into heaven at\nlast.\"\n\nThe Farmer was right in his predictions. Mr. Ingleby did give us an\nexcellent sermon on the translation of Enoch; and this was followed\nby an admirable sketch of the character of our deceased friend. But\nI can do no more than transcribe the subjoined paragraph, which I\ntook down at the time I heard it:--\n\n\"When it pleaseth God to visit our friends with a lengthened\nindisposition before he removes them, we have the pleasure of\nadministering to them the consolations of religion--of exchanging\nthe expressions of Christian sympathy--and catching from their lips\nsome sublime expressions of anticipated bliss. The sufferings,\nhowever, which they generally endure are so keen and so poignant,\nthat in many instances we are thankful when the contest is over.\nBut if death comes in an unexpected hour, and bears off a friend\nwithout giving us any warning, we are plunged into the lowest abyss\nof sorrow, because we are denied the privilege of bidding him adieu:\nyet as a mitigation of our anguish we have this consolation, that he\nwas not called to _walk_ through the dreary valley, being borne as\n'on angels' wings' to heaven. In such a case his departure partakes\nmore of a translation than an act of dying; he oversteps the grave,\nand enters into the possession of his purchased inheritance without\nhaving his fears awakened by the solemnity of his removal, or his\npeace disturbed by the anxieties and distress which it occasions to\nothers. One hour he is with his friends on earth, busily employed\nin all the duties of his station--the next with his friends in the\ncelestial world, joining with them in their ascriptions of praise\nto Him that sitteth on the throne, and to the Lamb. One hour he is\nmourning here below over the imperfections of his character--the\nnext he feels himself made perfect in purity and in blessedness;\nand while those who revered and loved him are weeping around his\nbreathless corpse, he is taking his part in the exercises of that\nsacred temple in which the worshippers serve the Lord day and night\nfor ever.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt last the long expected Wednesday night came, and Mr. Stevens\ndrove me in his gig to Farmer Pickford's, where I found the barn\nfull of people waiting my arrival. His son George commenced the\nservice by reading a hymn, and he read it very well; he then led\noff the singing; his brother Harry, a good tenor, standing on his\nleft, and his father, a good bass, on his right. His mother, with\ntwo or three younger females, stood behind, and altogether a very\neffective rustic choir was formed. I selected for my text the 23d\nverse of the 11th chapter of the Acts--\"Who, when he came, and had\nseen the grace of God, was glad, and exhorted them all, that with\npurpose of heart they would cleave unto the Lord.\"\n\n\"This, my dear brethren,\" I observed, \"is very likely the last\ntime I may ever meet you, and address you, in this rustic temple,\nwhich is as glorious in the eyes of the Holy One of Israel, as the\nmagnificent temple at Jerusalem, which was his local dwelling-place\nin ancient times. For here he has condescended to visit you, though\nunseen, and listen to your prayers and your praises; and here the\nglorious gospel of his grace has proved his power to your salvation.\nYes, when you have finished your course, and the conflict is over,\nand when you have gained the prize of your high calling, your\nrecollections will hover over this hallowed spot, as the spiritual\nbirth-place of your immortal souls; where you were quickened into\nnewness of life; and where 'after that ye believed, ye were sealed\nwith that holy Spirit of promise, which is the earnest of our\ninheritance until the redemption of the purchased possession, unto\nthe praise of his glory' (Eph. i. 13, 14). I solemnly charge every\none of you to be faithful unto death, otherwise you will die in your\nsins, and be lost for ever. And how dreadful would such a loss be!\"\n\nThe service closed in the usual way, and the congregation dispersed.\nThe Farmer introduced several persons to me, who had received\nspiritual benefit from the sermon on the conversion of Zaccheus,\nparticularly his neighbour Farmer Richards, of whose conversion\nhe had previously given me some account, and who was invited to\nsup with us. This meal was as sumptuous as the former one. It was\nsoon over; and then before I rose from the table I thus addressed\nthem:--\"Great spiritual changes, my dear friends, have taken place\nin your family since I took my first meal in this kitchen. You,\"\naddressing Mr. P., \"were then an unenlightened and an unrenewed\nman, living without God in the world, without Christ, and without\nhope; but now, with your dear wife, you have passed from death\nunto life; have both tasted that the Lord is gracious; are made\nfellow-heirs of the grace of life; and can rejoice in the hope\nof your final salvation. Your first-born has long since yielded\nhimself to God, as one alive from the dead; and there sits by your\nside your long-lost George, unexpectedly restored to you, and made\na new creature in Christ Jesus before he came back to receive your\nparental benediction. And though the younger children are not yet\nbrought within the bonds of the covenant\"--(I was here interrupted\nby the Farmer, who, under an excitement he could not repress,\nexclaimed, \"I think our Sam is, for I saw him on his knees in prayer\nthe other night.\")--\"I am glad to hear this, and I trust that he,\nlike his two brothers, will yield himself to God, to be renewed,\nsanctified, and saved; and that his dear sisters will follow their\nexample; and that all of you will be saved, and glorified in the\ncelestial world.\" \"The Lord grant it may be so,\" said all. At the\nurgent request of Mrs. Pickford, I read a psalm, and prayed with the\nfamily. It was a solemn service--more solemn than any preceding one,\nbecause it was the last. Many wept when on their knees, and some\nwept when they rose up, to give and receive the final farewell. I\nhastily shook hands with every one in the room, simply saying, as\nI went out, \"Lord bless you, and keep you. I hope we shall meet in\nheaven.\" \"Amen!\" was the response, given with an earnestness and a\nsolemnity that was almost overpowering.\n\nWhen the Farmer came to button the apron of our gig, he again took\nmy hand; and he said, as the tear fell from his eye, \"The Lord be\npraised for sending you to taste my ale and cream cheese, and you be\nthanked for coming. I hope you will pray for me, that I may stick\nclose to the Lord, with all my heart and soul; and I hope you will\nalways pray for our George and his brother Sam, when the wind gets\nup. Good night, gemmen; a safe ride to Fairmount. Farewell.\"\n\n\n\n\nA STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.\n\n\nOne morning, while at breakfast at Fairmount, I was surprised by\na note from Mr. John Ryder, requesting the favour of a call from\nme, at Aston, before I returned home. The reader will remember Mr.\nRyder[37] as a suitor of Miss Denham, and the affecting farewell of\nthe latter to him on her death-bed.\n\n  [37] Vol. i. p. 420.\n\n\"There is a mystery in this,\" said Mr. Stevens, \"which I cannot\naccount for. I have not seen Mr. Ryder for many months. Miss\nDenham's death was a dreadful blow to him, and since then he has\nnever recovered his wonted spirits, but become quite a recluse,\nneither paying nor receiving any visits.\"\n\n\"Who can tell?\" I remarked; \"her death may issue in his spiritual\nlife. I will send a reply, saying that I will call on him to-morrow\nevening.\"\n\n\"He is a noble character,\" said Mrs. Stevens; \"and a young man\nof great intelligence and most amiable disposition. I trust his\naffliction has led him to direct his attention to the only true\nsource of consolation. Indeed, I have some grounds for hoping that\nthis is the case, as I understand he has been very regular in his\nattendance at church for some time past.\"\n\nOn going to Aston the following evening to call on Mr. Ryder, I\nunexpectedly met him, and we walked together to his house. After\nthanking me for my promptness in thus responding to his request,\nhe proceeded to disclose to me, without much reserve, the deep\nperplexity and strongly excited state of his mind on the question\nof personal religion; asking me, at the same time, for my advice,\nand how he should act to obtain relief from his perplexities and\ndepression of spirit.\n\nHe frankly confessed that prior to the death of Miss Denham, for\nwhom he had long cherished a most ardent attachment, he had imbibed\nsome vague sceptical opinions against religion. Her dying farewell,\nhowever, both astonished and confounded him, particularly the last\nwords which she addressed to him:--\"We now part, but I hope not\nfor ever. Death, which is now removing me, may soon call for you;\nand then I hope you will find that consolation in the death of a\ndespised Saviour, which it has pleased God, very unexpectedly and\nundeservedly, to give to me.\" \"I never,\" he remarked, \"heard her say\nanything like this before. She was now entering the dark unknown\nworld; but it appears that she derived consolation from the death of\nJesus Christ. How is this? said I, as I withdrew from the chamber\nof death; and how can it be? I have said thousands of times since.\nHowever, what I saw and heard on that awfully appalling occasion\nleft an indelible conviction on my mind, that there is a something\nin religion suited to humanity at the most momentous period of its\nhistory. But what is that something? I said to myself. Is it a\nhidden mystery which the great teacher death alone can explain; or\nis it possible to get the mystery explained before death comes? This\nis the emphatic question I wish you to solve, as my happiness both\nin this world and the next depends on its solution.\"\n\nIn token of his sincerity, he told me that he had altogether\nwithdrawn from the gay world; regularly attended his parish church,\nand had taken the sacrament several times. He now read the Bible,\nand other devotional books, in preference to novels and periodicals;\nand went through a regular form of private prayer, both morning\nand evening. He closed by saying:--\"But, like a man surrounded by\na thick mist when crossing some wild moor, I know not whether I am\ngoing right or wrong--I can obtain no satisfaction.\"\n\nI was about to reply to this communication, when our arrival at\nAston, and the appearance of Miss Ryder, to whom I was introduced by\nher brother, put a stop to further conversation on the subject for\nthe present. We now entered the house, and while tea was preparing,\nMr. Ryder proposed that we should take a turn round the garden. In\npassing along, my eye caught sight of a beautiful figure of Ceres,\nresting on a pedestal. I remarked, that it was by a very slow and\npainstaking process that things of real excellence were brought to\nperfection.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Mr. Ryder; \"a few months ago that beautiful figure\nwas a rough, shapeless stone. I have often thought, when standing\nand admiring it, what an eye and what a taste its sculptor must\npossess! But after all, it wants life to give the full expression of\nbeauty.\"\n\n\"It stands as an emblematical figure.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir; of the productive power of nature.\"\n\n\"And, Sir, of something else.\"\n\n\"Of what?\"\n\n\"Of the man who has the form of godliness, but who has never felt\nits regenerating and life-giving power.\"\n\nHe paused, looked grave, but spoke not. After the lapse of a few\nmoments he moved on in silence, as though my words had excited a new\ntrain of thought in his mind. At length he said:--\"I do not clearly\nunderstand what you mean by the expression--the regenerating and\nlife--giving power of godliness.\"\n\n\"I mean the regenerating power of the Divine Spirit, creating anew\nthe human soul, and infusing into it spiritual life. 'You,' says the\napostle, when addressing the members of the church at Ephesus, 'hath\nhe quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins' (Eph. ii. 1).\"\n\n\"But is man, at any period of his moral history, living in a state\nof death? Such a supposition appears to me to be paradoxical.\"\n\n\"Before the regenerating power of the Divine Spirit acts on the\nsoul of man, he lives in a state of death, in two senses. We say,\nfor example, of the culprit who is condemned to die, that he is a\ndead man. His life is not his own; it is forfeited to the claims\nof justice. And thus, while living in an unrenewed and unpardoned\nstate, we are legally dead; our life is forfeited to the claims of\nDivine justice; and we are exposed to the penalty of the violated\nlaw of God.\"\n\n\"And what is that penalty?\"\n\n\"Condemnation, including in its infliction the forfeiture of the\nfavour of God; mental disquietude, remorse, and dread of death,\nexclusion from a state of happiness, on passing into the eternal\nworld; and banishment to hell, in despair, for ever. For it is\nwritten--'Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things\nwhich are written in the book of the law to do them' (Gal. iii. 10).\"\n\nHe again moved on in silence; and then suddenly stopping, and\nresting his eye for a few moments on the ground, he replied, under\ngreat excitement:--\"This, Sir, is a fearful condition of existence.\nIt is appalling. It chills my blood to think of it. Then my present\nrestlessness and disquietude of soul are the lighter inflictions of\nthis tremendous penalty--the premonitions of the coming storm of\nGod's righteous displeasure.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir; and they are given in mercy and in love.\"\n\n\"You surprise me. What! does mercy ever employ such terrific\nforerunners to announce her coming? If so, for what purpose?\"\n\n\"To rouse man, while living in a state of false security, to an\napprehension of his guilt, and consequent danger. They are, in fact,\nwarning voices, warning man to flee from the wrath to come, to\nrepent of his sins, and to make him feel the absolute necessity of a\nDivine interposition to rescue him from the peril of his condition,\nthat he may 'seek the Lord while he may be found, and call upon him\nwhile he is near' (Isa. lv. 6).\"\n\nWe now entered a tastefully constructed grotto, covered with ivy,\nsituated at the upper extremity of the garden. Here we had an\nenchanting prospect of the surrounding country, and stood gazing on\nit for a while in silence, when Mr. Ryder remarked--\"This, Sir, is a\nbeautiful world.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir,\" I replied; \"and it would have been a happy world, if sin\nhad not entered and defiled it, and thus marred our happiness. The\nbeasts of the field and the birds of the air appear to have escaped\nits withering influence. They are happy. It is only man, the noblest\nspecimen of the Divine workmanship, who is groaning and pining away\nin mournful sadness, under its polluting and destroying power.\"\n\n\"To me, Sir, it appears surprising that the Deity should have\npermitted sin to enter this province of his vast dominions, and\nallow it to become the active agent of so much crime and misery,\nwhen he could so easily have prevented it, if he had chosen.\"\n\n\"I am not surprised by your remarks, for unquestionably the\ndispensation under which we are living is awfully mysterious; but\nstill, notwithstanding the impenetrable darkness which envelopes\ncertain parts of the Divine procedure, other parts are plain\nand intelligible, obviously conducive to our present and final\nhappiness. Hence, if we act wisely, we shall turn our attention\nfrom what we _cannot_ know, to what we _may_ know-from concealed\nreasons and causes, to revealed facts. Instead, then, of perplexing\nourselves about the origin of evil, we shall sit at the feet of\nJesus, and he will tell us what God has done to repair the injury\nof the fall--'For God so loved the world, that he gave his only\nbegotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but\nhave everlasting life' (John iii. 16). This, Sir, is plain, and this\nis intelligible; and we are assured by the Son of God himself, that\nif we believe in him we shall not perish, but have everlasting life.\"\n\n\"Your remarks, Sir, interest me. They illumine the darkness in which\nmy own thoughts have been long revolving in shapeless con fusion.\nI begin to perceive that my salvation is possible. You referred\njust now to another sense in which man is dead, in addition to the\nforfeiture of his life, by his violations of the law of God; will\nyou explain what that other state of death is?\"\n\nOur conversation was here interrupted by a summons to tea. Mr. Ryder\nwas now profoundly silent on the questions which had engrossed our\nattention, leaving an impression on my mind that his sister had\nno sympathy with his spiritual anxieties and depression. She was\nabout twenty-five years of age, of very pleasing manners, and an\napparently amiable disposition--neither obtrusive nor reserved;\nsprightly, and somewhat of a facetious turn. When looking at\nand listening to her, the words which our Lord addressed to the\naccomplished young ruler of Judea involuntarily occurred to me--\"One\nthing thou lackest.\" Her brother now proposed another stroll in the\ngarden, which was prevented by the arrival of some visitors, and the\nrest of the evening passed away without any recurrence to our former\ntopic of conversation. On taking leave, Mr. Ryder made me promise\nthat I would soon repeat my visit, which I accordingly did in the\ncourse of the ensuing week.\n\nOn this occasion I again met Mr. Ryder, as before, taking an\nevening stroll, and we walked to Aston together. On passing an old\ndilapidated mansion, we saw its proprietor standing in the porch, a\nnondescript both in appearance and character. \"That, Sir,\" said Mr.\nRyder, \"is the most singular man I ever knew; he is very wealthy,\nand leads a very selfish and sensual life; he loves nothing but\nhimself, his dogs, and his gun. He has sympathy for a dog when in\npain, but none for a human being. His dogs are fed sumptuously, and\ntaken the greatest care of, but he has never been known to give\nanything in charity to his own species. He shuns all intercourse\nwith his fellow-men, and is, in fact, a perfect misanthrope--a\nbeing without a heart. Not long ago, his father, who lives in\nextreme poverty in the adjoining county, came to see him, but he\nperemptorily ordered him away without giving him bit or drop.\"\n\n\"This man,\" I replied, \"loving nothing but himself, his dog, and his\ngun, not even his own father, is happily a very rare case, but it is\none which is both illustrative and suggestive. He is a living emblem\nof the unregenerate man; who is a selfish being, loving nothing but\nwhat ministers to his own sensual gratifications. He has no heart\nto revere and love his heavenly Father, and is consequently unfit\nfor heaven, and unfit to live amongst, and associate with the pure\nand happy spirits who dwell there. If he were taken to heaven in his\npresent moral and spiritual condition, he would appear as strange a\nbeing amongst them, as this man does amongst you--shunning all, for\nwant of congeniality of taste and disposition; and shunned by all\nas odious and repulsive; his expulsion would be an act of necessity,\nboth in relation to himself and to others. Hence it is obvious from\nthe nature of the case, as well as from the Word of God, that before\nan unregenerate man is meet for heaven, the sentence of condemnation\nwhich is recorded against him must, by an act of free grace, be\nrepealed, and then all his sins are forgiven. In addition to this,\nhe must be renewed in the spirit of his mind, and a spiritual life\nmust be breathed into him by the power of the Divine Spirit.\"\n\n\"I have, Sir, I think, a clear apprehension of what you mean by an\nact of grace in repealing the sentence of condemnation recorded\nagainst us for the sins we commit; but you say, that in addition to\nthis we need the infusion into our mind of a new life, which you\ncall a spiritual life. But if we are pardoned by an act of free\ngrace, will not this secure to us an admission into heaven, without\nthat additional operation to which you refer, and of which I can\nform no clear conception?\"\n\n\"The exercise of free grace in pardoning a sinner is merely\nexempting him from a liability to punishment in this world,\nand in the world to come; but if he remain unrenewed, he will\nbe the same in his moral principles, in his predilections, and\nantipathies, after he is pardoned, as he was while under a sentence\nof condemnation. He will feel no filial reverence for God; the love\nof Christ will not glow in his soul; he will possess no aptitude to\nhold fellowship with the pure spirits of the celestial world; nor\ncan he live and move amongst them with dignity and ease, as one of\ntheir order.\"\n\n\"I perceive, Sir, the drift of your meaning; but yet it is enveloped\nin mysticism. One moment I seem to have it; but it is gone ere I can\nlay hold of it; it flits before me, and vanishes. However, there is\none question which I shall feel obliged by you replying to: By what\nprocess can I originate, or get originated, this new spiritual life\ninto my soul; and how must I set about it?\"\n\n\"You cannot, Sir, originate it. As you cannot pardon yourself,\nneither can you renew yourself.\"\n\nThis remark fell with terrible force on his spirit, and cast a deep\ngloom on his countenance. He looked fearfully anxious, like a man\nwho, on gaining an eminence apparently beyond the reach of the tide,\nsees his connection with the shore cut off by the unexpected rising\nof the waters.\n\n\"I am, then, in a hopeless condition! It appears, Sir, from your\nstatement, that I came into existence in a state of spiritual death,\nand consequent condemnation, without possessing any self-quickening\npower. This, if true, forces upon me the conviction that I must look\nupon myself as a poor unfortunate being, involved in a tremendous\ncalamity, which I could not avoid, and from which I cannot extricate\nmyself. Why, Sir, I am in a state of hopeless and irrecoverable\nmisery.\"\n\n\"No, Sir, neither irrecoverable nor hopeless; for God, who is rich\nin mercy to pardon, is also rich in mercy to renew and quicken you\ninto newness of life.\"\n\n\"But will He do it?\"\n\n\"Yes, if you are willing to have it done.\"\n\n\"Willing! Sir; I am anxious to be saved, and saved on any terms,\nand by any process. I am willing to submit to any privations, any\nself-humiliation, any physical or mental tortures, to obtain the\nhope of salvation.\"\n\n\"One of the principles of God's wise and gracious administration\nis embodied in the following absolute promise made to his ancient\npeople, accompanied by its contingent condition:--'A new heart also\nwill I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will\ntake away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you\nan heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause\nyou to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and do\nthem. Thus saith the Lord God; I will yet for this be enquired of by\nthe house of Israel, to do it for them; I will increase them with\nmen like a flock' (Ezek. xxxvi. 26, 27, 37). A new spirit and a new\nheart is what you need, and now want; this God alone can give, and\nfor this you must pray with great earnestness.\"\n\nWe now arrived at Aston, where, after having tea, we sauntered\nout as before into the garden, and entered the grotto to admire\nthe view. Here Mr. Ryder resumed the thread of our conversation\nby saying:--\"Permit me to ask you a question, which I feel to be\nimportant. When the Divine Spirit breathes this spiritual life into\nthe soul of a man who has been living in a state of spiritual death,\nis he conscious of the change produced?\"\n\n\"In some rare instances, I believe that a man does feel the action\nof the renewing and life-giving power of the Divine Spirit, at the\nvery instant of time he is passing from death to life, though he may\nnot then know by whom the spiritual operation is performed.\"\n\n\"But, Sir, as it is only rarely that such a sudden transition\nfrom death to life takes place, by what signs are we to determine\nits actual occurrence, when it is the result of a more lengthened\nprocess?\"\n\n\"I believe the infusion of spiritual life in the soul of man is\nalways an instantaneous act, though a long time may and often does\nelapse before he actually knows that he is quickened into newness\nof life. And in all cases the signs by which we may decide as\nto its actual occurrence, are very similar to those by which we\ndetermine the reality of our physical existence. For example, I am\nconscious that I am alive, because I breathe, feel, see, and hear,\nwhich I could not do if I were not alive. By a similar criterion\nwe arrive at a satisfactory belief of the reality of our spiritual\nlife. I am made alive from the dead; and as a proof of it, I can\nutter the voice of prayer and of praise. I _feel_ sin to be a\nloathsome burden, offensive to my taste; I can _see_ the glory of\nChrist displayed in his life, in his sufferings, and in his death.\nI can _hear_ the voice of the Lord speaking to me in his promises,\nto comfort and strengthen me; and in his precepts, commanding my\nsubjection and resignation to his sovereign will; I can _walk_ in\nthe way of his commandments, and feel obedience to be a source of\ngratitude and delight. I often _hunger_ and _thirst_ after a more\nperfect conformity to his righteousness; and now my meditations on\nGod are sweet and delightful; and I can say--'Whom have I in heaven\nbut thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee'\n(Psal. lxxiii. 25). These are the unmistakeable signs of spiritual\nlife.\"\n\n\"You certainly, Sir, have supplied me with ample materials for\nthinking and reflection, and made an opening for my more easy\nunderstanding of the Bible. But there is one question of a more\ndirect personal nature, which I wish to propose, and it is\nthis--What am I to do? I am restless and unhappy. I want relief.\nWhere, and how, can I obtain it? What positive thing am I to do,\nor suffer, to obtain it? That is the great question with me _now_.\nI perceive that the ulterior design of the Christian scheme of\nrevelation is to restore man to the moral state from which he is\nfallen; but I have now to do with the present time, and the present\nstate of my mind. What am I to do, or suffer, to gain peace of mind,\nand get that new spiritual life, of which you have been speaking?\"\n\n\"I am happy, Sir, that it is in my power to give a specific, and\nI trust a satisfactory reply to your question. You are awakened\nout of your long dormant state of moral insensibility, to see and\nto feel your real character and condition in relation to God and\neternity. This is the primary cause of your mental disquietude and\nrestlessness. You have sought for relief in the outward forms of\nreligion, and in the services and sacraments of the Church; but you\nhave not succeeded in obtaining it. These expedients have proved\nto you the mirage of hope, not the well-spring of relief. Happily,\nthere is a relieving power yet in reserve, which will not deceive or\ndisappoint you--'For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that\nwhich was lost' (Luke xix. 10). As Jesus Christ came into the world\nto save sinners, he will not refuse to save any sinner who makes his\nappeal to his compassion and his power. Indeed, he assures us--'All\nthat the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to\nme I will in no wise cast out' (John vi. 37).\"\n\nHe now arose, evidently much impressed, and walked slowly out of the\ngrotto, pacing to and fro along the gravel walk. After some time I\nmoved off in an opposite direction; but at length we again met.\n\n\"I hope, Sir,\" he said, \"you will excuse my uncourteous act in\nleaving you; but I wished, by a little calm reflection, to settle in\nmy mind the important statement which you have given me, before the\nvivid impressions which it produced went off. I trust I shall long\nremember this interview; and I hope the day may come when you will\nhail me as a fellow-disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ.\"\n\nI then prayed with him, and shortly after took my departure. I did\nnot see his sister on this occasion, as she was from home, but I\nleft a copy of Dr. Doddridge's _Sermons on Regeneration_, with a\nnote begging her acceptance of it, and a request that she would read\nit carefully.\n\nSeveral months after this visit, when I had returned home to my\nordinary duties, I received the subjoined letter from Mr. Ryder,\nwhich I read with emotions of gratitude and praise to Him who works\nall things after the counsel of his own will:--\n\n     \"ASTON, _25th February, 18--_.\n\n     \"REV. AND DEAR SIR,--The conversation which passed between us,\n     when I had the pleasure of a visit from you some months since,\n     supplied the clue which I had long been searching for, to a\n     right understanding of the Word of God on the great practical\n     questions relating to my present happiness and final salvation.\n     I know that my knowledge is still very superficial, but I trust\n     I now understand the hidden mystery; what it is to pass from\n     death to life; and from a state of guilt and condemnation to\n     pardon and acceptance. I have taken the one decisive step,\n     and cast myself at the feet of the Saviour, pleading his own\n     promise, and he has given me rest. I have now obtained--what I\n     long sought for in vain--peace of mind, and a good hope of final\n     happiness; because I have been diverted from the refuge of lies,\n     in which I too long trusted, to the true source of consolation.\n\n     \"You will not be surprised to hear, that the ministry of the\n     Rev. Mr. Cole became more and more distasteful, as I advanced\n     in my knowledge of Christ and the mystery of redemption, till\n     at length I reluctantly withdrew from his church, which I have\n     attended from my childhood. I now attend the church of the Rev.\n     Mr. Guion, an excellent preacher and pastor, whom I believe you\n     know. And it is with no slight emotions of joyous delight, that\n     I have it in my power to inform you, that my beloved sister has\n     been brought to feel the renewing influence of religion on her\n     heart. This blessed result has been brought about by reading the\n     incomparable sermons of Dr. Doddridge, which you so kindly gave\n     to her. Being favoured with the enlightened and soul-searching\n     ministry of our excellent pastor, she soon obtained joy and\n     peace in believing. While I was left to wander in darkness, or\n     in twilight, through many an anxious month, at times nearly\n     despairing of a successful issue, her translation from darkness\n     into light was almost instantaneous. She is now my helper in the\n     Lord; and the affection which always subsisted between us is now\n     doubly strengthened by the ties of Christian love and sympathy.\n\n     \"I hope that ere long you will again be in this part of the\n     country; and I need not say how glad my sister and I should be\n     to see you.--With every sentiment of respect, in which Anna\n     joins, believe me, yours very sincerely,\n\n     J. RYDER.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCEPTIC RECLAIMED.\n\n\nBefore leaving Fairmount to return home, I was unexpectedly\ngratified by a letter from Mr. Gordon, who had learned, from a\nmutual acquaintance, of my having gone to pay a visit to my friends\nin the west of England. His communication, upon the whole, much\npleased me, and revived hopes which had almost ceased to exist. It\nsatisfied me that his mind was restless, yielding in some slight\ndegree to the force of facts and evidence, though he still clung\npertinaciously to his sceptical notions. He wrote as follows:--\"I\nhave been prosecuting my inquiries on what you call the grand\nquestion, having read carefully Dr. Bogue's essay, which you kindly\npresented to me. I have also conned over some of the facts and\nevidences which you brought forward at our last interview.[38]\nThis, I presume, you will say is taking a step or two in the right\ndirection; and I suppose you will wish to know the practical\nresult. I will first give you the negative: it has not issued in\nwhat you would hail as a glorious triumph--my conversion to the\nChristian faith. No; I am what I was when you left me--still a\ndecided unbeliever. My heart recoils from admitting that a theory\nof religion, enveloped in such mystery, and accompanied by such\nconditions, can claim a Divine origin. However, this much I will\nconfess, that it has led me to revise, in some slight degree, my\nown theory of belief, or what you may call my disbelief. You will\nexcuse me going into detail, as that would spin out this letter to\na tedious length. I admit, then, that Christianity may work very\nbeneficially amongst savages; and it may promote the happiness of\npersons of intelligence and taste, who are trained up under its\ninfluence. I have now no desire to exterminate it. Indeed, I would\nrather consent to let the venerable tree, which has taken such\ndeep root in popular prejudices, or, if you prefer it, in popular\nsympathies, remain to afford shade and shelter to you who regard it\nas the tree of life, than I would touch it to injure it. No, Sir; I\nrespect the taste and feelings of others too much to wish to deprive\nthem of the object of their attachment and veneration.\"\n\n  [38] Vol. ii. p. 94.\n\nMr. Gordon concluded his letter by saying that he hoped to have the\npleasure of seeing me in London, as he presumed that I should pass\nthrough the metropolis on my way to my own town.\n\nAbout a week after receiving this letter I quitted Fairmount,\nleaving Mrs. Orme, who was still to remain for a few weeks longer\nat Rockhill. From the pressure of my engagements in the metropolis\nI was unable to make out my purposed call on Mr. Gordon. Having\noccasion, however, about four months afterwards, to go to London\nto preach a charity sermon, I set out one evening to see him; but\non reaching his house, was concerned to find that he was in a very\nprecarious state of health, and had been unable to go out for some\ntime. On sending up my card, I was at once admitted, and found him\nin the drawing-room reclining on the sofa. He looked very ill; but,\njudging from the expression of his countenance, I thought he was\nglad to see me. On making some inquiries as to the length of his\nconfinement, and the nature of his disorder, he made a reply which\nbrought on a lengthened conversation.\n\n\"It is now,\" he said, \"nearly three months since I was in the city;\nand it is doubtful whether I shall ever go there again.\"\n\n\"Is your disorder, then, of such a threatening character?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, it baffles Lawrence. But he is now trying another\nmedicine, which he hopes will take effect; if not, he says, I must\nprepare for the worst.\"\n\n\"I hope, then, you are making the necessary preparations.\"\n\n\"To be candid, Sir, I am the same man as when we had the last\nchat on the question of Christian missions, with this only\ndifference--then I was in vigorous health, but now I am prostrated\nby disease, and disease which threatens to be fatal, though it does\nnot give me much pain.\"\n\n\"You must no doubt feel some anxiety when so near death--on the eve\nof the final extinction of your being, or of passing into another\nworld of existence, and for ever?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, I am no stoic; and therefore I feel emotions both novel\nand painful. I would rather live than die, especially if I could\nrecover my usual health and energy; because it is better to be,\nthan not to be. The prospect of a termination to my existence is no\npleasing theme for reflection.\"\n\n\"Then you still believe that when death comes you will cease to\nexist, and perish for ever like the beasts of the field?\"\n\n\"That is my belief.\"\n\n\"But you may be mistaken.\"\n\n\"I admit it, because mere belief and positive knowledge are two very\ndifferent things.\"\n\n\"Then you are living in a state of uncertainty; as you know not\nwhether you will be annihilated or live on for ever in another\nstate of existence. Surely this must give rise to some fearful and\ndepressing thoughts.\"\n\n\"No, I cannot say that it does, because I think the Deity who\nbrought me into existence without my solicitation, and who has given\nme such a large portion of enjoyment throughout life, will still\nbefriend me, if he decide that I shall continue to exist after death\nin another world. That I shall continue to exist, however, I do not\nexpect.\"\n\n\"But do you not perceive the fallacious ground on which your\nexpectation is placed, unless you believe, and without any clear\nevidence, that the Deity has made a special dispensation in your\nbehalf?\"\n\n\"I don't quite understand you.\"\n\n\"Why, you infer that your future condition of existence, if you\nare to live after death, will be similar to the one which you have\nenjoyed here, and which has been, upon the whole, a very favourable\none. Suppose another person proceed on the same principle, he\nmust infer, that his future condition will be a most painful and\nunfortunate one, simply because his present condition is so. There\nis, then, a self-evident and a dangerous fallacy in the proposition\nwhich allows two persons to draw from it such opposite inferences,\nthe one for, and the other against himself, and without any\nreference to personal conduct or character.\"\n\n\"There may be a logical fallacy in my proposition, and in my\nreasoning on it; but it is the only ground of hope, when, in some\nmoments of misgiving, I am led to admit the possibility of passing\ninto another state of existence.\"\n\n\"Well, then, you are reduced to the necessity of making one\nadmission, which is a terrible rebuke to your sceptical theory.\"\n\n\"Indeed! and what is that?\"\n\n\"That your position, in relation to death, is an unenviable one,\nespecially when placed in comparison with that of a believer in\nChrist; indeed, it is one which should make you recoil in terror.\"\n\n\"I admit it. Yes, Sir, if you were in the same condition with\nmyself, you would, I have no doubt, have visions of celestial glory\nflitting before your imagination, and you would be in ecstasy.\nYes, a believer in Christ has a great advantage over us, when\nhe approaches the crisis of his destiny. No gloomy thoughts or\nanxieties harass his soul; but on the contrary, a brilliant prospect\nstretching far into eternity opens to his view. Yes, a believer in\nChristianity ought to feel a transport of joy in anticipation of his\ndeath.\"\n\n\"Then, on your own admission, death to a believer in Christ is the\nmorning star of a glorious day; but to a sceptic, it is the dark\nshadow of coming night.\"\n\n\"I admit you have brilliant visions, when death is coming to bear\nyou off; we have none, we see nothing but darkness, and feel at\ntimes the terror of uncertainty. I admit you occupy the vantage\nground then; you stand on what you believe is a rock; beneath us is\nthe moving quicksand. Yes, you die in general better than we do,\nor can do. There is no denying this; and I shall not attempt to\ndisguise it.\"\n\n\"Your condition, my dear friend, in my apprehension, is truly\nappalling. It agonizes me. I see you standing on the edge of a\ntremendous precipice. In a moment you may be lost, and perish, and\nfor ever. Shall I pray with you, before I leave you? The prayer of\nfaith may prevail for your rescue and salvation.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, dear Sir, without supposing that I undervalue your\ngenerous friendship. You would save me, I know, if you could. But\nI have no faith, and therefore it would not be honest to appear\ndevout, and I cannot compel myself to believe.\"\n\nI called again before I left London, but as he was asleep, I did not\nsee him; but I saw his housekeeper, a very intelligent, pious woman,\nin whose integrity I knew he had great confidence. She informed\nme, that when sitting with her master during one very restless\nnight; and thinking, from some heavy sighs which he occasionally\nheaved, that some new feelings were stirring within him, she said to\nhim--\"It is a great pity, Sir, that you will cling so firmly to your\ninfidel opinions when they cannot comfort you. You had better look\nup to the Saviour; he is able, and he is willing to comfort and save\nyou.\"\n\n\"Well, Mary,\" he replied, \"I admit it would be better if I could\nbelieve in a Saviour, as you do, than to remain in my present state\nof uncertainty; but I have no faith--I cannot compel myself to\nbelieve.\"\n\n\"Then, Sir, pray to the Lord Jesus, and he will give you faith to\ntrust in him for salvation. He has compassion for them that are out\nof the right way.\"\n\n\"But how can I pray, when I have no faith in prayer? It may all be\ntrue what you believe, and if it should, I am irrecoverably lost,\nand for ever; but I have no faith in such a tremendous issue.\"\n\n\"But, Sir, such a tremendous issue may be certain, even though you\ndo not believe it; and the bare possibility of its occurrence should\nalarm you.\"\n\n\"I admit that, but I can't compel myself to believe.\"\n\nI returned home with a heavy heart, feeling as a humane person\nfeels, on coming out of the prison, where he has had the last\nagonizing interview with an old friend, whom he has left under the\nsentence of death. Having requested Mr. Gordon's housekeeper to let\nme know if any change took place in his health, I received a note\nfrom her a few weeks afterwards, saying, the crisis was past, and\nthat he was so far restored, that he was now at Maidenhead, trying\nthe effect of a change of air and scene. This gave me pleasure--as\na respite sometimes issues in a rescue. His form was ever before\nme. Many a petition did I offer up to the Hearer of prayer in his\nbehalf; and more than once, on rising from my knees, I felt a strong\npersuasion that the prayer of faith would prevail. It was after a\nvery remarkable season of special devotion, when I pleaded with the\nLord with intense and hallowed earnestness, that I received from\nhim the following letter, which was an ample recompense for all my\nlabours and anxieties:--\n\n     \"REV. AND DEAR SIR,--I yield at last. My only hope for pardon\n     and peace is in the precious blood of Christ. My heart is too\n     full to write much. It is full to overflowing. Do come and see\n     me, and I will tell you all. I can secure you a spare room not\n     far from my own lodgings.--Yours truly,\n\n     ARTHUR GDORDON.\"\n\nI set off immediately, and spent several days with him; and had from\nhim and his housekeeper a detailed statement of the occurrences\nwhich had taken place, and which I will now reduce to continuous\norder, for the gratification of the reader. He had taken lodgings\nin a cottage occupied by a poor but pious family, and which was\npleasantly situated near the banks of the Thames. Though he had no\nregard for the exercises of family devotion, yet he had no very\nstrong antipathy to them. He therefore felt no annoyance by hearing\nthe good man read and pray with his family morning and evening,\nthough no one knew that he was in the habit of listening. The\nsimple, yet earnest petitions (as Mr. Gordon afterwards confessed)\nwhich were offered up to the Hearer of prayer, in behalf of the\nstranger, for his restoration to the enjoyment of perfect health,\nand that his affliction might be sanctified to his spiritual\nbenefit, often made a deep impression on his heart, but it passed\naway without any appearance of a beneficial result.\n\nAn incident now occurred which had nearly proved fatal to him,\nbut it was overruled for good. He went with a party of friends to\nspend the day at Marlow; and as they calculated on the probability\nof seeing some wild ducks, one gentleman took his gun with him. On\ntheir return down the river in the evening, they resolved, as it\nfelt rather cold, to walk the last two or three miles. In stepping\nout of the boat, one of the party slipped, and at that moment the\nloaded gun, which he carried in his hand, went off; Mr. Gordon, who\nwas a little in advance, and stooping down to fasten his shoe, fell,\nand his hat was blown to shivers. All were terror-struck, under the\nimpression that he was killed; but it was soon discovered that he\nhad sustained no injury, beyond a slight wound on the right side of\nhis forehead, and the tip of his ear, which were slightly grazed.\nThey pressed around him with their congratulations; one facetiously\nremarking, that he must have been born under a lucky star, to dodge\ndeath so dexterously, when it was so near him. The accident, and the\nescape, naturally engaged more of their conversation than any of\nthe other occurrences of the day; but there was no reference to the\nspecial providence of God, except in the usual strain of sceptical\nderision. \"A pious believer,\" said the facetious man, \"would be for\nkneeling down, and offering up a tribute of thanksgiving for your\nlucky escape, Gordon; and so should I, if I believed in a special\nProvidence.\"\n\n\"I don't believe,\" said another, \"that God ever interferes in such\nlittle matters; if he did, he could easily have prevented the slip\nof the foot, which was the first moving cause of the explosion; and\nhad he done that, Gordon would have saved his hat, and gone home\nwithout his scars.\"\n\nThese remarks, which at any other time would have been in harmony\nwith his opinions and sentiments, by his own admission, now grated\nharshly on his ears; he felt his spirit recoil from them, and for\nthe first time in his life wished himself out of such company. He\nwas somewhat astonished, as he confessed to me, by the suddenly\nawakened antipathies, which beat so strongly in his heart. On\narriving at his lodgings, he related to the family the particulars\nof his narrow escape from death; when the good man exclaimed, in a\nsubdued tone of pious reverence, \"The Lord be praised for protecting\nyou in such an hour of danger. This, Sir, is an instance of what\nthe Psalmist calls preventing mercy, for which you should be truly\ngrateful to the Lord.\"\n\nMr. Gordon knew that his servant united with the family in their\nevening devotions; and thinking that this accident and escape would\nform a subject of reference in the prayers of the pious cottager, he\nkept his door ajar, and sat and listened. He heard his servant say,\n\"My master is as kind a man as walks on the earth, and is thankful\nfor any attentions which are paid to him by any one; but he has no\ngratitude in his heart to the God of his mercies. He lives, as the\napostle says, without God in the world.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" replied the good man, \"if he offer up no thanksgivings\nto the Lord for his miraculous escape from death, we will do it\nfor him; and pray that he may be brought to feel as a child of our\nheavenly Father ought to feel.\" He then read the sixth chapter\nof the Gospel of Matthew, remarking, at the conclusion, that it\nwas a great privilege to be able to believe the consolatory and\nsoul-sustaining truths which they had been reading. One sentence in\nhis prayer was uttered with emphatic earnestness--\"We thank thee, O\nLord, for preserving the life of the stranger now sojourning with\nus, when it was so near death; and we pray that he may feel towards\nthee as a child ought to feel towards his heavenly Father.\" This\ntouched his heart.\n\n\"I never,\" he said to me, \"felt such an emotion as I experienced\nwhen that simple prayer was uttered. It was as thrilling and as\npowerful as it was sudden and unexpected. I immediately arose and\nseated myself on the sofa, and was soon absorbed in a train of deep\nthought. Yes, death came very near me to-night. He has marked the\nsigns of his nearness in the scar wounds on my forehead and my ear.\nWas it mere chance which gave me a hair-breadth escape from a sudden\ndeath? Yes, says infidelity; God never interferes in little matters.\nBut would it have been to me a little matter if I had had an arm\nblown off, or a leg broken, or been sent out of life into another\nworld; and probably to ----. No. It would have been a great matter\n_then_. Is my preservation from death to be regarded as a little\nmatter? Was God away from the spot where my friend's foot slipped?\nYes, says infidelity; and I should have responded to this saying\nbefore the event occurred; but I cannot _now_. I doubt my own faith;\nI renounce it. It may do at a club, or a convivial party; but it\nwon't do for the spot where death was coming, but where the victim\nhas been miraculously rescued from his power. 'AS A CHILD OUGHT TO\nFEEL TOWARDS HIS HEAVENLY FATHER!' Beautiful expression! Yes, I\nought to feel grateful to God; but I have never considered him as\nstanding in the relation of a father to me. But has he not on this\noccasion acted like one?\"\n\nOn turning and looking carelessly round the room, he saw his copy\nof Tremaine lying on the side-board. He took it up and opened it;\nthe chapter on Providence caught his eye, and he read it. \"This,\"\nhe confessed to me, he found to be but \"starlight-reading; clear,\nbut cold; brilliant, but wanting in power; expanding the intellect,\nand charming the imagination, but not finding its way to the heart.\nI read, and believed; read, and yet doubted. I was,\" he said,\n\"completely bewildered; but I recollect saying, O that I had the\nfaith of the cottager, or my servant, my mind would be in perfect\npeace.\"\n\nHis housekeeper, who, as yet, was ignorant of the novel process\nof thinking which was going on in his mind, informed me that she\nwas astonished and delighted one evening by his asking her for the\nloan of her Bible. She fetched it, and on giving it to him, said,\n\"That book, Sir, will do you good, if you pray over it when you are\nreading it.\" He read the sixth chapter of Matthew; read it several\ntimes; and when referring to it in our conversation, he said, \"What\na difference, Sir, between the two readings! Tremaine reasons\nclosely and clearly; he almost demonstrates and compels belief; but\nthere is no pathos, no power; the heart still remains sceptical and\nunmoved. Jesus Christ asserts, commands, and promises; the heart is\ncaptivated, and induced to place its trust in God. Yes! 'it must\nbe,' as the pious cottager remarked, 'an inestimable privilege to\nbe able to believe the consolatory and soul-sustaining truths which\nI have now been reading.' I believe NOW. But how is this? Logic\nhas not been reasoning. My intellect is dormant; and yet it is\nspell-bound by novel and solemn thoughts. It is making new spiritual\ndiscoveries, which, I believe, are grand realities, but which I have\nlong despised and rejected as legendary tales; and I feel tranquil.\nAnd yet, as the process of reflection goes on, I feel again\nbewildered. My calm is becoming a tumult; and out of satisfaction\nsprings up anxiety. Is this a delusion, or am I waking up out of a\nmental torpor amidst sublime spiritual realities? I am conscious of\na change which has come upon me, and very unexpectedly.\"\n\n\"You do not doubt its reality?\"\n\n\"No, Sir; it is no sham. I am as conscious of its reality as I\nam of my own existence. I am no sceptic _now_. I have no hostile\nfeeling _now_ against the remedial scheme of salvation. I adore\nChrist _now_. I can give him my heart. I am astonished by my own\nutterances; but they are the genuine expressions of my feelings.\"\n\n\"I presume, Sir, you ascribe the great change which has taken place\nin your belief, and in your moral taste, to a supernatural cause; to\nwhat the apostle calls the grace of God?\"\n\n\"I do, Sir. There are three things which satisfy me that this\nmarvellous change is the work of God. In the first place, I had no\nconception that such a change was either necessary or possible; in\nthe next place, I had no more power or inclination to effect it\nmyself than I have to raise a dead man to life; and then it has been\nproduced so suddenly, preceded by no intimations or anticipations\nof such an occurrence, and by such apparently inadequate means.\nThe simple prayers of the rustic cottager subdued me. They touched\nmy heart. I could, as you know, withstand the assaults of the most\nacute and powerful reasoning; your persuasive eloquence touched no\ncord of my heart. I could repel, with a sarcasm, the most awful\nwarnings; and stand immoveable when death was advancing to execute\nthe penal sentence; but I could not stand out against the simple\nprayers of the pious cottager. Indeed, I felt more inclined to yield\nthan to resist. It is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in my\neyes. He made me willing in the day of his power. On this principle\nit can be accounted for, but on no other. Reason, as well as\ngratitude, compels me to say--By the grace of God, I am what I am.\nBut O, my friend, where can I find language to give full expression\nto the astonishment and gratitude which I feel when reflecting on\nthe long-suffering and the forbearance of God, whose majesty I\nhave so often insulted, and whose authority I have set at nought,\ndefying his threatenings, and spurning his overtures of mercy! How\nmarvellous the condescending compassion and grace of the Lord Jesus\nChrist, who has at last brought me to penitence and contrition, and\ngiven me a hope of salvation!\"\n\n\"I suppose you now recal to your recollection, at times, some of\nthe subjects of our former discussions; both your objections to the\nvarious parts of revealed truth, and how I endeavoured to refute\nthem?\"\n\n\"In the first place, I may mention, that from the outset, on the\nSaturday evening we first met,[39] and through every succeeding\nencounter, I had a latent apprehension that you were right; and\nthat your belief, with its consolations and prospects, was far more\nconducive to human happiness, than my disbelief, with its suspicions\nand uncertainties; I clearly saw, that on your hypothesis, the loss\nof life, which is the greatest of human possessions, would be an\nincalculable gain; but on mine, it would be an irreparable loss.\nWhen reasoning in my calmer moments on these data, I arrived at\nthis conclusion--for man's sake the Christian faith _ought_ to be a\ngenuine faith, even if it is not so; and I recollect when you were\nassigning the causes which invest the name of Jesus Christ with such\ngreat power over the human mind on its passing through scenes of\nextreme privation and peril, and especially when passing from one\nworld to another, I felt that I would gladly exchange my disbelief\nand its uncertainties, for your faith and its assurances. I now,\nSir, by the grace of God, can add my testimony to the truthfulness\nof what you asserted in that encounter. The Christian faith is both\na renovating and consolatory power, and it does the work ascribed\nto it; it gives peace to a wounded spirit, and a hope full of\nimmortality to the guilty and morally worthless.\"\n\n  [39] Vol. i. p. 94.\n\n\"You would not now willingly be what you once were?\"\n\n\"Be what I once was! no, Sir. As readily suppose that a glorified\nspirit, if left to his own choice, would choose to come back to\nearth, to re-tread its polluting soil, to raise again the standard\nof rebellion against the Majesty of heaven, and again intermingle\nwith the workers of iniquity. Be what I once was! no, Sir. Like the\nman in the gospel who found the pearl of great price, I have no wish\nto lose what I have miraculously found; I have found the Messiah,\nJesus Christ the Saviour, mighty to save; and to his service I now\nconsecrate myself for life and for ever.\"\n\nHe took me one evening to the place where the gun-shot accident\nhappened, and when pointing with his stick to the spot where he\nfell, he stood a while speechless, the tears trickling down his\ncheeks, when he exclaimed, under the impulse of strong emotion,\n\"What a mercy that I was not blown from this spot into hell! On this\nspot, Sir, I have stood every evening since the accident occurred,\nto offer up my adorations and thanksgiving to the God of my mercies,\nand to echo the utterance of Paul, 'This is a faithful saying, and\nworthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world\nto save sinners; of whom I am chief' (1 Tim. i. 15). Yes, Sir,\nand I will visit it when the gray hairs of age hang upon me, if I\nam spared to old age; and shall I ever forget it when in heaven?\nBut the gun-shot and my escape would have proved the materials\nfor a profane joke in a convivial party, had it not been for the\nsovereign grace of God, who employed it as the precursor of my\nsalvation--'Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me,\nbless his holy name'\" (Psal. ciii. 1).\n\nHe continued at Maidenhead till his health was thoroughly\nre-established, and then he returned to London. On his reappearance\nat the counting-house, in which he had long held an important\noffice, he received the hearty congratulations of the firm, and of\nall his fellow-clerks, by whom he was greatly respected, for his\nclose application to his duties, his gentlemanly habits, and the\nkindness of his disposition.\n\nShortly afterwards he had occasion to pass through my town on some\nbusiness of his employers, and paid me a visit. We spent a very\npleasant evening together. He then informed me that he had had a\nvisit from Mr. Newton, and another infidel friend; who called with\ntheir congratulations on his escape from the gun-shot, and the\nrecovery of his health, and to propose an excursion to Greenwich,\nwith a party, on the following Sunday. This invitation he at once\ndeclined, and added, \"You probably will be surprised to hear that\nI renounce as false, and as fatal, all the sceptical sentiments\nand opinions I once held; and now embrace with gratitude and joy\nthe glorious gospel of Christ, as a true and sublime revelation of\nmercy and of grace. In future, my Sabbaths will be held sacred to\npublic worship, in preference to any other exercises or pursuits.\nAnd I would earnestly entreat you to turn your serious attention\nto the paramount claims of the gospel; its rejection, as a legend\nof superstition, will embitter your reflections and appal your\nanticipations in a dying hour.\" They listened to this with profound\nastonishment, making no other remark than simply wishing him well,\nand then abruptly left him.\n\nI took occasion from this reference to Newton and his companion, to\nremark, that it would have been a great blessing for himself and\nothers, if he had undergone this change at an earlier period of his\nlife.\n\n\"Ah, Sir,\" he replied, and the tear stood in his eye as he spoke,\n\"I reflect with shame, and at times with agonizing regret, on the\nefforts I have made to seduce others from the way of righteousness\nand peace. My friend Lewellin has happily escaped from the evil\ncourse into which I led him on his first settlement in London,[40]\nand he is now a bright star in the church of Jesus Christ; but I\nfear that some have passed into the eternal world, under the fatal\ndelusions with which I perverted their minds. These two old friends\nwho lately paid me a visit of congratulation, and others still\nliving, who are lost in the crowd of gaiety and dissipation, have\nsustained incalculable injury from the influence of my example,\nand the fatal tendency of my former sentiments and opinions. A\nrecollection of these facts will entail upon me bitter regret and\nstinging remorse through the whole course of my life; and though I\nmay obtain mercy from Him whose name I have so often blasphemed,\nyet from them I can expect nothing but the severest invective for\nhaving misled them, or the keenest satire and reproach for turning a\nrenegade, as they will term it, to the system of scepticism we once\nprofessed in common.\"\n\n  [40] Vol. i. p. 13.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RECTOR'S DEATH-BED.\n\n\nFor several years Mr. Ingleby's health had been gradually declining,\nbut to the last he displayed great vigour of intellect and vivacity\nof spirit. When I saw him on the occasion of my wedding visit to Mr.\nLewellin, he appeared to be still hale and active, notwithstanding\nthe great age which he had attained. In common with the rest of his\nfriends, I expected that he might still be spared for a few years\nto instruct them by his counsels, and animate them by his example.\nMr. Roscoe's death, however, proved a severe shock to him; he fell\ninto a state of nervous depression; and after a violent cold which\nhe took in going to visit a poor cottager, in a remote part of his\nparish, his parishioners began to fear that he would soon be removed\nfrom them. For several Sabbaths he was confined to the rectory;\nbut when he grew a little better, he resumed the discharge of his\npastoral duties. Though he brought into the pulpit the stores of\nknowledge which he had been collecting for many years, and felt\nhis spirit still glowing with the ardour of an intense affection\nfor the spiritual and eternal welfare of his hearers, his energy\nwas now considerably abated; his voice, which was originally full\nand commanding, became low and enfeebled, and he often appeared\nexhausted by fatigue, even before he had half finished the service.\n\nWe sometimes see a congregation, which a minister has collected\ntogether in the days of his vigour, forsaking him in his old age, to\npay their homage to the rising sun of popularity; preferring the\nvoice of a comparative stranger to that of their former shepherd;\nbut the venerable Ingleby was never deserted. The people pressed\nto hear him when the silver locks of age adorned his head, with as\nmuch eagerness as when he possessed all the energy of youth; and\nfelt as deep an interest in the last services which he conducted,\nas in any that had preceded them. It must be admitted that his\nsituation did not bring him within the immediate influence of\nany strong competition for public favour; but though many of his\ncongregation resided much nearer other clergymen, they nevertheless,\nat all seasons of the year, continued regular in their attendance\non the ministrations of Mr. Ingleby to the close of his life. This\nattachment to their pastor took its rise in the usefulness of his\npublic labours; and as he had uniformly conducted himself amongst\nthem as a holy man of God, devoting his time and his influence to\npromote their happiness, his character rose in their esteem as\ncircumstances gave him an opportunity of developing it. He acted on\nthe following maxims, which were given him by an aged clergyman, not\nlong after he took orders, and the practical utility of whose advice\nMr. Ingleby soon experienced in securing him the permanent regard\nof his flock:--\"Preserve the sanctity of your public character\nin the intercourse of private and social life. Do not visit your\npeople often, except when they need your visits, and then convince\nthem, that while you have no time to spare for the purposes of\namusement or recreation, you are ever ready to attend to the claims\nof pastoral duty. Avoid engaging in the commerce of the world; yet\nnever think that you are acting beneath the dignity of your station\nwhen engaged in giving advice to the inexperienced, or assisting\nothers by your counsels, to guide their affairs with discretion.\nLet the poor of your flock know that their pastor is their friend\nin adversity, their advocate when oppressed, and will be their\ncomforter when on the bed of sickness or of death.\"\n\nAbout a month before his decease he arose on the Sabbath morning\nfree from pain, the spirit of former times came upon him, and he\nfelt that he could get through the labours of the day, without\navailing himself of the assistance which his neighbour, the Rev.\nMr. Guion, had so kindly offered. The text from which he addressed\nthe congregation was taken from 2 Pet. i. 13, 14:--\"Yea, I think\nit meet, as long as I am in this tabernacle, to stir you up, by\nputting you in remembrance; knowing that shortly I must put off\nthis my tabernacle, even as our Lord Jesus Christ hath showed me.\"\nWhen he read the words, the attention of the people was immediately\nfixed on him. The effect which was produced by the delivery of\nthis discourse was very powerful. It was undoubtedly much aided by\nthe peculiar circumstances of the speaker, who was grown gray and\ninfirm in the service of the people, and who in his introduction\ninformed them, that he was led to the choice of the subject,\nunder an impression, which left no doubt of the propriety of its\napplication to himself. The aspect of the preacher, pale, emaciated,\nstanding on the verge of eternity--the simplicity and majesty of\nhis sentiments--the sepulchral solemnity of a voice which seemed\nto issue from the shades, combined with the intrinsic dignity of\nthe subject--perfectly quelled the audience with tenderness and\nterror, and produced such a scene of audible weeping as was perhaps\nnever surpassed. All other emotions were absorbed in devotional\nfeeling; it seemed to us as though we were permitted for a short\nspace to look into eternity, and every sublunary object vanished\nbefore \"the powers of the world to come.\" \"I had often heard him,\"\nsays Mr. Stevens, in a letter which I received from him, \"when he\nwas more energetic, but never when he was more impressive; when he\ndiscovered more originality of genius, but never when he displayed\nmore intensity of feeling; when he employed a more polished and a\nmore imaginative style of address, but never when he spoke with more\nauthority and power; and, thinking with the rest of the audience,\nthat he was now terminating his labours, I felt a high gratification\nthat he was enabled to bring them to a close with so much credit to\nhimself, as the able and faithful minister of the New Testament.\nHis appeal to the people, after he had finished his discourse and\nclosed his Bible, delivered in simple and unaffected language,\nsubdued the whole audience, and left us, when he had finished it, no\nalternative but an involuntary burst of sorrow that we should hear\nno more that voice to which we had so often listened.\"\n\nThe following is an extract from the Rector's farewell sermon:--\n\n\"My dearly beloved brethren, I have now served you in the ministry\nof the gospel for more than forty years, and am on the eve of\nclosing my labours amongst you. Looking back on my life, I discover\nmany defects in my character, and many imperfections in the manner\nin which I have discharged my public duties; these I most humbly\ndeplore; but I trust they have been only the ordinary infirmities\nof a Christian minister, who has uniformly aimed to reach a higher\npoint of excellence than he could ever attain. If I cannot, like\nthe great apostle of the Gentiles, appeal to the holiness and\nunblameableness of my behaviour amongst you; yet I trust I can\nto the ardour of my affection, and the fidelity of my public\nministrations; and while I would entreat you to cast the veil of\ncharity over all the blemishes of my character, I would, at the\nsame time, charge 'every one of you, as a father doth his children,\nthat ye would walk worthy of God, who hath called you unto his\nkingdom and glory.' The truth which I have preached to you is now\nmy support in prospect of the scene which is before me. The time\nof my departure is at hand. My course is nearly finished. I shall\nsoon stand before the judgment-seat of Christ. My eternal state\nshall soon be decided; and I shall soon know the final decision.\nBut I am not alarmed. I do not dread death. The judgment-seat does\nnot appal me. The final sentence awakens no fearful forebodings of\nsorrow. I am looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto\neternal life. Whether I shall ever be permitted to address you\nagain from this pulpit, is known only to Him who works all things\nafter the counsel of his own will; nor do I feel very solicitous\nto do so. If I should, I shall appear amongst you in weakness, if\nnot in fear and in much trembling; and if I should not, I hope you\nwill be provided with another minister, who will, either in this\nchurch, or elsewhere, as the Lord may direct, preach, to you with\nmore energy, and with more success, the glorious gospel which I have\nso often proclaimed to you. But I cannot leave you without saying,\nthat as I have not shunned to declare the whole truth of God in\nthe most faithful manner, if any of you should eventually perish,\nyou will not have it in your power to say that it was owing to my\nunfaithfulness. Any of you perish! What! will you reject the counsel\nof God against yourselves? Will you refuse to come to Jesus Christ,\nthat you may have life? Will you neglect the great salvation, which\nhas been made known unto you; and sink down to endless woe under\nthe accumulated guilt of your impenitence? Must I be compelled to\nappear as a witness against any of you, in that day when God shall\njudge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ according to my gospel?\nand, instead of seeing you accepted in the Beloved, shall I see you\nbanished from the presence of the Lord for ever? And must I now\nterminate my labours amongst you, under the awful impression, that\nwhile they have been the means of saving some, they have become the\ninnocent occasion of aggravating the just condemnation of others?\nand thus, like the apostle, while to some I have been the savour of\nlife unto life, must I be to others the savour of death unto death?\"\n\nWhen the service was over, many of the people crowded into the aisle\nthough which he passed; some stood in the porch of the church,\nothers along the pathway which led across the graveyard, and some\nfew followed him to the rectory, to shake hands with him and bid\nhim farewell; sorrowing, like the elders of Ephesus, when they fell\non Paul's neck and kissed him, most of all that they should see his\nface no more. This spontaneous expression of attachment, on the\npart of the people, deeply affected the venerable man, who wept as\nhe reiterated his parting benediction to the aged and the young;\nand though he had strength given him to go through this trying\nhour, yet, on entering his parlour, he complained of a giddiness,\nand immediately fell fainting into the arms of Mr. Lewellin. This\nexcited considerable alarm through the whole family; and one of\nthe servants, in the paroxysm of her agony, sent forth the report\nthat her master was dead. On his being removed into the open air,\nhowever, he soon revived, though, from the distorted appearance\nof his countenance, it was evident that he had received a slight\nparalytic stroke. He slept the greater part of the afternoon,\nbut towards evening became very animated, and for several hours\nconversed, with great cheerfulness, on the immortality of the soul,\nand its final and blissful destiny.\n\nWhen Socrates was under sentence of death, he assured his friends,\nwho came to offer him their sympathy, that his chief support\nin prospect of taking the fatal draught, was an expectation,\nnot unmixed with doubts, of a happy existence after death. From\nreasoning and reflecting on the subject, he had been led to the\nconviction that something of man remains after his decease, and that\nthe condition of good men will at last be better than that of the\nbad; but he could not discover in all his researches, any positive\nevidence in support of this opinion; and hence, while he expressed\na hope of entering the invisible world on passing away from this,\nhe candidly acknowledged that he had his doubts. \"My situation,\"\nsaid the venerable Ingleby, \"is more enviable than that of the sage\nof Athens. He doubted the immortality of the soul, while I firmly\nbelieve it. And why do I believe it? Not because my nature revolts\nat the thought of annihilation; not because I feel an instinctive\ndesire to outlive the triumphs of death; but because He who sees\nthe end from the beginning has said, that the wicked 'shall go away\ninto everlasting punishment; but the righteous shall go into life\neternal.'\"\n\n\"We ought,\" said Mr. Lewellin, \"to be very thankful to the Author of\nrevelation, for having announced the fact of our immortality in such\na clear and unequivocal manner; for it has always struck me, that no\nother argument can be admitted as conclusive, but the testimony of\none who has an actual knowledge of an endless futurity.\"\n\n\"I quite agree with you,\" said Mr. Ingleby; \"for how is it possible\nfor any being to know that I shall live for ever but that Great\nBeing who knows the end from the beginning? The communications\nwhich we have in the Bible, on this subject, are professedly his\ntestimony; but if we reject these communications as fabulous, we\nmust either give up our hope of immortality, as an idle fancy, or\nabandon ourselves to that state of dubious uncertainty, in which\nthe Athenian sage lived and died. And to this dilemma the infidels\nof modern times are reduced; hence, while they cannot _disbelieve_\nin a future state of existence, they cannot anticipate it with any\ndegree of confidence. If the gospel be, what they say it is, a\ncunningly devised fable, which has its origin, not in the records of\ntruth, but in the invention of man, it is a fable which is eminently\nconducive to human happiness; and I should consider that man my\nenemy, who would even attempt to expose its fallacy. I am now near\nthe close of life, the tomb is opening to receive me, and ere long I\nshall cease to be an inhabitant of this world. Am I to perish like\nthe beasts of the field? or am I to exist in another state of being?\nThese are questions which now present themselves to my mind, with\nan air of solemn majesty, which they never before assumed; but to\nwhom can I propose them, with any hope of obtaining a satisfactory\nreply? There is no voice which speaks, but that which comes from the\nexcellent glory; and that voice tells me, that this mortal shall put\non immortality; that death shall be swallowed up in victory; and it\nteaches me to offer my thanksgivings to God, who hath given me the\nvictory over the fear of death, and the terror of the grave, through\nour Lord Jesus Christ.\"\n\n\"The language,\" observed Mr. Stevens, \"which our Lord addressed to\nhis disciples, just before his departure, to assuage the violence\nof their grief, is no less calculated to afford us consolation\nunder our sufferings, especially when we are brought near the verge\nof eternity:--'Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God,\nbelieve also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it\nwere not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.\nAnd if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and\nreceive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.'\"\n\n\"I do believe in Him,\" replied the Rector, \"and enjoy the influence\nof that belief, in the calm placidity of my mind. I do believe\nthat he is preparing a place for me amongst the mansions of the\nblessed, and I enjoy the influence of that belief in the sublime\nanticipations of hope. Yes, I shall soon see him in all the glory of\nhis majesty, and in all the tenderness of his compassion; and with\nthe rest of the redeemed I shall soon bow down in his presence with\nmingled emotions of astonishment and delight! With astonishment,\nthat he ever condescended to love me, and to employ me in his\nservice; and with delight, at the scenes which I shall then behold,\nand the voices which I shall then hear. Then shall I be satisfied\nwhen I am assimilated to the Divine likeness.\"\n\n\"You have then no doubt of your final salvation?\"\n\n\"No, Sir; I wait for it as an event of absolute certainty.\"\n\n\"I perceive,\" rejoined Mr. Stevens, \"that you now make no reference\nto the opinion which you have so often expressed respecting the\n'different degrees of glory which the righteous will have conferred\non them in the heavenly world.'\"\n\n\"I am too deeply anxious on the more important point of getting\ninto heaven, to bestow even a moment's consideration on the degree\nof my future happiness. I know I shall have infinitely more than I\ndeserve; even if I should have less than the least of all saints;\nand I am perfectly willing to take what portion my Lord may assign\nme, under a full conviction that--\n\n    'The man who dwells where Jesus is,\n    Must be completely blest.'\"\n\n\"I once heard you say,\" remarked Mrs. Stevens, \"that you had no\ndoubt but we should know each other in the heavenly world. Have\nyou, Sir, on more mature deliberation, been induced to change that\nopinion?\"\n\n\"No, Madam. When I enter heaven, I shall not forget that I was once\nan inhabitant of earth--that I once lived in a state of rebellion\nagainst God--that he was pleased to bring me to repentance and\nfaith in the Lord Jesus Christ--that he employed me in the ministry,\nand assigned to me the parish of Broadhurst as the scene of my\nlabours--that I associated in the days of my pilgrimage, with you\nand your husband, your nephew and his wife, and other Christian\nfriends--and that in the exercise of social communion I once enjoyed\nsome tokens of the Divine favour. If then we shall retain a distinct\nrecollection of places and occurrences connected with our earthly\nsojourn, we shall surely not forget the persons who gave to those\nplaces and occurrences their chief interest and importance. Suppose\nI should now, while you are sitting by my side, steal out of life,\nand enter heaven, should I on my passage lose a remembrance of\nthe room in which I expired, or the events which have transpired\nthis day? Impossible! And could I remember these things, without\nremembering you and my other pious friends? And when you arrive,\nand are presented faultless, will you not be presented faultless\nin the individuality of your person, with all _your_ remembrances\nof places, of persons, and events fresh upon you? And will it\nbe possible for us to associate with each other without making\nsome reference to the former state of our existence, which will\nnecessarily lead to a discovery of who we are, and from whence we\ncame, even if there should be no more direct method of gaining a\nknowledge of each other? But apart from this general reasoning, we\nmay appeal to the Scriptures, which, I think, give their decided\nsanction to these views. Hence we find the apostle, when writing\nto the Thessalonians, who had through his instrumentality been\nconverted to the faith of Christ, says, 'For what is our hope, or\njoy, or crown of rejoicing? Are not even ye in the presence of our\nLord Jesus Christ at his coming? For ye are our glory and joy.' I\ncannot affix any meaning to this passage, unless I believe, that\neach apostle, and every minister in every succeeding age of the\nchurch, will know the persons who have been converted to God through\ntheir instrumentality; and that from this knowledge will arise some\npeculiar degree of glory and of joy.\"\n\n\"Then, Sir,\" said Mr. Lewellin, \"doubtless you can now anticipate a\nhigh degree of felicity from this source, as God has been pleased to\nmake your ministry very useful?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt but I shall partake of this source of happiness;\nbut I am not now anticipating it. My mind is too deeply occupied\nby the important question of getting into heaven, to bestow one\nsolitary thought on the minor questions of our speculative belief.\nI am nearing the borders of the holy land of promise; living now\nin the anticipation of soon seeing the King in his beauty, and of\nundergoing that transformation which I shall feel when I see him.\"\n\n\"Then, Sir, you think you will 'shortly put off this tabernacle,'\nand enter that 'house which is not made with hands, eternal in the\nheavens?'\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Lewellin; and I can put it off with as much composure as\nI can throw aside a worn-out surplice. The time of my departure is\nnear.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Mrs. Lewellin, \"what shall we do when you are taken from\nus? We shall be like the sheep, when the shepherd is gone!\"\n\n\"No, my dear friend, the great Shepherd may pitch another fold, and\nlead you to another pasturage; but he will still 'feed his flock; he\nwill gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and\nwill gently lead those that are with young.'\"\n\nHis friends now left him to repose. He slept through the\ngreater part of the night, but towards the morning became very\nrestless--often complaining of a strange sensation in his head. He\ntook a light breakfast, and as he felt rather drowsy, requested\nthat he might not be disturbed. About noon he awoke; but felt no\ndisposition to rise. He again took a little nourishment, and again\nfell asleep, and slept till near five o'clock. When he awoke he\nasked the hour, but he paid no attention to the reply which was made\nto him. His physician now gave it as his decided opinion that he\nwould not live through the night. \"He is in no pain; and if I judge\nfrom the state of his pulse, I should suppose that his life will\ngradually depart from him; perhaps when he is asleep.\" But about\nseven o'clock he suddenly revived, sat up in his bed, and requested\nto have his hands and his face washed. When this office of kindness\nwas performed for him, by Mrs. Lewellin, he looked on her for some\nmoments without uttering a word; and then stretching out his hand\nhe said, \"My dear, I thank you. You have not anointed me against\nmy burial; but you have refreshed me to encounter the last enemy.\nDeath is upon me, but he does not come in a terrific form. No; he\nis changed from the king of terrors into an angel of deliverance. I\nwill thank you, Sir,\" addressing himself to Mr. Lewellin, \"to read\nthe eighth chapter of Paul's Epistle to the Romans, and then pray\nfor me; and pray that I may be favoured with a sense of the Divine\npresence when passing through the valley of the shadow of death.\"\nMr. Lewellin having complied with his wishes, the venerable pastor\nthen gave his friends his blessing; exhorting them to cleave to the\nLord with full purpose of heart. After remaining silent for some\nminutes, during which time he appeared to be in the solemn act of\ncommending his soul to God, he looked round with great benignity of\ncountenance, and said, \"Why, my children, do you weep?\"\n\n\"Is it possible, Sir,\" Mrs. Lewellin replied, \"for us to lose such a\npastor and such a friend without weeping?\"\n\n\"Well, I will forgive your tears, because I know you love me; but\nI cannot weep with you. Though I have not before me that scene\nof martyrdom which presented itself to the great apostle of the\nGentiles, when addressing his son Timothy, yet I can adopt the\ntriumphant language which he then uttered, and with an equal degree\nof confidence:--'I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my\ndeparture is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my\ncourse, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a\ncrown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall\ngive me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that\nlove his appearing.'\" And having uttered these words he reclined his\nhead on his pillow, and gently breathed his last.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RECTOR'S FUNERAL.\n\n\nUpon the report of the pastor's death being spread through the\nvillage, a sudden shock was felt by almost every one, though the\nevent itself did not excite much surprise. He had lived so long\namongst his parishioners, and had endeared himself to them by so\nmany acts of kindness, that they wept for him, as an affectionate\nchild mourns for the loss of his father; and even the worldly and\nindifferent concurred in paying a just tribute of respect to his\nmemory. On the day of his funeral, an immense concourse of people\nassembled. The instructions which he had given to his friend, Mr.\nStevens, respecting his funeral, were minutely attended to; and they\nwere in strict accordance with the chaste simplicity of character\nwhich he had maintained through life. There was no hearse with its\nnodding plumes--no hired mourners; he had selected twelve of the\nsenior members of his church to carry his body to the tomb, and\nfixed on the spot where the bier was to rest while they relieved\neach other from the fatigue of carrying his mortal remains. The\nprocession moved from the rectory about ten o'clock in the morning,\npreceded by the Rev. Mr. Guion and two other clergymen--followed by\na few of his relations and a long train of friends, walking three\na-breast, in deep mourning--many of his poorer parishioners, having\nonly a piece of crape on their hats, fell into the rear, which was\nclosed by the children of the Sunday-school, who wore a similar\nbadge of grief. Immediately as the procession began to move, the\nbell, which had been tolling for more than an hour, ceased till the\nbier stopped at the appointed resting-place, when it again commenced\nto send forth its melancholy sounds.\n\nOn entering the churchyard, the Rev. Mr. Guion began the solemn\nservice by repeating the animating words of Jesus Christ--\"I am the\nresurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he were\ndead, yet shall he live.\" The coffin was taken into the church,\nand placed on an elevated platform before the pulpit, so as to be\ndistinctly seen by the whole congregation; and after a few minutes,\nduring which time the people were taking their seats, Mr. Guion\nbegan reading, in a most solemn and impressive manner, the lessons\nwhich are appointed for such an occasion. Agreeably to the custom\nat funeral obsequies in former times, after he had finished the two\nlessons, he ascended the pulpit, and delivered a discourse from the\nfollowing appropriate text--\"Sorrowing most of all for the words\nwhich he spake, that they should see his face no more\" (Acts xx.\n38). After a short and judicious introduction, he called attention\nto the following remarks, which he illustrated and enforced with\ngreat effect:--\n\n\"The decease of a minister is an event of great importance--\n\n\"I. In relation to himself. No class of men occupy a station so\nimportant, or are called to discharge duties so momentous, as\nministers of the gospel. The eloquent advocate who pleads at the\nbar, sometimes snatches the victim from the altar, against whose\nlife the foul conspirator has brought his charge, and he retires\nfrom the scene of his labours amidst the plaudits of the people;\nbut in a few years they both sink into the same silent earth, and a\nremote posterity remains ignorant of their anxieties and of their\ntriumphs. The fearless senator attacks iniquity in the high places\nof its dominion, or rouses up the slumbering principle of justice to\nvindicate her insulted honours; but he sleeps with his fathers, and\nhaving received the honour of his country's applause he is conveyed\nto the mansions of the dead. The effects of their labours terminate\nwith the occasion of their exercise; or if they should stretch into\na distant futurity, they are circumscribed within the boundaries\nof time. From man they receive their commission, and to man they\nresign it when it is executed; and though their conduct will undergo\na revision at the day of judgment, yet it is from man they receive\ntheir official discharge. But it is not so with us. It is true\nthat we are under some degree of responsibility to our superiors\nin the ecclesiastical hierarchy, and it is equally true that we\nare under some degree of responsibility to the people of our cure;\nbut our chief responsibility relates to a higher tribunal, and a\nmore important decision awaits us than any which man can pronounce.\nFix your attention for a moment on a minister of the gospel, see\nhim tottering on the brink of eternity--he falls, we catch his\ndescending mantle, 'sorrowing most of all that we shall see his face\nno more; but while we are making preparations to perform his funeral\nobsequies, he is giving up an account of his stewardship. Then the\nmotives which induced him to enter the ministerial office, and which\ninduced him to continue it--the manner in which he spent his time,\nand discharged the hallowed duties devolving on him--will undergo\na strict investigation, and the final sentence will be pronounced,\nwhich will fix his doom in raptures or in woe, for ever. If he be\nfound faithful, he will receive the commendation of his Master; but\nif unfaithful, he will be cast into outer darkness, 'where their\nworm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.'\n\n\"It is an event of importance in relation--\n\n\"II. To the people of his charge. They lose their spiritual teacher,\ntheir counsellor, their friend, and their example. Yes! and some\nof you who are now looking on that coffin, if permitted to give\nutterance to your sentiments, would say, 'There lies the holy man of\nGod, who met me in my mad career of folly and of crime, and was the\nmeans of turning my feet into the way of peace.' 'There he lies,'\nanother could say, 'who, when I was perishing for thirst, opened\nmy eyes, and showed me the well of living waters.' 'Alas!' another\nwould exclaim, 'I shall now see his face no more; who, when I was\nsinking into despair, under the virulence of my moral malady, told\nme of the balm of Gilead, and of the great Physician there, who\nhealed and comforted me, giving me renovated health and a deathless\nlife.' Farewell, holy man of God; we shall see thy face no more,\ntill we see thee the express image of thy Lord's person.\n\n\"It is an event of importance in relation--\n\n\"III. To general society. No man, saith the apostle, liveth to\nhimself. While we are individually pursuing our separate interests,\nwe are advancing the general good, and not unfrequently serve\nothers, while intent only on serving ourselves. If this be true of\nmen in general, it is more emphatically true in relation to the\nministers of the gospel. While they are discharging the functions\nof their office in relation to the people of their charge, they\nare diffusing principles abroad in society which will be found to\noperate more widely than is generally imagined. When they die, the\ninfluence of their example, of their character, of their precepts,\nof their individual exertions to promote private happiness, and to\nsupport public institutions--and of their prayers--is a loss which\nis felt not only in the immediate circle in which they moved, but to\na much larger extent; though it may not be felt so instantaneously\nnor so deeply.\n\n\"But, my brethren, it is not in my power to calculate the loss which\nyou have sustained by the decease of the venerated man whose corpse\nis now before us; and who, for more than forty years, has preached\nthe gospel of peace in this pulpit.\n\n\"When he first entered on the duties of his office, he found a\nbarren wilderness; but he has left a fruitful field. The church,\nwhich was mouldering to ruins, he repaired and enlarged; the\ncongregation, which was scattered, he has gathered together; and\nmany who have preceded him through the dark valley, and many whom\nhe has left to follow him, he has been the means of saving from the\nimpending wrath of the Almighty. It is now many years since the\nperson who is now addressing you went, under the most unfavourable\nimpressions, to hear him preach; but the word that fell from his\nlips came with power, and I, who went to scoff, returned to pray.\nFrom that hour I revered him as my spiritual father in Christ; and\nan intimacy soon after commenced, which continued unbroken and\nundisturbed till death. If I were now to give full scope to my\nfeelings, I should probably be censured by some for pronouncing\nan extravagant eulogy on his character; but I am conscious that\nwhile he owed all his excellence to the renewing and purifying\ninfluence of Divine grace, he uniformly displayed, both in public\nand in private life, a degree of excellence which has been rarely\nsurpassed, if equalled, in modern times. As a preacher, he excelled\nno less in the descriptive than in the argumentative style of his\naddress--combining in all his discourses strength of reasoning with\nthe most happy modes of illustration--equally capable of awing his\ncongregation by the solemnity of his manner, and subduing them by\nthe tenderness of his appeals; compelling them by the ardour of\nhis feelings, and energy of his utterance, to lose sight of the\nmessenger who was speaking, in a devout contemplation of the message\nwhich he delivered; and giving to things unseen such a power of\nimpression, that those which are visible seemed to dwindle into a\nstate of absolute insignificancy.\n\n\"As a man, he was courteous in manners, and amiable in\ndisposition; as a friend, he was disinterested and faithful in\nhis attachments; as a Christian, he was devout and catholic in\nhis spirit; as a minister, he was independent, yet attentive and\naffectionate--uniformly endeavouring to incorporate in his character\nthe moral qualities which his Lord and Master developed in the\nprogress of his history; and though a nice observer might discover\na few shades of imperfection falling on it, yet they were scarcely\nperceptible. He approached the nearest to the perfect man of the\nScriptures of any one I ever knew; but that which gave a distinctive\npeculiarity to his character, and which made him the object of\ngeneral esteem and veneration, was his catholic liberality, his\never-active benevolence, and his amiability--combined with a\nchastened seriousness and sportive playfulness of disposition,\nwhich exhibited the gravity of religion untinged by the gloom of\nsuperstition, and its cheerfulness free from the levity of folly.\n\n\"He thought and judged for himself on every part of revealed truth,\nand maintained the doctrines which he held with the most determined\nfirmness; yet he never suffered his mind to be soured by the spirit\nof controversy, nor was he ever known to treat those who differed\nfrom him with contempt or with indifference. He loved the catholic\nspirit of the gospel, no less than its sublime doctrines; uniformly\ncondemned that arrogance of spirit which leads the bigot to say\nof the members of his own communion, 'The temple of the Lord! the\ntemple of the Lord are we!' and demonstrated by his conduct that he\nwas as anxious to preserve the bonds of peace unbroken amongst the\ndifferent denominations of Christians as to keep the unity of the\nfaith entire. And while he gave a decided preference to the Church\nof which he was so bright an ornament, yet he felt a deep interest\nin the prosperity of every other religious community which contends\nearnestly for the faith which was once delivered to the saints; and\nadmitted to his friendship and intimacy the pious Dissenter, with as\nmuch cordiality as he embraced an Episcopal brother.\n\n\"But his catholic liberality did not degenerate into\nlatitudinarianism. He was willing to cultivate Christian fellowship\nwith all who love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity, and was\nanxious to narrow rather than widen the ground of difference between\nthem; but he felt no inclination to compromise any essential\ndoctrines of the gospel as a compliment to the semi-sceptical spirit\nof the age--choosing rather to run the risk of incurring the charge\nof bigotry, than sanction a popular opinion that there is no danger\nin speculative error, if the person who imbibes it be sincere in his\nbelief, and display an exterior amiability of temper and conduct, in\naccordance with the laws of practical righteousness. His charity was\nnot of that deceptive cast, which places a human being who rejects\nthe leading doctrines of Christianity on a level, in the Divine\nestimation, with the humble disciple of Jesus Christ who implicitly\nreceives them, as he was convinced 'that the charity which the\nScriptures so earnestly inculcate, consists in a real solicitude for\nthe welfare of others, not in thinking well of their state;' and\nthus, while he gave ample scope for the exercise of his compassion\nin aiming to promote the salvation of all his hearers, he felt awed\nby that authority which separates the believer from the unbeliever,\nand which marks, by a palpable line of distinction, the essential\ndifference between those who admit, and those who deny the truth as\nit is in Jesus.\n\n\"Some men are benevolent, but the principle of their benevolence\nlies embedded in their mental constitution, like fire in the flint,\nand it is only by hard and reiterated strokes that it can be\nelicited. This principle, when exerted, may produce all the effects\nof a spontaneous flow of feeling; but it looks so much like that\nsullen selfishness which is absorbed in its own gratifications, that\nits occasional exertions are regarded only as a novel tribute to its\nown capricious taste.\n\n\"Others are benevolent, but the principle of their benevolence is\nassociated with so much finesse and self-adulation, and with so\nmany disgusting and offensive requirements, that while it relieves\nthe wants of a sufferer, it inflicts a deep wound on his spirit,\nand makes him feel such an oppressive weight of obligation, that\nhe cannot enjoy the comforts which have been administered to him.\nBut the benevolence of our deceased friend was the master-passion\nof his soul, and it was ever wakeful--ever active; which required\nno qualifications for its exercise, but misery in some of her\nmultiplied forms; it prescribed no bounds for its exertions, but\nthe limits of his own means; and he bestowed his bounties with so\nmuch delicacy, that no other emotion was ever excited in the breast\nof the recipient than that of the purest gratitude to his kind\nbenefactor.\n\n\"His kindness of disposition led him to feel great tenderness for\nthe reputation of others; and though no one could reprove vice more\nkeenly, yet he never sanctioned that habit of depreciating the\ncharacter of absent individuals, which may be regarded as one of\nthe most besetting sins of human nature. Hence, few men possessed\nmore friends, or fewer enemies; it may be doubted whether among the\nnumerous list of the former he lost the esteem of one.\n\n\"Perhaps no man ever united more closely in his private character\nthe dignity and the cheerfulness of religion--preserving unimpaired\nthe sanctity of his station with a lively and playful disposition;\nand maintaining the reputation of a holy man of God, while hailed in\ngeneral society as the amiable, the intelligent, and the interesting\ncompanion. The line which separates the harmless from the\npernicious he was never known to pass, so that he never injured the\nsanctity of his public character by any levities in his demeanour,\nbut inspired a greater reverence for it, by the dignified ease of\nhis manners, and the uniform placidity and agreeableness of his\ntemper.\n\n\"The closing scene of his life was no less beautiful than\nimpressive; and forces from us the exclamation of the worthless\nprophet, 'Let me die the death of the righteous! and let my last end\nbe like his!' He is gone! That face on which you have looked with so\nmuch pleasure, you will see no more; that voice to which you have\nso often listened with mingled emotions of awe and pleasure, you\nwill hear no more, till you meet him before the judgment-seat of the\nSon of God; and, brethren, permit me to ask you, whether you think\nyou are prepared to see him, and hear him there? He has preached\nto you the gospel of peace, with great fidelity, and with equal\naffection; but have you received it, not as the word of men, but,\nas it is in truth, the word of God? He has watched for your souls\nas one who knew that he must give an account; but have you, by your\nsubmission to the truth which he proclaimed, enabled him to do it\nwith joy and not with grief? Is there no one in this congregation\nwho has remained insensible to his moral danger, though that danger\nhas often been pointed out to you in the most awful and impressive\nmanner? Is there no one who has remained impenitent, notwithstanding\nthe various efforts which the venerated deceased employed to bring\nyou to repentance, and to a belief of the truth? Is there no one who\nhas forced the aged pastor to retire from this pulpit to his study,\nand there to weep and to mourn, and to say, in the bitterness of\nhis mental agony, 'When I speak they will not hear: but put from\nthem the words of life, and the way of peace they will not know?'\nHe is gone to enjoy the reward of his labours, and ere long you, my\nbrethren, will follow him. But are you prepared to give an account\nof the manner in which you have improved his faithful services\namongst you? If you are, you will again meet and again intermingle\nyour social feelings and affections in a world where you will enjoy\nan endless duration of bliss; but if not, let me beseech you to\nretire, and on your knees implore mercy and forgiveness, lest you\nshould be taken off in the midst of your sins, and be cast out with\nthe workers of darkness, where there will be weeping, and wailing,\nand gnashing of teeth for ever.\"\n\nWhen this discourse was finished, the corpse was removed to the\nvault; and when placed in it, the remaining part of the Burial\nService was read. When the earth fell on the lid of the coffin, as\nthe impressive words, _ashes to ashes, dust to dust_, were uttered,\nthere was a spontaneous burst of audible weeping from the whole\nassemblage, which, for a few moments, so overpowered the feelings\nof Mr. Guion, that it was with some degree of difficulty he could\nproceed. At length the service was concluded; but on returning from\nthe church the order of the procession was deranged, for while some\nfew walked back to the rectory, others pressed round the tomb; and\nmany stood about the churchyard in detached groups, recalling the\nvarious incidents in their history connected with their deceased\npastor. \"O!\" said one athletic youth, who wept while he spoke, \"I\nwas a bold transgressor till I heard him preach.\" \"I went to laugh,\"\nsaid another, \"but I returned to pray.\" \"He was my friend,\" said\nmany voices; and all expressed their opinion that they should never\nsee a successor equal to him.\n\nAfter the concourse of people had dispersed, Mr. and Mrs. Lewellin\ncontinued wandering amongst the tombs, reading the epitaphs which\nsurviving friendship had engraven on the head-stones of their\ndeparted relatives and friends. The place of sepulture in which they\nwere now walking, was one of the neatest of rural burying places.\nThe walks were free from weeds; there were no gaps in the hedges;\nthe graves bore no marks of being trodden by the foot of beast or\nof man; the yew trees luxuriated in their native growth, without\nassuming those fantastic shapes and forms which a capricious taste\nsometimes compels them to take, and the green ivy overspread the\nwalls of the venerable church. Many of the inscriptions on the\nearlier tombstones were nearly effaced, and those which were still\nlegible, like too many of the \"good old times,\" recorded sentiments\nand expressions which are no less offensive to a refined taste,\nthan to a scriptural faith. But in the later stones, which had been\nerected during the lifetime of the venerable pastor, a striking\ndifference was observable. The inscription bore the name and the age\nof the occupant of the tomb, and beneath it some appropriate text of\nScripture--recalling the words of an elegant writer, \"It is meet,\npleasant, and soothing to the pious mind, when bereaved of friends,\nto commemorate them on earth by some touching expression taken from\nthat book which reveals to them a life in heaven.\"\n\nMr. Lewellin and his wife now entered the church, resolving to go\nand indulge their solemn meditations beside the uncovered tomb of\nthe deceased pastor; but on passing down the aisle, were suddenly\nstartled by the deep sounds of sorrow. On looking towards the vault\nwhere Mr. Ingleby's remains were deposited, they saw an aged couple\nleaning on their staffs, looking into the grave, but they appeared\ntoo much oppressed by grief to give any other vent to their feelings\nthan by sighs and tears. \"Come, Dame, let us be gone,\" said the old\nman to his wife; \"it won't be long before we see him again.\" As\nthey turned round from the grave, Mr. and Mrs. Lewellin advanced\nand kindly endeavoured to mitigate their sorrow. \"O! Sir,\" said the\nold man, \"he was a good man, and a faithful minister of Christ; and\nmany will have to bless God for ever, for sending him amongst us.\nWe thought we loved him while he was with us; but we did not know\nthat we loved him so much till he was taken away. But it won't be\nlong before we shall see him again.\" \"Then,\" said Mr. Lewellin,\n\"I presume you have received the gospel which he preached amongst\nyou, not as 'the word of man, but, as it is in truth, the word of\nGod.'\" \"Yes, Sir, we have been enabled to receive it. Before he\ncame to preach in this village we very seldom attended church,\nand never thought about the salvation of our souls; but, blessed\nbe the name of the Lord, we were both called to the knowledge of\nthe truth through the instrumentality of his honoured servant; and\nhave, for the space of near forty years, been walking together as\nheirs of the grace of life. It was a great shock to our feelings\nwhen we heard of his death, though we expected it; but now he is\ngone, it is our duty to be resigned to the will of God. But, Sir,\nresignation may feel its loss; and the Saviour won't condemn us if\nwe weep at the grave of our departed pastor, as He once wept at the\ngrave of Lazarus. He was one of the most excellent of the earth. He\npreached well, and he confirmed the truth which he preached by the\nunblameableness of his life. He was a most benevolent man. He obeyed\nthe words of the Scriptures, and did good to all, especially to the\nhousehold of faith. We shall never see his like again.\"\n\nMy friend and his wife felt so deeply interested by the affection\nand piety of this aged couple, that they walked with them to their\nlittle thatched cottage. \"This little cottage,\" said the old man,\n\"was built for us by our pastor, who gave it to us for our life.\nThis is the chair in which he used to sit, and this is the Bible\nwhich he gave us, and here is his picture, which we have had for\nthese thirty years--and this is his walking-stick, that he gave me\nwhen I took my leave of him at the door of the rectory, the Sabbath\nbefore he left us.\" \"And when,\" said the old woman, \"I could not\nsee to read my Bible, he gave me these spectacles; and he used to\ncome, and sit with us, and talk to us of Him who lived and died for\nsinners, and made us forget the trials of the way, by discoursing to\nus about the joys of the end of it. But it won't be long before we\nsee him again.\"\n\nMr. and Mrs. Lewellin were much affected by this touching account\nof their old friend, whose charity and benevolence formed a theme\nof grateful remembrance in the minds of those poor cottagers.\nPerceiving that their circumstances were much straitened, they\npresented them with a trifling sum, and then, amid the blessings of\nthe aged couple, took leave and proceeded on their way to Rockhill.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEW RECTORS.\n\n\nSoon after the death of the venerable Ingleby, the Rev. Mr. Cole,\nthe Rector of the adjoining parish of Aston, whose health had been\ngradually declining, was taken very ill. He had accompanied several\nof his friends to a concert in a neighbouring town, and on his\nreturn caught a violent cold. No danger was apprehended for several\nweeks; but having imprudently accepted an invitation to spend an\nevening at a friend's, where he was detained to a late hour at\nwhist, his favourite amusement, his indisposition gained a fresh\naccession of strength by exposure to the night air. He now began to\nentertain apprehensions of a fatal termination to his complaint, and\nsaid to his wife, when she was consulting him on the propriety of\nputting off a party which had been fixed for the following week, \"My\ndear, I shall never appear amongst you again.\"\n\n\"Don't say so, Edward. You are getting low-spirited and\nunnecessarily anxious. You should keep up your spirits, and\nanticipate the pleasure which you will yet enjoy amongst your\nfriends.\"\n\n\"I have no _wish_ to die, Emily, but I _must_ die. The doctors can\ndo nothing for me. I should like to see my old friends again, but I\nhave no spirit to entertain them.\"\n\n\"I heard Dr. Bailey say, that he placed great dependence on the\nprescription which he gave to Mr. Russel. Indeed, I think you look\nbetter. He says he has no doubt but you will recover; and all your\nfriends say that you must banish the thought of dying, as nothing\nwill tend so much to accelerate that awful event. I think they had\nbetter come: they will put new life into you.\"\n\n\"Yes, they may tell me to banish the thought of dying, but I cannot\ndo it; it forces itself upon me in spite of all my resolutions to\navoid it.\"\n\n\"Dr. Bailey suggested to me to read some amusing book to you. Here\nare the _Pickwick Papers_. Let me read you a chapter about Pickwick\nand Sam Weller. I know how they used to make you laugh; and a hearty\nlaugh, to my mind, does more good than all the medicine in the\nworld.\"\n\n\"Neither Mr. Pickwick nor Sam Weller, my dear, would be proper\ncompanions for me just now. I must pay respect to the sanctity of my\ncharacter. I should not object, if I get a little better, to your\nreading me the _Vicar of Wakefield_, or a paper from the _Spectator_\nor _Rambler_. But I fear my disease has gone too far to be checked\nby any human expedient. I must yield to the law of nature, and\nprepare for death; and it is, I assure you, an awful thing to\ndie--to go from one world to another.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" replied his wife, \"as you have long since made your\npeace with God, you have nothing to fear; and therefore I hope you\nwill keep your mind composed.\"\n\n\"My mind is tolerably composed, Emily, except when delirious\nthoughts come and throw it into a tumultuous agitation, and then I\nfeel wandering about in a maze of confusion. Death may be looked\nupon by some, who have no taste for earthly enjoyments, with\npeculiar interest, as the forerunner of their future bliss; but I\nwould rather live than die.\"\n\nWhen Mr. Cole found himself getting worse, and his most sanguine\nfriends began to fear that the hour of his departure was at hand,\nhe wished to receive the sacrament; and the Rev. Dr. Greig, from a\nneighbouring town, was requested to come and administer it to him.\nThe Doctor seemed much affected when introduced to his old friend;\nand, after gently squeezing his hand, as a token of affection, he\nsat down by his bedside.\n\n\"I am sorry, Sir,\" said the reverend Doctor, \"to find you so\nextremely ill; but I hope you will yet recover.\"\n\n\"That, I fear, is impossible; I must die; and I wish, before I die,\nto receive the holy sacrament. I think it will put strength into my\nsoul, and enable me to meet death without dread.\"\n\n\"I hope you have no dread of death.\"\n\n\"Why, no, Doctor, I have no dread of death; but as it is the\npassage into the eternal world, I feel that it is an awful thing to\ndie--more awful at the crisis than in anticipation.\"\n\n\"It may be awful to the wicked, but it cannot be to you, who have\nspent your life in the public service of our Church, promoting the\ncause of virtue and religion.\"\n\n\"I confess, Sir, that I have nothing to reproach myself with. I have\nspent a long life in the service of our Church, and have endeavoured\nto teach my parishioners the way to heaven; and as a recompense for\nmy well-meant efforts I hope eternal life will be given to me; but\nnow that death is near, I feel it to be a more awful thing to die\nthan when I viewed it at a distance. I now see the propriety of\nthe passage in our Burial Service--'O God, most mighty, O holy and\nmerciful Saviour, thou most worthy Judge, eternal, suffer us not at\nour last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee.'\"\n\nDr. Greig now proceeded to read the Communion Service; and having\npartaken of the elements himself, and given them to Mrs. Cole and\nthe nurse, he presented them to his dying friend, who ate the bread,\nand drank the wine, with great solemnity of manner. The service\nbeing ended, he said that he had one more request to make, and\nthen he should die in peace. \"I wish, Doctor, you would read the\nBurial Service at my interment, and preach my funeral sermon on the\nfollowing Sunday; and you may tell my parishioners, that I _die in\ncharity with all mankind_.\"\n\nIn about six hours after his friend left him, a change took place,\nand he remained insensible the greater part of the night. Towards\nthe morning he awoke out of a deep sleep; and, having taken a little\nrefreshment, he sat very composedly for a few minutes. Looking\nat his wife with intense earnestness, he said, \"My dear Emily, I\nsuppose I must die;\" and then he fell back on his pillow, heaved a\ndeep sigh, and expired. On the seventh day after his death he was\nburied in a vault, near the communion table of his own church; and\nDr. Greig, according to his request, read the service, and delivered\nhis funeral discourse on the following Sabbath. The congregation,\nwhich was unusually large, appeared deeply affected, especially\nwhen the Doctor pointed to the tomb in which their deceased pastor\nhad just been interred.\n\nIn delineating the character or Mr. Cole, Dr. Greig dwelt for some\ntime on his classical taste and his literary acquirements; paid\na just tribute of praise to his amiable disposition and obliging\nmanners, and commended him for his uniform attachment to the\nChurch, of which he had been a minister for the greater part of\nhalf a century; and concluded by saying, \"His religion was not\nof that austere cast which prohibits the innocent amusements and\ngratifications of society, and dooms its possessor to a life of\nperpetual gloom and mortification. It was an enlightened piety--a\npiety which united the gravity of wisdom with a cheerful and\nfacetious spirit, which courted no popularity by the vanity of its\npretensions; which sought retirement rather than publicity; and\nconciliated the favour of the Almighty by the practice of virtue,\nrather than by the dogmas of belief. His life is an epitome of moral\nvirtue and social goodness, which may be read by all men with great\nprofit. It will teach us all, and especially the clergy of our\nChurch, how they should live, and what recompense they may expect to\nreceive when called to die, as a reward for their fidelity to their\ncharge. He did not, as we all know, in imitation of the example\nof some, rob other churches to fill his own; but was contented to\npreach to the select few who favoured him with their presence and\ntheir friendship; and who, I doubt not, will revere his memory as\nlong as the power of recollection remains; and who, when the duties\nof life are discharged, will go where he is gone, to renew the\nintimacy of friendship, and enjoy the felicity of social converse.\nAnd who is not struck with the dignified serenity of his death!\nThere were no raptures of enthusiasm in prospect of dissolution; no\nflights of fancy; no rhapsodies of expression, as though he were\nweary of life and longed to lose it; but a submission to the law of\nnature, which requires that we must die, accompanied by a sublime\navowal which he wished me to make to you, _that he died in charity\nwith all mankind_.\"\n\nIn examining the character of these two clergymen, and reviewing\nthe temper of mind which they displayed in the immediate prospect\nof entering the eternal world, the intelligent reader will perceive\na manifest difference; and though it does not become us to invade\nthe province of the Supreme Judge, and fix the final destiny of any\nhuman being, yet we may be permitted to say, that the venerable\nIngleby bore the nearest resemblance, in his life and in his\ndeath, to the ministers of the New Testament. If Mr. Cole was the\nmost learned man, Mr. Ingleby was the most spiritual; and though\nMr. Ingleby derived no gratification from the trifling amusements\nof fashionable life, yet he uniformly displayed a cheerfulness\nof disposition which became the sanctity of his office. Mr. Cole\nconsented to die because he could not live; while Mr. Ingleby\nyielded up his life as a free-will offering to God who first gave\nit, and then demanded it. In the death of Mr. Cole we can discover\nno humility on account of the imperfections of his character--no\nutterances of a mind delighting in communion with the great\nSupreme--no reference to a Mediator, by whom the guilty and the\nworthless are reconciled to the offended Sovereign--no ardent\nanticipations of a state of changeless purity and glory; while,\nin the closing scene of Mr. Ingleby's life, we behold a spirit,\nyet inhabiting the tabernacle of earth, springing forward to meet\nthe great Deliverer--hailing his approach with mingled emotions of\nawe and delight--giving utterance to the sublimest conceptions of\nfuture bliss, and in language, such as Paul employed when treading\non the narrow isthmus which separates time from eternity. The death\nof Mr. Cole was certainly the most calm; but it was the calm of a\nstagnant pool, whose waters move not because they are unaffected by\nany current; while the death of Mr. Ingleby resembled the peaceful\nripple of the crystal stream, as it moves tranquilly from its\nsource to swell the waters of the vast ocean. The one died like\na philosopher, over whose mind the light of evidence produced a\nbelief of the existence of an eternal world, which, alas! presented\nno powerful attractions; the other, like a sinner, redeemed by the\nprecious blood of Christ, and made meet to possess the inheritance\nof the saints in light, in comparison with which the brightest\nhonours of earth pass away as things of no value.\n\nWhen the pastor of a Dissenting church is called away from his\nflock, to give an account of his stewardship to the great Shepherd\nand Bishop of souls, an event occurs in its history which generally\nproduces a most powerful effect on the minds of the surviving\nmembers. As he, while living, was the pastor of their choice, so,\nwhen dead, they cease not to venerate and esteem his memory. They\npay him, it is true, no superstitious homage. All they show is the\nfeeling of pure nature, which requires no artificial expedients\nto express its affection for the object of its esteem when he is\ntaken away. But amongst them, while the pastor dies, the ministry\nlives. They turn away from his tomb to listen to the voice of his\nsuccessor; and though they cannot easily transfer that strong\nattachment and profound respect which have been the growth of a\nlong and close intimacy, yet they receive him in the Lord with all\ngladness, and hold such in reputation.\n\nIn the choice of a successor they have great advantages over their\nChristian brethren who are members of the Establishment. They are\nnot compelled to receive a pastor, but are left to choose one; and\nhence, as is natural, they select one whose religious opinions\nagree with their own, whose manner of preaching accords with\ntheir own taste, and whose character is such as corresponds with\nthe sacredness of his profession. And though a popular election\nis liable to some objections, yet, from the mode in which it is\ngenerally conducted amongst them, they are but as the small dust\nof the balance, when weighed against the sterling value of the\nprivilege which it involves and secures. The argument employed\nby Dissenters in support of this practice is, in their judgment,\nquite conclusive. They say, As we claim the right of choosing the\nattorney whom we consult on a point of law--of choosing our surgeon\nand physician when visited by sickness--of choosing the tutor under\nwhose care we place our children, we act still more in accordance\nwith the established laws of social life, and the most obvious\ndictates of enlightened reason, when we exercise the right of choice\nin relation to the pastor from whose public ministrations we are to\nreceive the consolations of the gospel of peace. In this instance,\nno less than in others, a preference will be felt; and while we\nhold all in reputation for their works' sake, who discharge the\nsacred duties of the pastoral office with fidelity, we shall derive\na greater gratification, and higher degree of improvement, from the\nlabours of one for whose manner of preaching we may feel a decided\npredilection and regard. When this right of choice is denied us,\nwe are compelled to receive a minister who has been appointed over\nus by the authority of another, and if he be just such a one as\nwe like, no evil is produced; but suppose he reject the doctrines\nwhich we receive as true, or suppose his style of preaching be in\ndirect opposition to our taste, or suppose his moral conduct be not\nin exact accordance with his profession, what in such a case ought\nto be our line of conduct? Can we expect to become established in\nour faith, by going where that faith is perpetually assailed? Can\nwe expect to derive consolation, if we go where the manner in which\nthe message is offered offends our taste? Can we expect to venerate\nthe ministry, if the man who holds the hallowed office display not\nthe same mind which was in Christ Jesus our Lord? Impossible! We\nmay make the experiment, but it will not be found productive of the\nfruits of righteousness and peace; as the laws of nature forbid us\nto calculate on gathering grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles.\n\nWithin a few weeks after the death of Mr. Ingleby, the living\nof Broadhurst was presented to Mr. Porteous, the grandson of a\nneighbouring magistrate of the same name,[41] who took offence at\nthe first sermon Mr. Ingleby preached; and though he felt a profound\nrespect for his private virtues, yet he withdrew from his ministry,\nand usually attended that of Mr. Cole. This young man possessed a\nfine person, and the graces of a popular and commanding elocution;\nbut he was gay in his manners, volatile in his disposition, addicted\nto the sports of the field, and decidedly opposed to those peculiar\ndoctrines of the gospel which his predecessor had so long and so\nfaithfully preached.\n\n  [41] Vol. i. p. 69.\n\nAs his character was generally known through the parish, the pious\nmembers of the Church were deeply depressed when they heard that he\nwas appointed to succeed their deceased pastor; but they prudently\nresolved to hear him preach, having previously met on several\ndifferent occasions to pray that a double portion of the Spirit of\ngrace might rest upon him. The church was excessively crowded when\nhe delivered his first discourse, which was founded on the following\ntext--\"Be not righteous over much.\"\n\nHe read the prayers with so much seriousness and propriety of\nemphasis, that the whole congregation was delighted with him. When\nhe announced his text, there was a simultaneous movement amongst\nthem; and for a few moments they looked at each other as though\ndeeply amazed, and then the eyes of all were fastened on him. After\nadjusting his position and his attitude with great caution, and\nsurveying his audience with an appearance of complacency, he began\nreading his sermon, which he delivered in fourteen minutes, and\nthen concluded the service. The sermon was a severe philippic on\nthe labours of his predecessor, and the piety of his hearers; and\nthough in the conclusion he paid a passing tribute of respect to\nhis private virtues, and the benefits which the parish had received\nfrom his pastoral visits, yet he gave it as his decided opinion\nthat he had uniformly disregarded the _important_ injunction of the\ntext:--\"That he erred from the purest motives we all must admit;\nand it must be some consolation to know, that his error was all on\nthe side of virtue; but virtue is never so lovely as when she is\nkept from all excess of feeling--as when she spurns from her those\nrestraints, which, by keeping her out of the circle of _innocent_\nindulgences, give her the appearance of grief-worn sadness--as when\nshe enjoys life, and is contented to wait for the reward which the\nAlmighty will confer on her honest and well-meant endeavours to\nplease him. That it will be my endeavour to avoid the error into\nwhich my most excellent predecessor fell, my intelligent hearers\nmay calculate on; and I flatter myself by so doing, I shall diffuse\nover the whole of my parish, the air of cheerful gaiety and social\npleasure; and that the gloom which has so long hung over you will\nsoon disappear, as the lowering cloud retires from the face of\nnature, when the bright orb of day scatters his golden rays in\npassing from the horizon to the meridian.\"\n\nWhen he had finished his discourse, he paused for the loud Amen;\nbut the good old clerk disdained to utter it; and when, on retiring\nto the vestry, he was asked by Mr. Porteous, the grandsire of the\nnew Rector, why he had neglected his duty, he honestly replied,\n\"Because, Sir, I did not choose to sanction those perversions of the\ngospel which the Rector has been guilty of this morning; nor appear\nto commend the severe and unjust animadversions which he has made on\nthe character of my deceased pastor.\"\n\n\"Then, Sir, you shall be turned out of office.\"\n\n\"I will not wait to be turned out, Sir, I will resign it; for I\nhave too much love for the truth to sanction error, and hold the\nreputation of my deceased pastor in too much esteem to say Amen,\nafter it has been so wantonly defamed.\"\n\n\"Then, Sir, I suppose you intend to raise the standard of revolt\nagainst my grandson; but if that be your mind, you shall suffer for\nit.\"\n\n\"As I live, Sir, in a land of freedom, and was never in bondage\nto any man, I shall not, now I am grown gray in years, sell my\nbirth-right for a mess of pottage; and therefore, without wishing to\ngive either you or the new Rector any offence, I frankly tell you,\nthat while he continues to preach as he has preached this morning, I\nwill never return to hear him.\"\n\n\"You are an obstinate fellow, and ought not to be suffered to speak\nto your superiors in this style.\"\n\n\"You asked for the reasons of my conduct, which I have given you;\nand also for the line of conduct I intend to pursue, and I have told\nyou; and now, as you descend to abuse, I will retire.\"\n\nThis altercation with the old clerk, who was greatly esteemed by the\ncongregation for his superior intelligence and decided piety, was\noverheard by many of the people, who were much pleased; first, by\nhis silence at the conclusion of the service, and now, by the bold\nstand which he made against the perversion of the truth, and the\nunmerited attack on the reputation of the venerable deceased. On\ncoming out of the vestry, he was commended by them, and urged not to\nsuffer any threat to induce him to bend to the authority, which had\nso unhandsomely endeavoured to intimidate him.\n\nAs Mr. Lewellin had acquired a considerable degree of influence\namong the pious members of the Church, during the short time he had\nresided in the parish, they very naturally looked to him for counsel\nat this critical juncture; and though he was unwilling to take any\npremature steps, yet he gave it as his decided opinion, that they\nought not to suffer the gospel to be driven from amongst them. \"I am\na Dissenter,\" said he to a few friends who waited on him; \"but while\nthe gospel was preached in the Church, I felt perfectly willing to\nworship there, and should have continued to do so, if the new Rector\nhad followed the example of our deceased pastor, but as he has\nchosen to make such a bold avowal of his determination to extirpate\nthe serious and devout piety of the parish, that he may propagate\nhis gay and anti-Christian religion, I think we are called upon by\nthe voice of Providence to prevent it.\"\n\n\"I cannot leave the Church,\" said one.\n\n\"Nor I,\" said another.\n\n\"Nor I,\" said a third.\n\n\"I should not like to leave it,\" said another, \"but if I cannot hear\nthe gospel in the Church, I will hear it where I can.\"\n\nIt was finally determined to let things take their course for the\nnext few weeks, during which time they were to consult their friends\non the question.\n\nOn the Sabbath after Mr. Porteous preached his first sermon at\nBroadhurst, Mr. Hartley, Mr. Cole's successor, took possession of\nhis living at Aston, and preached his first discourse from Ezek.\nxxxvii. 3--\"And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live?\nAnd I answered, O Lord God, thou knowest.\" From these words, taken\nin connection with the entire parable, he gave a description of\nthe moral condition of man, during the period of his unregeneracy;\ndemonstrated the inefficacy of all human expedients to recover him,\nwithout the co-operation of a supernatural power; and traced the\nprogress of his spiritual renovation by the renewing power of the\nHoly Spirit, from its earliest symptoms to its final consummation in\nheaven. The sermon discovered some ingenuity, but more judgment; it\nabounded with striking remarks, expressed in the most appropriate\nlanguage; but its predominating quality was a regular appeal to the\nunderstanding and the heart of the audience, conducted with such\nforce of reasoning, and charm of persuasion, that many expressed\ntheir astonishment at their former ignorance of revealed truth;\nwhile those who had long enjoyed the ministry of the venerable\nIngleby, rejoiced that God had sent another faithful messenger\namongst them. Some few, who were the late incumbent's personal\nfriends, and who often participated with him in the amusements of\nfashionable life, were displeased with the _length_ of the sermon,\nthough they were gratified with the chasteness of the language\nwhich was employed; and reprobated the austere requirements of\nthe new religion, while they spoke in very complimentary terms of\nthe elegant composition and the good delivery of the new Rector.\nThe great majority of the people, however, were astonished and\ndelighted; and from the conclusion of the sermon were led to\nanticipate in Mr. Hartley a very different pastor from Mr. Cole.\n\n\"Hitherto, many of you have lived,\" said the preacher, \"without any\ndeep repentance on account of your sins--without any active and\noperative faith in the efficacy of the Saviour's death--without\nenjoying any spiritual communion with the great Invisible--and\nwithout anticipating your entrance into the eternal world with that\nsublime awe which such an event ought to inspire in your breast. It\ndevolves on me to rouse you from this state of deep insensibility\nand criminal impiety. You live; but what is that life which you\nhave lived? Has it not been a life of social pleasure--a life of\nvain indulgences--a life of indifference to the interesting facts,\nthe sublime doctrines, the pure precepts, and the glorious promises\nof the gospel of Jesus Christ! It now devolves on me to awaken\nyou, if possible, out of this mental delusion, that you may 'yield\nyourselves unto God as those that are alive from the dead;' then\nye 'shall have your fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting\nlife.' To accomplish this, I shall add private admonition to public\ninstruction; and though I have no wish to pry into the secrets of\nyour families, nor to obtrude myself where my presence would not\nbe acceptable, yet it will be my endeavour, as far as possible,\nto gain an accurate knowledge of the spiritual state of the whole\nof my charge, in the hope that by God's blessing I may be able at\nthe last day to present every one of you perfect in Christ Jesus.\nWhen you are afflicted, I will visit you; when in trouble, I will\nadminister to you the consolations of the gospel; in your dying\nhours, I shall consider it a privilege to be permitted to cheer you\nwith the hope of immortality; and as I am placed over you as your\nspiritual guide and friend, I assure you, that there is no sacrifice\nwhich I will hesitate to make, nor any duty which I will not most\ncheerfully perform, to promote your happiness; and I shall esteem\nthe gratification of serving you an adequate recompense for all my\nexertions, as I seek not yours, but you.\"\n\n\n\n\nA SECESSION AT BROADHURST.\n\n\nWhen Mr. Hartley took possession of his cure at Aston, Mr. Stevens\nimmediately declined having public worship conducted in his chapel\nany longer. On being remonstrated with by Mr. Langley, a zealous\nDissenter, for breaking up a society which had been flourishing\nfor many years, he said, \"I dissented, not from choice, but from\nnecessity; but now I can hear the gospel in the parish church, I\nthink it no less my duty to return to her communion, than I once\nfelt it my duty to withdraw from it. The minister who is appointed\nover us is a good man; and as the church in which he officiates is\nlarge enough to contain the whole of the population, I see no reason\nwhy the people should be divided, especially as most of them have\nno conscientious objections against either the doctrines or the\nceremonies of our Episcopal Establishment.\"\n\n\"But, Sir,\" replied Mr. Langley, \"though the gospel be now preached\nin the church, you are not certain that it will be after the death\nor removal of the present incumbent; and then what are the pious\nmembers of the church to do, if you now shut up your chapel? Would\nit not be more prudent on your part, to secure the permanent\ncontinuance of the gospel in the parish, by perpetuating its public\nministrations in your chapel, than thus hazard its entire expulsion?\nIf you adopt this plan, there will be a place of refuge for the\npiety of the parish, if at any future time it should be compelled to\nretire from the Established church.\"\n\n\"Such a plan, I have no doubt,\" replied Mr. Stevens, \"would meet\nwith the approbation of many pious Dissenters; but I am not disposed\nto adopt it. If, under the ministry of our present Rector, the\npeople should receive the truth, not as the word of man, but as\nthe word of God, they will not suffer it to disappear from amongst\nthem, even if they should be deprived of it in the church; but will\nmost certainly avail themselves of their rights as British freemen,\nand erect for themselves a chapel, in which they may worship God\naccording to the dictates of their conscience, and enjoy a ministry\nof their own choice.\"\n\nBut while the sun of prosperity was shining on the parish of Aston,\ndispelling the gloom of ignorance and superstition which had hovered\nover it for many years, it was setting on the adjoining hamlet,\nwhich had for a longer time enjoyed the light of truth, leaving the\npeople in a most disconsolate state. \"To lose our old pastor,\"\nsaid an old Christian to Mr. Lewellin, \"was a great loss; but to\nhave the candlestick removed from amongst us, and the light thereof\nextinguished, is a much greater loss. While we had the light we\nrejoiced in it; but I fear that, like the church of Ephesus, we have\nlost our first love; and as we have not repented and done our first\nworks, the Lord has visited us with this grievous judgment.\"\n\nA few of the more influential members of the Establishment met at\nMr. Lewellin's to consider what plan they ought to adopt on the\npresent occasion. As they venerated the Church, and felt an ardent\nattachment to its forms and ceremonies, they were unwilling to\nwithdraw from her communion. One gentleman said, he had been to\nconsult the Rev. Mr. Guion, who gave it as his decided opinion\nthat they should still attend their parish church, and pray for\nthe conversion of the new Rector. \"If,\" he said, \"you have not\nthe gospel in the pulpit, you have it in the desk; and though it\nmay not please God to answer your prayers, yet you will have this\ncompensation for the sacrifice you will be called upon to make--that\nyou have remained faithful to your Church.\"\n\n\"I have no wish to leave the Church,\" replied another; \"but I must\nhear the gospel. I am commanded to take heed _what I hear_; and if\nI disobey this injunction, how can I expect to enjoy the Divine\nblessing?\" In this opinion they all concurred; and as they could\nattend the neighbouring church, it was proposed that they should sit\nunder the ministry of the new Rector at Aston.\n\n\"But,\" said Mr. Lewellin, \"though we who have vehicles can easily\ngo three or four miles on the Sabbath-day, to enjoy a pure and an\nenlightened ministry, yet what are the poor and the infirm to do?\nThey cannot attend; and shall we leave them to spend the remainder\nof their days in a state of spiritual destitution? Have they no\nclaim on our benevolent feelings? Shall we, by deserting them in\nthis their low estate, allow them to go and utter the mournful\ncomplaint at the footstool of the Divine throne, '_No man careth for\nour souls_?' Shall we provide no spiritual comforter, but suffer\nthem to live and die without having one near them to administer the\nconsolations of religion? Shall we stand still and see this fine\nmoral inheritance falling back into its original state of ignorance\nand vice; when, by acting that part which our deceased pastor more\nthan once recommended, we may be the means of preserving it from\ndecay? Did he not say, in the last sermon he preached to us, that he\nhoped the Lord would provide another minister, who would preach the\ngospel to us either in the church, _or elsewhere_? And in a private\nconversation, on the evening of his departure, he said, in reply to\na question, 'The great Shepherd _may pitch another fold, and lead\nyou to another pasturage_.'\"\n\n\"If,\" said a gentleman, \"I were to consult my own inclination, I\nshould still attend with my family at Broadhurst; but I do not\nthink we should act a generous or a Christian part if we were to\nmake no effort to establish a gospel ministry in the parish. Cannot\nwe do what Mr. Stevens did under similar circumstances? and then,\nif it should please God at any future time, to favour us with a\nRector who will preach the same doctrines as those which we have\nbeen accustomed to hear, we can return to the Church, and live and\ndie in her communion. And if not, we shall have this compensation\nfor the sacrifice which we shall be called to make, that we have\nacted in accordance with the wishes of our deceased pastor, and, I\ntrust, in accordance with the will of our Lord and Master.\" This\nsuggestion was eagerly seized by several others; and it was finally\ndetermined to build a neat chapel, large enough to contain about\n500 worshippers; and to obtain the permanent labours of some good\nminister of Jesus Christ. As soon as this decision was made known,\nthe pious villagers expressed their gratitude in the most affecting\nterms; and offered to contribute, out of the depths of their\npoverty, towards the necessary expenses which would be incurred; but\ntheir more wealthy Christian brethren rather chose to bear the whole\nburden among themselves.\n\nOne gentleman gave a piece of freehold land, on which the chapel\nwas erected; and adjoining it, a house for the minister, with\na large garden attached. It was built within the space of six\nmonths; and by the exertions of Mr. Lewellin, Mr. Drew, a pious and\nintelligent young man, was appointed to take the pastoral charge of\nthe people. Being of a catholic spirit, and wishing to render his\npublic ministrations generally acceptable, he prudently consented\nto read the Liturgy of the Church of England. Though, at first,\nsome of the people sighed, and others wept as they passed by the\nvenerable building in which for so many years they had worshipped\nthe God of their fathers, yet in process of time they felt an\nequal degree of attachment to this second temple, which, if less\nimposing in its appearance, contained the Shechinah of truth, which\ndeparted from the altar when the venerable Ingleby fell asleep in\nJesus. Some years after, in a conversation with the intelligent\nclerk, who held the same office in the chapel as he had filled in\nthe church, he informed me, that his pastor bore a near resemblance\nto the deceased Rector, in the amiability of his temper, and in\nthe ardour of his zeal for the salvation of his hearers, though he\ndiffered from him in the manner and style of his preaching. \"The\nRector, Sir,\" he remarked, \"was a son of consolation, from whose\nlips the words of mercy fell in soft and subduing accents on the\nears of the congregation; Mr. Drew is a Boanerges, the thunder of\nwhose eloquence awes us by its majesty; but when he has wrought up\nour feelings to the highest degree of terror, he suddenly shifts the\nscene, and exhibits to our view the Lamb of God, who takes away the\nsins of the world. Mr. Ingleby, I think, had the finest imagination,\nbut Mr. Drew has the most powerful intellect; and though the former\ncould enter into all the variations of Christian experience with the\ngreatest ease, yet the latter applies the truth with equal force\nto the wounded conscience. Mr. Ingleby was distinguished by the\ngracefulness of his manner; Mr. Drew excels in the force and dignity\nof his delivery; and though we shall never cease to respect the\nmemory of our former pastor, we are equally attached to our present.\nUnder his ministry, no less than under that of his predecessor,\nmany have been reclaimed from the error of their ways to the wisdom\nof the just; while the young and the more advanced Christian have\nbeen built up in the faith and the hope of the gospel. The poor are\nvisited in their cottages; the dying have a spiritual comforter\nwith them in their last moments; and over the whole parish a moral\nvigilance is exercised, which receives the sanction of all the wise\nand the good.\"\n\nAfter witnessing the changes which a few years had made in the\nexternal establishment of religion in these two parishes, while the\nsame moral process was going on in the salvation of the people, I\nfelt how superior, in its nature and tendency, is the spirit of\nthe gospel to that of religious bigotry. Had Mr. Stevens felt a\nbigoted attachment to the principle of dissent, he would have kept\nopen his chapel after the settlement of Mr. Hartley at Aston, and\nthus have divided the people into two distinct societies; while\nthe congregation at Broadhurst, if they had venerated the church\nin which the venerable Ingleby had so long preached, more than\nthe truth which he delivered, would have been left without an\nevangelical ministry. But by acting the part of wisdom and of piety,\nthey perpetuated the truth in each parish, without occasioning\nany division amongst those who were attached to it. Though in one\nvillage they sat to hear its enunciations on unconsecrated ground,\nwhile in the other it addressed them within the walls of the\nEstablishment; yet as it derived none of its importance or worth\nfrom the places in which it is proclaimed, nor from the ministers\nwho preached it, they mutually received it with meekness, as the\nengrafted word which is able to save the soul. Nor can I doubt that\nthe Saviour visited with equal delight each congregation which\nassembled together in his name--that the Divine Spirit conveyed\nthe same resistless energy to the Dissenting as to the Episcopal\nministry--that the angels of heaven hovered over the village\nchapel with as much pleasure as over the village church; and\nthat those who were made meet for glory on unconsecrated ground,\nwere received with equal rapture by the spirits of the just made\nperfect, as their brethren who had worshipped within the pale of\nthe Establishment. They differed in their relation to the external\nforms of Christianity, but possessing its pure and heavenly spirit,\nthey stood in the same relation to Jesus Christ, who was their\nSaviour--to the Holy Ghost, who was their Comforter--and to heaven,\nwhich was their undefiled inheritance; and when, at the appointed\ntime, any of them departed this life, they were neither commended\nnor censured for their denominative attachments while on earth,\nbut admitted into the joy of their Lord as sinners redeemed by his\nblood. A friendly intercourse was kept up between the pious members\nof the two churches and their respective pastors, which demonstrated\nto the villagers that their religion was substantially the same in\nits nature and in its design, though it differed in a few external\nceremonies. If they went to church, it was to worship God--to\nconfess their sins--and to hear the glad tidings of salvation; and\nif they went to the village chapel, it was to engage in the same\nhallowed exercises, and listen to the same gospel of peace. As\nthey felt no superstitious attachment to the places in which they\nassembled, nor imagined that the Episcopal form of ordination gave\nto the clergyman a degree of sanctity which the Dissenting minister\ndid not possess, they intermingled in each other's society, not\nto wrangle or contend for superiority, but to cultivate the unity\nof their faith, and display the excellence of that grace which\n\"teacheth us, that denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should\nlive soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world.\" Is it\nnot to be regretted, that a similar spirit has not been uniformly\ncherished amongst the disciples of Jesus Christ? but, alas! they\nhave in general caught the spirit of the mother of Zebedee's\nchildren, rather than that of their Master, and have been struggling\nfor the ascendency, instead of living in harmony with each other.\nAnd is it not to this cause, more than any deficiency of evidence,\nthat we may fairly account for the too general rejection of the\ngospel; for can we expect others to believe in its Divine origin,\nwhen they see those who embrace it with the greatest eagerness,\ndisplaying an intolerant temper, and refusing to hold communion with\neach other because they happen to differ on a few points of opinion,\nwhich they all acknowledge to be of secondary importance? Every\nChristian should examine the following prayer of Jesus Christ, and\nthe reason which he assigned for presenting it:--\"Neither pray I for\nthese alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through\ntheir word; that they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me,\nand I in thee, that they also may be one in us: that the world may\nbelieve that thou hast sent me. And the glory which thou gavest me\nI have given them; that they may be one, even as we are one: I in\nthem, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one; and that\nthe world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast loved them, as\nthou hast loved me\" (John xvii. 20-23).\n\nWhen the spirit of religious bigotry takes possession of the\nyouthful breast, we naturally feel disposed to attribute it to the\nimmaturity of the judgment, or a deficiency in Christian principles.\nWe therefore conclude, that in more advanced life these unamiable\nqualities will disappear, and a cordial attachment will be formed\nfor all of every denomination who love our Lord Jesus Christ in\nsincerity and in truth. This, I believe, is generally the case,\nthough we sometimes see the evil spirit of bigotry souring the\ntemper of aged Christians, contracting their benevolence, and\nrendering them more disposed to live apart from their brethren, than\non terms of friendly intercourse; and if we venture to remonstrate\nwith them, we are gravely told that they must preserve the\nconsistency of their character. Consistency! And why not preserve\nthe consistency of their character as Christians, who are required\nto love each other as brethren, rather than the consistency of their\ncharacter as religious bigots, who neglect the weightier matters\nof the law, to cultivate the mint and cummin of ecclesiastical\nalienation and intolerance? Why not, when peculiar circumstances\nrequire it, overlook the little points of difference that exist\nbetween them; and unite as those who are endowed with the same\nspirit of faith--who are governed by the same authority, and who are\nmoving on to the same state of blessedness and glory?\n\nThere were a few Dissenters who could not conscientiously worship\nwithin the walls of the Establishment, even though they revered the\ncharacter of the new Rector at Aston, and approved of his ministry.\nNot being able to support a society of their own denomination, they\nsubjected themselves to the inconvenience and expense of travelling\nseveral miles every Sabbath to enjoy the privilege of communion\nwith their brethren at Broadhurst. But though they could not unite\nwith their fellow-Christians at Aston in the exercises of public\ndevotion, they were, nevertheless, zealous in co-operating with them\nin the execution of those plans of benevolence which related to\nthe moral improvement and the temporal advantage of the hamlet in\nwhich they resided. A latitudinarian would be disposed to censure\nthis unbending spirit in reference to public worship, and feel\nhimself justified in holding it up to general reprobation; but a\nwise man will be sparing of his animadversions on conscientious\nscruples, when they are not suffered to disturb the harmony of\nfriendly intercourse, and do not disqualify those who feel them from\nuniting with others of a different faith in the cultivation of the\naffections and charities of social life.\n\nThe Rev. Mr. Guion, who resided within a few miles of Broadhurst,\nand who had been for many years the devoted friend of the venerable\nIngleby, was so much displeased when the pious members of the\ncongregation seceded from the ministry of Mr. Porteous, that he\nbroke off all intercourse with them, and not unfrequently expressed\nhis censures in rather strong language. As they chose, in opposition\nto his advice, to withdraw from the pale of the Establishment,\nthough he knew that their new Rector preached another gospel\nthan that which they had heard from the lips of their deceased\npastor, he looked upon them as schismatics, with whom he could not\nassociate, even in the ordinary familiarities of friendship, without\nendangering his reputation as a clergyman of the Church of England.\nThough he admitted that some moral good might possibly result from\nthe establishment of a Dissenting ministry in the village, yet he\nthought the evil would more than counter-balance it. He was a good\nman, but not a perfect man; a zealous minister of the everlasting\ngospel, but he wished that gospel to be preached only within the\npale of the Established church; and though in private life he\nexhibited many traits of the Christian character, yet they were\nrather too strongly marked by the blemishes of a sectarian spirit.\n\nHe occasionally met Mr. Drew, the Dissenting clergyman at\nBroadhurst, at the anniversaries of the various Bible Societies in\nthe country, and also at the houses of Mr. Stevens and Mr. Lewellin.\nOn these occasions he behaved to him with all the courtesy of a\ngentleman, but for a long while he appeared more disposed to shun\nthan to court his society. He spoke of Mr. Drew in terms of respect,\nbut not with the warmth of a brotherly affection as one minister\nof Jesus Christ should speak of another. On one occasion, having\nspoken rather more unguardedly than usual, Miss Ryder, who was one\nof his own hearers, with a delicate severity of rebuke, said, \"I\npresume, Sir, when an angel of the Lord reports to his fellow-angels\nthat a sinner on earth is brought to repentance, they do not pause\nto inquire whether he is a Churchman or a Dissenter before their\nrejoicing begins.\"\n\n\"And I suppose,\" remarked Mrs. Stevens, \"when they receive their\nappointment to minister to any of the heirs of salvation, they do\nnot pause in their embassy, contending which shall have the honour\nof waiting on a Conformist, in preference to a Nonconformist.\"\n\nThis colloquy was here joined by Mr. Ryder, who was as catholic in\nhis spirit, as he was decided in his love of the truth. \"To me,\"\nhe observed, \"the ecclesiastical distinctions between church and\ndissent, on which some rest such importance, appear superlatively\nlittle and unimportant, when put in comparison with the essential\ndoctrines of the common salvation; and the less attention we pay\nto them the better is it, I think, for our own peace and Christian\nconsistency. I am a Churchman in part, because I was educated as\none; and because I can hear the gospel preached by her clergy. If,\nhowever, I were living in a parish where the gospel is disowned,\nas it is at Broadhurst, I am sure I should, without a moment's\nhesitation, turn a Dissenter, rather than not hear it.\"\n\n\"And so should I,\" said several voices.\n\nIt is satisfactory to be able to add, that Mr. Guion's prejudices\ngradually subsided, and that in course of time he returned to the\ncatholic and liberal spirit which he had formerly displayed when\nhe contributed so generously to the necessities of the Rev. Mr.\nPowell.[42] Though, in the views held by him regarding the great\nbody of Christians, he never attained to the largeness of heart\nso eminently displayed by Mr. Ingleby; he bore, nevertheless, in\nhis character a strong resemblance to that excellent pastor, and\nappeared as his living representative in all that was lovely and of\ngood report.\n\n  [42] Vol. i. p. 224.\n\n\n\n\nA FAREWELL TO OLD FRIENDS.\n\n\nOn quitting Fairmount, to return home, the reader will recollect\nthat I left Mrs. Orme to remain for a short time longer at Rockhill,\nas Mrs. Lewellin felt much depressed in spirits by her father's\ndeath, and required the presence of a cheerful and affectionate\nfriend to enable her gradually to dispel her grief, and regain her\nwonted interest in her ordinary domestic employments. Mrs. Orme's\nstay was protracted much longer than she originally intended, and\nthe close of the year had nearly arrived before her kind friends\nwould allow her to depart. During the period of her sojourn at\nRockhill, she had gained many friends, who were attracted as much by\nthe unsophisticated kindness and liveliness of her disposition as by\nher painfully interesting and romantic history. Among others, none\nformed a greater intimacy than Miss Ryder, who, with her brother,\nwas now a frequent visitor at Rockhill and Fairmount. Mrs. Orme\nwas invited to spend a few days at Aston, where she found herself\nexceedingly happy in the cheerful society of her new friend Anna,\nand the hearty hospitality of her brother, who was led to take\na deep interest in his guest from the fancied resemblance which\nshe bore to Matilda Denham, the departed object of his youthful\naffections. On taking leave of Mr. and Miss Ryder, Mrs. Orme made\nthe latter promise that she would pay her a visit in the course of\nthe ensuing summer, at the Elms, as Anna generally went to London\nonce a-year to visit an elder sister, who had been married and\nsettled there for some years.\n\nAbout two months after Mrs. Orme's departure from Rockhill, Mr.\nIngleby died, as narrated in a foregoing chapter, and was shortly\nfollowed to the grave by Mr. Cole, the Sector of the parish in\nwhich Mr. and Miss Ryder resided. The reader is already aware of\nthe remarkable religious revolution which now took place in Aston\nand the adjoining parish of Broadhurst, though of a very lamentable\ndescription in the latter place. In the course of the same spring,\nMrs. Orme received intelligence of her husband's death, an event\nwhich naturally excited painful emotions in her breast, though,\nconsidering his past conduct, her grief for his loss could neither\nbe very deep nor poignant. Her little boy was now nearly two years\nold, a lovely child both in appearance and disposition, and an\nimmense favourite with his grandfather, who had insisted on his\nmother leaving him at the Elms when she went to visit her friends in\nthe west of England.\n\nOn hearing of Captain Orme's death, Miss Ryder judged it best to\ndefer her visit to the Elms; and consequently it was not till\nthe following year that she had again the pleasure of renewing\nher friendship with Mrs. Orme, and thus becoming acquainted with\nthe other members of her family. Nothing could exceed the kind\nattention paid her by Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, who felt grateful for the\nkindness she had shown to Emma while at Aston. They insisted on her\nremaining for a considerable period with them, and also that Mr.\nRyder should pay a visit to the Elms, and take his sister home.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Holmes had been much pleased with Miss Ryder, and also\nwith her brother when he arrived at the Elms. The happy change,\ntoo, in his religious character, which had now taken place, led to\na strong congeniality of feeling in the intercourse between him and\nhis worthy host and hostess. Many a delightful excursion was taken\nby the family in company with their guests; a feeling of happiness\npervaded every member of the household; and for the first time since\nthe death of Louisa, the family regained their former liveliness and\nbuoyancy of spirits. It was noticed, however, that on all occasions\nMr. Ryder contrived to secure the company of Mrs. Orme to himself,\nboth in the family excursions or when at home at the Elms. Various\nexcuses were invented to favour their being by themselves, without\nawakening suspicion, which frequently excited a smile, and sometimes\na good-humoured sarcasm from her sister Jane.\n\n\"Dear, dear,\" said Mrs. Orme, \"I left a small needle-case in the\nalcove where we were sitting last evening.\"\n\n\"I will run, Emma, and fetch it.\"\n\n\"By no means, dear Jane, I won't trouble you; I can very readily put\nmy hand upon it.\"\n\nMr. Ryder of course accompanied her to the alcove--a sweet retired\nspot; and then they extended their walk to a Roman camp, at a few\nmiles' distance--contriving to be back in time to dress for dinner.\nOn the following morning, Mr. Ryder, knowing that Miss Jane was\nunder a special engagement to meet an old friend, said at the\nbreakfast table, \"I should like to take an excursion to town to-day,\nif you young ladies will accompany me.\"\n\n\"I believe, Sir,\" said the facetious Jane, with an arch look and\nsignificant nod and smile, \"you know that I cannot go, which\npossibly may make the excursion the more agreeable.\"\n\nThe carriage was ordered out; the excursion was taken; and an\napology was in readiness to be offered on their return for the\nlateness of the hour. These, and many similar indications of a\nmutual attachment, were too obvious to elude the notice of Mr. and\nMrs. Holmes, and therefore it excited no astonishment when Mr.\nRyder, one morning, with Mrs. Orme leaning on his arm, entered Mr.\nHolmes' study, and requested his consent to their union. The old man\nwas so much delighted by this somewhat anticipated request, that\nwithout hesitation, he replied, \"I will most cheerfully give it;\nand may the Lord bless you.\" At this moment Mrs. Holmes entered the\nroom, and joyfully expressed her concurrence in the proposed match,\nwhich had already received the sanction of her husband.\n\nAfter all the preliminaries were duly adjusted the wedding took\nplace; and the ceremony was conducted by the Dissenting clergyman\nwhom Mr. and Mrs. Holmes attended, and whose ministrations had\nproved so great a source of consolation to Louisa, on the last\noccasion that she was able to go to chapel.[43] In accordance with\nthe feelings, however, both of the bride and bridegroom, it was\nresolved that there should be no public display or large assemblage\nof guests, and that none but the most intimate friends on both\nsides should be invited. The marriage was consequently a very quiet\nproceeding; but though unattended by the public acclamations which\ngreeted that of Mr. and Mrs. Lewellin, it was nevertheless quite as\nhappy a one, both at the time of its celebration and in its results.\n\n  [43] Vol. ii. p. 440.\n\nOn the ceremony being completed, the married couple started for a\ntour of a few weeks on the Continent, proceeding by Antwerp and\nBrussels to the Rhine, thence passing through Switzerland to Geneva,\nand then returning home through France, by Lyons and Paris. On\narriving at Southampton, to which they had crossed from Dieppe, they\nproceeded on their journey to the west of England, and in the course\nof a day or two arrived at Aston, where Miss Ryder had everything\nready for their reception. And now the reader may suppose that as I\nhave so satisfactorily disposed of Mrs. Orme, there remains nothing\nmore to be said of their friends at the Elms; but I have not yet\nquite done with the family of the Holmes.\n\nWhen a professor of religion renounces his faith, and goes off\ninto the world, we usually see, as in the case of Mr. Beaufoy,[44]\na most melancholy change in his character and in his habits. The\nman of sobriety often becomes intemperate; the man of unsullied\nmoral character sometimes becomes a libertine; the habits of\ndomestic virtue and religion are broken up, and all is desolation\nand misery. But when a sceptic embraces the faith of Christ, the\nmoral and social change is equally conspicuous; and it invariably\nproves a personal and a relative blessing. Of this, a striking\nexemplification occurs in the history of Mr. Gordon, Mr. Lewellin's\nearly friend. After he felt the renewing power of the grace of God,\nthe old things of evil, to which he had long addicted himself,\npassed away, and he became a new creature in Christ Jesus--an\nessentially different man, in taste, in principle, and in social\nhabits. He proved the genuineness of his conversion by the integrity\nand consistency of his conduct in all the subsequent stages of his\ncareer. In a letter which I received from him, some months after\nhe had passed from death to life, he said, \"Though I cannot doubt\nthe reality of my spiritual renovation, and am compelled to ascribe\nit to the sovereign grace of God, and though I am persuaded that\nhe will complete what he has begun, yet I deem it proper to let my\nprinciples be fairly tested, before I make any avowed profession\nof religion.\" On this resolution he acted. The first thing he did,\nthat bore the aspect of attachment to the Christian faith, was to\nengage a pew in a church at Blackfriars', where the gospel was\npreached in its purity; and he was very regular in his attendance.\nAnd it so happened that his pew adjoined the one occupied by Mr.\nWilliam Holmes, the eldest son of my old friend; who now, along\nwith his brother Edward, carried on the business from which their\nfather had retired. Young Holmes was already slightly acquainted\nwith Mr. Gordon, having frequently heard of him from his sisters.\nIn consequence of their sitting so near each other in church they\nfrequently walked home together; a close intimacy sprung up between\nthem, and they often visited at each other's houses. The account of\nMr. Gordon's miraculous escape, and the marvellous change of mind\nand character which immediately followed, naturally interested young\nHolmes, and still more his family, who readily acceded to William's\nproposal, that the next time he came to the Elms he should bring his\nfriend with him. Mr. Gordon was easily prevailed upon to accept the\ninvitation; and so favourable was the impression made by him on Mr.\nand Mrs. Holmes, that he was requested to repeat his visit, and in\na short time became so intimate as gradually to be regarded as one\nof the family. Many months had not elapsed before it was evident\nthat a deep reciprocal attachment had been formed between him and\nMiss Jane, which at last terminated in a union, concluded under the\nhappiest auspices. After their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon went\nto reside at Blackheath, where a few years afterwards I had the\npleasure of being their guest. They had then three fine children;\nand though I have not seen either of them for some time, we still\nkeep up an occasional correspondence. I am also happy to be able to\nsay that after his marriage, Mr. Gordon became at once decided in\nhis profession of religion, endeavouring in all things to adorn the\ndoctrine of God his Saviour. His natural _hauteur_ was exchanged for\nthe meekness and gentleness of Christ; and he became as zealous in\nthe defence and diffusion of the faith once delivered to the saints,\nas he had been in his hostility against it. He was much esteemed by\nhis Christian brethren, and so also was his wife, both of whom are\nnow advancing together to meet the grand crisis of their destiny,\nwithout any dread of the final issue.\n\n  [44] Vol. ii. p. 240.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome time after Mr. Ryder's return to Aston, I received a letter\nfrom him giving me a sketch of his tour, and urging me to redeem\nthe promise I had given him to pay the wedding visit. As the autumn\nwas advancing, I resolved to go at once; and I spent two very\npleasant weeks with him, visiting my other friends at intervals. One\nevening we had at Mr. Lewellin's a large gathering of some of the\nmost prominent personages of my narrative, including the Rev. John\nRoscoe and his lady, the Rev. O. Guion, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, and\nMrs. Roscoe. As soon as we were comfortably seated, with nothing to\ndo but to partake of our friend's hospitality, and enjoy the charm\nof social fellowship, the Rev. Mr. Roscoe, addressing Mr. Guion,\nsaid, \"Can you, Sir, tell me anything about my old friends the\nMisses Brownjohn? The last time I heard of them they were engaged\nin a lawsuit about a fortune, to which they supposed themselves\nentitled by the death of their nephew.[45] Did they succeed in\ngetting it?\"\n\n  [45] Vol. i. p. 380.\n\n\"Yes, Sir; and it was, I believe, a very large property. They\nstarted their carriage immediately afterwards.\"\n\n\"Do you know how they got over the difficulties occasioned by the\nnon-production of the register of their birth and baptism?\"\n\n\"I don't know how they got over the legal difficulties; but the\nother difficulty was not got over to Miss Susan's satisfaction for a\nlong time after she came into the possession of the property.\"\n\n\"You refer, I presume, to the omission of her name in the parish\nregistry, recording the fact of her regeneration?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir.\"\n\n\"Such a document,\" Mrs. John Roscoe remarked, \"must be of immense\nvalue in the estimation of an unregenerated Tractarian. No getting\ninto heaven without it! A parish registrar must be a very important\nfunctionary in the estimation of these High Church devotees. If he\nfail in his duty, alas! their hope of salvation vanishes--they are\nleft to die in despair.\"\n\n\"To solve her difficulties,\" continued Mr. Guion, \"Miss Susan\napplied to the bishop's secretary to lay her case before his\nlordship for his opinion. The reply was to this effect: that as\nshe had taken the sacrament for many years, and had a distinct\nrecollection of having been confirmed, and a faint recollection of\nher god-mother, it must be taken for granted that she was baptized.\nBut even this official opinion from the highest ecclesiastical\nauthority of the diocese, did not quite satisfy her, though her\nsister, Miss Dorothy, often told her it ought; and gave it as her\nopinion, that if there was any omission she was sure the Almighty\nwould overlook it.\"\n\n\"Against this, Miss Susan demurred. 'Take for granted what ought\nto be positively certain! no, sister, I cannot do that.' She was\nrestless--ever going about from one aged person to another, in the\nhopes of finding some one who would give her some information as\nto her baptism. At length she found an old woman who recollected\nhearing that her uncle Robert, who died young, used to be spoken\nof in the family as her god-father. She followed up this clue,\nand found a son of this uncle Robert, who, on looking through an\nold account book, discovered the following entry:--'Paid for a\nsilver cup, given to my god-child, Susan Brownjohn, of Norton,\n\u00a33, 10s.' This cup she still had in her possession, bearing this\ninscription:--'The gift of Robert Fenton.' This was hailed as an\nunmistakeable evidence of her regeneration; and now she felt sure of\ngoing to heaven when the Almighty took her from earth.\"\n\n\"How painfully absurd,\" said Mrs. John Roscoe, \"to see an old lady\ntrotting about, without regarding wind or weather, in search of the\nproof of her regeneration; or, in other words, of her title to the\nkingdom of heaven! Are Miss Susan and Miss Dorothy still alive?\"\n\n\"Miss Dorothy is; but Miss Susan has been dead for nearly a\ntwelvemonth. It is generally supposed that her death was hastened\nby her anxieties and exertions about the legitimate proof of her\nbaptismal regeneration. When symptoms of decay became alarming, her\nsister engaged a professional nurse to wait upon her--an intelligent\nold woman, who afterwards gave me the following account of Miss\nSusan's last days:--\n\n\"'The first time I saw her, she was in her own room, seated in a\nhigh-backed arm-chair; the neatest room I ever saw-so clean, and\neverything in such prim order. 'Now, Mrs. ----, Mrs. ----,' she said\nto me, 'I forget your name, and therefore I shall call you Mrs.\nNurse, I am going to die, for Dr. Black told me when I asked him,\nthat he thought it probable that the Almighty was going to take me\nto himself; and I suppose it must be so. Now, Mrs. Nurse, I have a\ngood many prayers to read; and a good deal to read out of this good\nbook, _The Whole Duty of Man_; and I like to get all my reading over\nbefore tea, and then I can enjoy myself. You will now go out of my\nroom, and not come back till I ring, which, I suppose, will be in\nabout an hour's time.' However, the bell rung in about a quarter\nof an hour, and Miss Dorothy and I entered the room together. 'I\ncan't,' she said to her sister, 'get through my reading so well as I\nused to do. I get sleepy as soon as I begin. But I see the cup.'\n\n\"'O!' said Miss Dorothy, 'you are too scrupulous, dear sister; the\nAlmighty is sure to overlook it.'\n\n\"'I suppose he will; but I like to be particular. However, it's\na great comfort to me, to see the silver cup, the proof of my\nbaptismal regeneration; the thing necessary, you know, dear sister,\nto fit us for heaven. I would not part with it for another fortune\nfrom the Indies.'\n\n\"'I saw,' said the old nurse, 'a little old-fashioned silver cup on\nthe mantel-piece, on which she often looked with evident emotions of\npleasure: but I could not divine the reason, till one day she gave\nme a detailed history of the whole matter. She then asked me whether\nI was baptized at the church; and whether I had satisfied myself\nthat it was duly entered in the church register; assuring me, that\nunless it was, I stood no chance of going to heaven. At length,'\ncontinued the old woman, 'the crisis came.'\n\n\"'I suppose,' said Dr. Black to her, after examining her pulse\nvery carefully, 'you would like to take the sacrament, before the\nAlmighty takes you to himself?'\n\n\"'To be sure I should, Doctor; our Church appoints it.'\n\n\"'Shall I request your Rector, Mr. Guion, to call?'\n\n\"'To be sure not, Doctor. I never have had anything to do with the\nEvangelicals while living, and they shan't come near me when dying.\nNo, no, Doctor; I'll keep to the clergy of the proper order--the\nclergy of our fathers.'\n\n\"'Very good, Madam; I know your predilections.'\n\n\"'Yes, Doctor; and my antipathies.'\n\n\"'The day and hour was fixed, and old Mr. Johnson, from Ottersley,\ncame to administer the sacrament; and Miss Susan was dressed for the\noccasion, propped up with pillows in her high-backed arm-chair. Soon\nafter the ceremony was over, I saw,' said the old nurse, 'a change,\nand I knew death was coming; Miss Dorothy was standing by her side.'\n'I feel,' she remarked, 'a queer sensation coming over me. Give me\na glass of water;' but she expired when in the act of attempting to\ntake the tumbler into her hand.'\"\n\nWhat a melancholy contrast this presents to the death of the pious\ncottager, Mrs. Allen![46]\n\n  [46] Vol. i. p. 187.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI was happy to hear from Mrs. John Roscoe, that the ministry of\nher husband and his pious Curate was working moral wonders amongst\nhis parishioners. The church was uniformly crowded with attentive\nhearers; the people flocked to it from distant villages and\nhamlets. \"But, Sir,\" she added, \"my husband has to pay the usual\ntax which is levied on all who distinguish themselves by their\nzeal and energy, in exposing the absurdity and fatal tendency of\nthe popular superstitions, and trying to win souls to Christ. 'The\nmost favourable construction I can put on his conduct,' said an\nold clergyman, in a large party, 'is this--he is a little beside\nhimself.' I immediately replied, 'It would be, reverend Sir, a great\nadvantage to many of your parishioners, if you also were a little\nbeside yourself; and then they would stop at home, and attend your\nministrations, instead of having to walk three or four miles every\nSabbath to hear my husband.' This startled him, as he did not know\nthat I was present. He then endeavoured to eke out an apology, which\nhe would have been much wiser to have let alone.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI was sorry to hear that my old friend Farmer Pickford had sustained\nan injury by the slip of the ladder on which he was standing when\nlopping a tree, and that he had been confined to his bed some\nweeks. On seeing me enter his room, he stretched forth his hand, and\nsaid, \"I thought, Sir, you would give me a bit of a call, like. I am\nmain glad to see you. Here I am, the Lord's prisoner. I would rather\nbe the Lord's prisoner than the devil's free man, and no mistake.\"\n\n\"I hope the injury you have sustained is not likely to prove a\nlasting one.\"\n\n\"Why, as for that, I can't say. But now and tan I think I shall\nnever be the man I was. I shall never be able to dig and trench, and\nmow and thrash, as when I was a youngster. And, at my time of life,\nI can't expect it. I am sixty-five come October. I tell you what,\nSir, I see mercy mixed up with this affliction; and, as one of the\nPsalms says, I can sing of mercy and judgment. What a mercy that my\nneck was not broken; and that I had no broken bones. I never felt\nmy heart so full of gratitude on going into my homestead as I did\nthe morning when I was brought in on the hurdle. I couldn't help\nshedding some tears, like. The Lord be praised.\"\n\n\"Then you do not murmur, or feel disquieted?\"\n\n\"No, no, Sir; not I. I an't going to commit that sin. I have had\nmuch comfort while lying on this bed, and no mistake. My mistress\ncomes and sits by my side, and reads God's precious Book to me. I\nget main fond of the Psalms: they are like upland springs, they\nrefresh my soul at once, like. And she comes, after church, on a\nSunday, and talks over the sarmunts she hears there; and they come\nhome to my heart. And Harry often comes, when he has struck off\nwork, and he reads a bit, and gives the meaning of it, in his plain\nway, and what he says comes to my heart. So you see, Sir, I have\nmany mercies mixed up with this affliction.\"\n\n\"Well, Farmer, I am happy to find that you are still holding on your\nway to the kingdom of heaven, and are full of peace and hope as you\nmove onwards.\"\n\n\"Why, Sir, I hope you didn't think I should turn back, when you\nwere gone. Turn back to the world and sin! and turn my back on the\nprecious Saviour, who had compassion on, and rescued me when I was\na lost sinner! No, Sir; I would rather be hacked to death first, and\nno mistake. But I mustn't feel boastful. I don't keep myself. No.\nThe Lord is my keeper. I mind a sarmunt Mr. Ingleby preached one\nSunday morning. It made me strongish in faith, like; I got the text\nby heart before I took dinner, and I can say it, without missing\na word--'And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never\nperish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand' (John x.\n28).\"\n\n\"The Psalmist says, 'It hath been good for me that I have been\nafflicted;' and I suppose, Farmer, you can say the same?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, I can, and no mistake. I am main glad for this\naffliction. It gives me a bit of breathing time, like; I can think\nover spiritual matters now I am in this quiet room, better than\nI could while busy at the farm work. It's all right. The Lord be\npraised.\"\n\n\"You expect, I suppose, that you shall soon get about again?\"\n\n\"Why, as for that, I can't say. I have a main liking for this room.\nIt is so quiet, and my thoughts now and tan be so delightsome. It's\ntrue I have had a power of pain and suffering, but this has been\novertopped by heart's ease and spiritual rejoicings. I can say, what\nmy mistress read out of the blessed book, 'The Lord has made my bed\nin my affliction.' And here I am, willing to lie still or get up, to\nsuffer longer or go to farm work, just as the Lord pleases. I a'nt\nmuch mindful about it.\"\n\n\"I suppose, Farmer, you have thought sometimes during your\nconfinement, about your departure from earth, to be with Christ?\"\n\n\"Aye, that's it, and no mistake. T'other night, when I was thinking\na bit about dying and going into t'other world, I wondered how\nI should feel when looking at Jesus Christ for the first time,\nand what I should say to him, and what he would say to me. These\nthinkings came to and again, with such power, that tears streamed\nout of my eyes, and no mistake; and I wept on, till I fell asleep.\"\n\n\"He will appear in his glory, when he comes to receive you to\nhimself; and it will be a glory very brilliant, yet it won't dazzle\nor confound you, as your power of vision will be equal to the\ngrandeur of the spectacle.\"\n\n\"What a marvellous wonder that he should ever take a bit of a liking\nto such a wicked fellow as I was! But it's just like him. When he\nwas here, he looked out for the chief of sinners; after them that\nare lost. I a'nt forgot your sarmunt in the barn about Zaccheus. I\nshall think of it when I am in heaven, if I should ever get there,\nas I hope I shall. And I shall have a bit of wish to see him, as he\nhad to see Jesus Christ, when he got up into the sycamore tree.\"\n\nI was much gratified by finding him in such a heavenly frame of\nmind--so patient under his sufferings, so resigned to the Divine\nwill, so joyful in hope, and so strong in faith. I read a chapter,\nmaking a few explanatory remarks, prayed with him, and left him; but\nhe would not let me go without a promise that I would see him again.\n\nOn my next visit, I saw Mrs. Pickford, who appeared the picture of\ngrief. She wept, and said--\"My dear husband has been very ill the\nlast two days, and in very great pain; I fear the Lord is going to\ntake him from me. However, I have the consolation of knowing, that\nhe has taken refuge in the ark of safety; he cleaves to the dear\nRedeemer with all his heart. It is quite wonderful to hear how he\ntalks about the love of Christ; about feeling its power on his soul;\nand about seeing him, and being made like him.\"\n\nI went into his room, shook hands with him, and had a long\nconversation. When speaking of the Saviour coming, in the spiritual\nmanifestations of his presence, to comfort and animate his disciples\nin the chamber of affliction, or when entering death's dark vale,\nhe interrupted me by a burst of natural eloquence, which greatly\ndelighted us--\"I can speak to the truth of what you say. He does\ncome and comfort my heart. I have had more heart-rejoicings in\nthis room, than I ever had at church or chapel, when hearkening to\nsarmunts, and that is saying a great deal. My soul has been taken\nup to the third heaven, and though I have not seen Jesus Christ\nwith my bodily eyes as Paul did, yet I have felt the sweetness of\nhis love--the preciousness of his love, and no mistake. I say to\nmy wife, I say to my children, I say to my servants, and all my\nneighbours, Take refuge in Christ, the living ark of safety, to save\nyou from the wrath to come; and love him with all your hearts, and\nthen when you die, He will come and comfort you, as he comes and\ncomforts me. I beg pardon, Sir, for stopping you, but I couldn't\nhold no longer. My heart was too full.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is now a long time since I was last at Fairmount; but I\nfrequently correspond with Mr. Stevens and Mr. Lewellin, and hear\nhow matters are going on in that part of the country, of which,\nthough not my native place, I may truly say, from the pleasing\nassociations connected with it, in the words of Horace--\n\n    \"Ille terrarum mibi pr\u00e6ter omnes\n     Angulus ridet.\"\n\nMy friends Mr. and Mrs. Stevens continue as formerly in the\nenjoyment of good health and spirits, and though advanced in years,\nare still active in promoting the religious and moral improvement\nof the villagers in their neighbourhood. Mr. and Mrs. Lewellin have\nnow a young family growing up about them; and Rockhill is quite the\nadmiration of the country round for the great improvements effected\non it by Mr. Lewellin, who, by diligent perseverance, and the\nvaluable services of his bailiff, Harry Pickford, has become quite a\nscientific farmer. Mr. and Mrs. Ryder are very happy, with two sweet\nchildren, a boy and a girl, and a constant interchange of visits\nis kept up with Rockhill and Fairmount. Miss Ryder still lives\nwith them; but it is doubtful whether this will be the case much\nlonger, at least it is currently reported in the village that Mr.\nHartley, the Rector of Aston, is shortly to lead her to the altar, a\nstatement which receives some corroboration, from the circumstance\nthat the Rector has lately been getting his house repaired and newly\nfurnished. Mrs. Roscoe, shortly after her husband's death, took up\nher abode with her daughter and son-in-law, where she receives\nevery attention and kindness, and looks tranquilly forward to\njoining her beloved husband in a better world.\n\nMy old friend Farmer Pickford, after being confined for nearly\ntwelve months, gradually regained his health and his physical\nenergy, and is now become a hale old man, and has every prospect of\nattaining a patriarchal age. A few months since I received from him\na basket of game, with the following characteristic note:--\n\n     \"REVEREND SIR,--As you have left off honouring my wife's\n     cookery, she and I have been thinking that you would like to\n     taste a bit of our game in your own house. I shot the hares,\n     and Harry killed the partridges and the snipes. They are quite\n     fresh--all killed yesterday. We hope they will come safe. I am\n     happy to say that all's well at the homestead. We get a good\n     sarmunt now and tan, in the kitchen. I hope we shall all meet in\n     heaven, and no mistake.--Yours devoutly,\n\n     JOHN AND MARTHA PICKFORD.\"\n\nHis son George is now captain of a vessel, and Sam is his mate.\nPeople say that Harry is to be married soon to a daughter of Farmer\nGoddard; and if so, it is believed that he will leave his situation\nat Rockhill, and occupy the adjoining farm, which will become vacant\nat Michaelmas.\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\nThe Author has now brought his labours to a close; and having thus\nfinally disposed of the various characters in his story, it may\njustly be presumed that nothing more remains to be done but simply\nto thank his readers for their courteous attention to his narrative,\nand bid them a hearty and respectful farewell. But, perhaps, before\ndoing so, he may be permitted to cast a retrospective glance on the\ncourse through which he and his readers have passed together, and\nreview some of the leading principles which he has endeavoured to\nillustrate and enforce in the course of his work.\n\nIn commencing his labours, the Author of the _Sheepfold and the\nCommon_ resolved to maintain a strict neutrality amid the various\nconflicting sects in the Christian Church, and avoid everything like\nan undue _clannishness_ or _esprit de corps_. Assuming a position\nmidway between the two principal religious parties which exist\namongst us--Church and Dissent--he resolved to hold the balance of\njudgment and justice with an impartial hand--neither to lower the\none, nor unduly exalt the other--allowing each to retain its own\necclesiastic polity, without presuming to encroach on the freedom\nwhich both so equitably claim. He has, he admits, exposed some of\nthe imperfections of the Episcopal Establishment; but these very\nimperfections have been pointed out and animadverted on by many of\nits most intelligent and decided advocates and admirers, both of\nthe clergy and laity. In so doing, however, it has been very far\nfrom his intention wantonly to impair the credit of the Church of\nEngland, or alienate her members from her communion; but to render\nhis assistance in paving the way for a revision of her polity,\nwhich is now so loudly called for, and which, in general belief,\nwill render her a greater and a more impressive instrument of moral\nand spiritual power amongst the great mass of the people. He has\nnot attempted to set in hostile array against each other those who\nare united in the same faith, though differing in denominational\nopinions and practices. He has given no advice to a Churchman or\nto a Dissenter which stands in opposition to the pure and catholic\nspirit of the gospel; but he has endeavoured to induce all, from a\nprofound regard to the authority of Jesus Christ, as well as their\nown moral dignity and happiness, \"to add to their faith, virtue;\nand to virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge, temperance; and to\ntemperance, patience; and to patience, godliness; and to godliness,\nbrotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, charity\" (2 Pet. i.\n5-7).\n\nHis main object throughout the whole of his labours has been to\npresent, in a popular form, the leading doctrines of the Christian\nfaith; and to vindicate its integrity and purity against its\never-active opponents; and to prove, at the same time, that it is a\nremedial scheme to recover man from the ruin occasioned by the first\ntransgression, rather than a mere educational or ceremonial one.\nHe is aware that the heart of every man, while in an unenlightened\nand unrenewed state, presents an impassable barrier against its\nclaims; but the regular marshalled forces of opposition are\nconcentrated within the fortresses of scepticism and superstition.\nScepticism assumes different phases, and takes various grounds of\nobjection--alternately denying the truthfulness of the historic\nrecords of Christianity--impugning the credibility of its witnesses,\nand the rationality of its doctrines--inveighing against the\nso-called arrogance of its claims and requirements--and rejecting it\nas an ill-contrived theory, which answers no other purpose than to\ngratify the visionary, or affright the credulous. In the person of\nMr. Gordon and others, the Author has allowed scepticism to express\nits hostility to Christianity; and the reader will form his own\njudgment of the way in which the arguments put forth by infidelity\nhave been met and repelled. (See vol. i. pp. 96-104, 133-144, and\n137; ii. 76-107.)\n\nIn endeavouring thus to explain and illustrate Evangelical\ndoctrines, the Author has necessarily been led, by the nature of\nhis subject, to expose and confute the various forms of heresy and\ntheological error which appear to be more especially characteristic\nof the present age. On one of these--the Tractarian heresy--which\nprevails to such a lamentable extent among many members of\nthe Church of England, he has deemed it expedient to dwell at\nconsiderable length, and has frequently introduced the views\nmaintained by the High Church party, as a subject of disquisition.\nOn this point it may, perhaps, be necessary to enter somewhat into\ndetail, as to many persons the remarks on the doctrines professed by\nthe Tractarian body, and the animadversions on the teaching of their\nclergymen, may appear somewhat severe and unwarranted.\n\nIt cannot, the Author conceives, be denied by any Christian,\nwho bows to the absolute authority of the Bible, and its\nobvious interpretation, that the only way to obtain eternal life\nis by believing in Jesus Christ, the Son of God; and that the\nspiritual regeneration of the soul is a necessary pre-requisite\nand qualification for an admission into the kingdom of heaven.\nBut Tractarianism, like Romanism, virtually ignores this scheme\nof mercy, by introducing a ceremonial apparatus, by which a\npriestly power effects for its deluded victims and devotees all\nthat is necessary for final salvation, without the concurrence of\nany supernatural grace, but what is supposed to flow through the\nartificially prescribed channels. To expose the absurdity, as well\nas the anti-Christian character of this heresy, the Author has\nintroduced, in the person of Mr. Roscoe, the character of a devout\nand spiritually enlightened man, and in his brother, the Rev. John\nRoscoe, that of an able and zealous advocate of the Tractarian\ntheory. The reader will form his own opinion on the merits of the\nquestion at issue, and the force of the arguments maintained by the\nsupporters of the respective systems (i. 317-477).\n\nNo one, the Author thinks, can read the New Testament with careful\nattention, without perceiving that the sacred writers treat\nof two distinct orders of human beings--the natural, and the\nspiritual man; the one enlightened and renovated, and living in\nmental fellowship with God; the other, living through life under\nthe governing influence of his constitutional principles, and\nconventional predilections and habits--in whose estimation, whether\nhe be a libertine or a religious devotee, the necessity of a mental\nregeneration is viewed as a fiction, or a mere theological dogma.\nHence, it devolved on the Author, in a work of this description,\nto draw plainly the broad line of distinction, which he thinks the\nintelligent reader will discover he has done in his illustrative\nand confirmatory examples, as well as by the simple process of\nreasoning, deducible from the authoritative data of the inspired\nvolume. (See vol. i. pp. 198, 342-346, 352-356; see also paper on\n_Calm Discussion_, i. 246, and _A Struggle for Life_, ii. 493.)\n\nThis broad line of distinction between the two orders of men,\nbecomes more marked and decisive when they are dying, or when\nanticipating death. As an instance of this, the reader is presented\nwith a contrast in the narrative of the deathbed of Mrs. Allen\n(i. 187, 188), as compared with that of Miss Susan Brownjohn (ii.\n568-570), and in the respective accounts of the last moments of\nMr. Ingleby, the Evangelical pastor; and Mr. Cole, the advocate of\nTractarian principles (ii. 523-528, 540-544).\n\nIn separate papers, which form essential parts of his work, he has\nbrought under the notice of his readers a variety of individual\ncases, which may prove as beacons, or examples of great practical\nutility. He would call the serious attention of the incautious, who\nmay be exposed to beguiling temptations, to the case of Mr. Lewellin\n(i. 13), young Harvey (ii. 179), and Mr. Beaufoy (ii. 240).\n\nTo the case of the ANXIOUS INQUIRER, who is intensely concerned for\nhis salvation, the Author has paid great attention, by explaining\nthe _cause_ of his mental disquietude, which is a penetrating\nconviction of personal guilt, and a clear perception of its\nconsequent danger (i. 416 and 503).\n\nThe great question, _What must we do to be saved?_ answered: see _An\nEscape from a False Refuge_ (i. 530); also, _The Farm-house Kitchen_\n(ii. 292).\n\nThe spiritual perplexities to which all are subjected, in some\ndegree, while working out their salvation, are specified and\nadjusted, and these are:--_The defective nature of repentance_ (i.\n176); _the declension of spiritual enjoyments_, and _the want of\nan assurance of final salvation_ (ii. 159). See also Mrs. Loader's\nLetter (ii. 303).\n\nIn the person of Miss Roscoe we have a specimen of Christian\ndecision, its sacrifices, its struggles, its conflicts, its\ntriumphs, and its recompense of reward. Miss Holmes' religious\nhistory presents a very different complexion; in her we see the good\nwork of grace beginning and advancing under favourable auspices;\nher conflicts are mental, and the final issue is glorious. In the\ncase of Miss Emma Holmes is exhibited the painful consequences of\nduplicity and headstrong rashness, in entering into the married\nstate.\n\nNothing, in the opinion of the Author, has a more powerful influence\nover the popular mind, to excite prejudice against Christianity,\nand to lead the profane and sceptical to call in question its\nDivine origin, than the multiplicity of sects which exist within\nthe pale of the visible church; especially when they perceive the\nbitter and antagonistic spirit which they often cherish and express\ntowards each other. The evil of this and its remedy, the Author has\nendeavoured to point out and illustrate (ii. 18-36.)\n\nThe Author has interwoven, in the progress of his work, many\nspecimens of the wonder-working power of the grace of God, in the\nregeneration and conversion of persons of varying degree of moral\nexcellencies and of moral worthlessness; and of the diversified mode\nof operation which is observed by the Divine Spirit when effecting\nit. He would call the attention of the intelligent reader to the\nfollowing cases, which are so many living witnesses in confirmation\nof the Divine origin and blissful tendency of the truth, by which\nthey are called out of a state of spiritual death to give their\ntestimony:--Mr. Lewellin (i. 23), the Rev. O. Guion (i. 76), Miss\nRoscoe (i. 129), Mr. Tennent (i. 151), Mr. Roscoe (i. 278), Farmer\nPickford (i. 47, 392, 571), Miss Denham (i. 414), Rev. John Roscoe\n(i. 428), Miss Osbourne, the Quakeress (i. 503), Mr. and Mrs. Lobeck\n(i. 528-544), Mrs. Hastings--see _The Effect of a Word Spoken in\nSeason_ (ii. 108), Mrs. Farrington--see _The Farm-house Kitchen_\n(ii. 284), Mr. Ryder--see _A Struggle for Life_ (ii. 493), Mr.\nGordon (ii. 511-515).\n\nThat the papers are very unequal in point of interest and execution,\nno one is more conscious of than the writer; but what he has\nwritten, he wrote as well as he could when it was written; and he\nmust now leave it to be dealt with, just as the candid and impartial\ncritic may decide. He knows that perfection has never been attained;\nand though he feels that partiality for his own productions with\nwhich authors are charged, and to which they are compelled to plead\nguilty, when they speak so as to be believed, yet he is not vain\nenough to suppose that he has attained it. The work has its faults,\nwhich he has not skill enough to conceal, nor temerity enough to\nvindicate and if it possess no excellence, it will soon descend to\nthat state of oblivion from which no interest can redeem it.\n\n\"And now,\" to quote the language of an elegant author, \"could he\nflatter himself that any one would take half the pleasure in reading\nhis numbers which he has taken in writing them, he would not fear\nthe loss of his labour. The employment detached him from the bustle\nand hurry of life, the din of politics, and the noise of folly;\nvanity and vexation flew away for a season, care and disquietude\ncame not near his dwelling. He arose fresh as the morning to his\ntask; the silence of the night invited him to peruse it; and he can\ntruly say, that food and rest were not preferred before it. Happier\nhours than those which have been spent in composing them he never\nexpects to see in this world: very pleasantly did they pass, and\nmoved smoothly and swiftly along; for when thus engaged he counted\nno time. They are gone, but have left a relish and a fragrance upon\nthe mind; and the remembrance of them is sweet.\"\n\nIt has been justly observed, that there are few things not purely\nevil, of which we can say, without some emotion of uneasiness, _this\nis the last_. Those who never could agree together, shed tears when\nmutual discontent has determined them to final separation. Of a\nplace which has been frequently visited, though without pleasure,\nthe last look is taken with heaviness of heart; and the Author,\nwho has by a series of papers contributed to the improvement and\ngratification of society, may expect to be forgiven, if he should\nfeel some novel sensations pervading his breast, when his last essay\nis before him.\n\nThus in the planning and execution of our schemes, life passes\naway, and we advance by unconscious steps towards its termination;\nand though by a singular species of artifice we contrive to keep\nour latter end in some distant perspective of futurity, yet in our\nmore serious moments of reflection we feel that it is approaching.\nAnd can we anticipate it with cool indifference? Can we think of\ntaking a last look at the varied beauties of nature, which have so\noften charmed the eye--of hearing the last words of friendship,\nwhich have so often delighted the ear--of uttering the last adieu\nwhich is to separate us from all communion with the inhabitants of\nearth--without feeling a degree of pensive sadness, which nothing\ncan relieve but the hope of a blissful immortality? And even when\nthis hope breaks in upon our solemn musings, and dispels the gloom\nwhich envelopes them, it is not always in our power to regain that\ntranquillity which the approach of our _last_ hour tends to disturb.\nOur _last_ hour! It may now be distant, but ere long it will be\nnear. Suppose it were now come! Suppose only sixty more minutes of\ntime were allotted to us on earth! Suppose we were now within a few,\na very few steps of the seat of final judgment! Suppose in a few\nmoments we should be called to give an account of the deeds done\nin the body, whether good or evil! Suppose, ere the village clock\nproclaims to the rustic inhabitants the departure of _another hour_,\nwe should be doomed to receive the decisive sentence, which will\n\n    \"Remove us to yon heav'nly place,\n     Or shut us up in hell,\"\n\nwhat would be the state of our mind? Should we be calm, like the\nwoodman, who after the toils of the day, goes home to enjoy his\nrest? or should we be alarmed, as when the mariner sees the first\nsymptoms of the rising storm? Should we be in ecstasy, as when the\ncaptive is released from the prison-house of wretchedness, and\nrestored to his home? or should we turn pale, and tremble like\nthe condemned criminal, when he hears the first sound of his own\nfuneral knell? These are questions which we may now dismiss under an\napprehension that they relate to a remote period; but that period\nis not so remote, as when the questions first met the eye of the\nreader; and ere long it will be _the present time_. Are we prepared\nto live through our last hour; and to give up our life, when the\nlast pulse shall beat through our veins, without wishing to prolong\nit? Are we ready to step across the boundary which divides the\nvisible from the invisible world, without faltering in our passage?\nIf so, we may live in peace. We need fear no evil. We may range\ninto futurity, without being appalled by any rising forms of terror.\nWe may anticipate the last hour with tranquil joy, and calmly wait\nits approach. But if not, we ought to feel alarm. To be gay and\nsportive when treading on the verge of eternal woe, would be no less\nthan a species of mental delirium. It would be an act of criminal\nfolly; a treasuring up to ourselves wrath against the day of wrath;\nand impiously smiling as the storm of the Divine displeasure is\naccumulating its stores of vengeance.\n\nLet me, then, before I have taken my final farewell of my reader,\nurge him once more to \"work out his own salvation with fear and\ntrembling.\" Let me once more point his attention to \"the Lamb of\nGod, that taketh away the sin of the world.\" Let me once more tell\nhim, in the language which fell from the lips of the Redeemer, when\nhe was on the earth:--\"He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting\nlife: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the\nwrath of God abideth on him.\"\n\nI have now done; and commending my well-meant though imperfect\nlabours to the blessing of Him who alone can render them effectual\nto the salvation of my readers, I now retire to the more private\nduties of my station, yet not without indulging the hope of meeting\nsome in the celestial world, to whom I have been the means of\nimparting consolation, while passing through this valley of weeping.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\nGLASGOW: W. G. BLACKIE AND CO., PRINTERS, VILLAFIELD.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nMinor typographical errors have been corrected without note.\nIrregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained\nas printed. Quotation marks are inconsistent; mismatched quotes are\nnot fixed if it's not sufficiently clear where the missing quote\nshould be placed.\n\nThe illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up\nparagraphs, thus the page number of the illustration might not match\nthe page number in the List of Illustrations.\n\nPage 174: The missing word \"it\" has been added by the transcriber:\n\"we are satisfied that it is our duty to hear the gospel\".","title":"The Sheepfold and the Common; Or, Within and Without. Vol. 2 (of 2)","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":217210}