I went almost immediately after, at the invitation of Mr. Ranby, to pass
a few days at his villa at Hampstead. Mr. and Mrs. Ranby were esteemed
pious persons, but having risen to great affluence by a sudden turn of
fortune in a commercial engagement, they had a little self-sufficiency,
and not a little disposition to ascribe an undue importance to wealth.
This I should have thought more pardonable under their circumstances,
had I not expected that religion would in this respect have more than
supplied the deficiencies of education. Their religion, however,
consisted almost exclusively in a disproportionate zeal for a very few
doctrines. And though they were far from being immoral in their own
practice, yet, in their discourse, they affected to undervalue morality.
This was, indeed, more particularly the case with the lady, whose chief
object of discourse seemed to be, to convince me of her great
superiority to her husband in polemical skill. Her chaste conversation
certainly was not coupled with fear. In one respect she was the very
reverse of those pharisees who were scrupulously exact about their petty
observances. Mrs. Ranby was, on the contrary, anxious about a very few
important particulars, and exonerated herself from the necessity of all
inferior attentions. She was strongly attached to one or two preachers,
and discovered little candor for all others, or for those who attended
them. Nay, she somewhat doubted of the soundness of the faith of her
friends and acquaintance who would not incur great inconvenience to
attend one or other of her favorites.
Mrs. Ranby's table was "more than hospitably good." There was not the
least suspicion of Latin here. The eulogist of female ignorance might
have dined in comfortable security against the intrusion and vanity of
erudition. She had three daughters, not unpleasing young women. But I
was much concerned to observe, that they were not only dressed to the
very extremity of fashion, but their drapery was as transparent, as
short, and as scanty, there was as sedulous a disclosure of their
persons, and as great a redundancy of ornaments, as I had seen in the
gayest circles.
"Expect not perfection," said my good mother, "but look for
_consistency_." This principle my parents had not only taught me in the
closet, but had illustrated by their deportment in the family and in the
world. They observed a uniform correctness in their general demeanor.
They were not over anxious about character for its own sake, but they
were tenderly vigilant not to bring any reproach on the Christian name
by imprudence, negligence, or inconsistency, even in small things.
"Custom," said my mother, "can never alter the immutable nature of
right; fashion can never justify any practice which is improper in
itself; and to dress indecently is as great an offence against purity
and modesty, when it is the fashion, as when it is obsolete. There
should be a line of demarcation somewhere. In the article of dress and
appearance, Christian mothers should make a stand. They should not be so
unreasonable as to expect that a young girl will of herself have courage
to oppose the united temptations of fashion without, and the secret
prevalence of corruption within: and authority should be called in where
admonition fails."
The conversation after dinner took a religious turn. Mrs. Ranby was not
unacquainted with the subject, and expressed herself with energy on many
serious points. I could have been glad, however, to have seen her views
a little more practical; and her spirit a little less censorious. I saw
she took the lead in debate, and that Mr. Ranby submitted to act as
subaltern, but whether his meekness was the effect of piety or fear, I
could not at that time determine. She protested vehemently against all
dissipation, in which I cordially joined her, though I hope with
something less intemperance of manner, and less acrimony against those
who pursued it. I began, however, to lose sight of the errors of the
daughters' dress in the pleasure I felt at conversing with so pious a
mother of a family. For pious she really was, though her piety was a
little debased by coarseness, and not a little disfigured by asperity.
I was sorry to observe that the young ladies not only took no part in
the conversation, but that they did not even seem to know what was going
on, and I must confess the _manner_ in which it was conducted was not
calculated to make the subject interesting. The girls sat jogging and
whispering each other, and got away as fast as they could.
As soon as they were withdrawn--"There sir," said the mother, "are three
girls who will make three excellent wives. They were never at a ball or
a play in their lives; and yet, though I say it, who should not say it,
they are as highly accomplished as any ladies at St. James." I cordially
approved the former part of her assertion, and bowed in silence to the
latter.
I took this opportunity of inquiring what had been her mode of religious
instruction for her daughters; but though I put the question with much
caution and deference, she looked displeased, and said she did not think
it necessary to do a great deal in that way; all these things must come
from above; it was not human endeavors, but divine grace which made
Christians. I observed that the truth appeared to be, that divine grace
_blessing_ human endeavors seemed most likely to accomplish that great
end. She replied that experience was not on my side, for that the
children of religious parents were not always religious. I allowed that
it was too true. I knew that she drew her instances from two or three of
her own friends, who, while they discovered much earnestness about their
own spiritual interests, had almost totally neglected the religious
cultivation of their children; the daughters in particular had been
suffered to follow their own devices, and to waste their days in company
of their own choosing and in the most frivolous manner. "What do ye
more than others?" is an interrogation which this negligence has
frequently suggested. Nay, professing serious piety, if ye do not more
than those who profess it not, ye do less.
I took the liberty to remark that though there was no such thing as
hereditary holiness, no entail of goodness; yet the Almighty had
promised in the Scriptures many blessings to the offspring of the
righteous. He never meant, however, that religion was to be transferred
arbitrarily like an heir-loom; but the promise was accompanied with
conditions and injunctions. The directions were express and frequent, to
inculcate early and late the great truths of religion; nay, it was
enforced with all the minuteness of detail, "precept upon precept, line
upon line, here a little, and there a little"--at all times and seasons,
"walking by the way, and sitting in the house." I hazarded the
assertion, that it would _generally_ be found that where the children of
pious parents turned out ill, there had been some mistake, some neglect,
or some fault on the part of the parents; that they had not used the
right methods. I observed that I thought it did not at all derogate from
the sovereignty of the Almighty that he appointed certain means to
accomplish certain ends; and that the adopting these, in conformity to
his appointment, and dependence on his blessing, seemed to be one of the
cases in which we should prove our faith by our obedience.
I found I had gone too far: she said, with some warmth, that she was not
wanting in any duty to her daughters; she set them a good example, and
she prayed daily for their conversion. I highly commended her for both,
but risked the observation, "that praying without instilling principles,
might be as inefficacious as instruction without prayer. That it was
like a husbandman who should expect that praying for sunshine should
produce a crop of corn in a field where not one grain had been sown.
God, indeed, _could_ effect this, but he does not do it; and the means
being of his own appointment, his omnipotence is not less exerted, by
his directing certain effects to follow certain causes, than it would be
by any arbitrary act." As it was evident that she did not choose to
quarrel with me, she contented herself with saying coldly, that she
perceived I was a _legalist_, and had but a low view of divine things.
At tea I found the young ladies took no more interest in the
conversation, than they had done at dinner, but sat whispering and
laughing, and netting white silk gloves till they were summoned to the
harpsichord. Despairing of getting on with them in company, I proposed a
walk in the garden. I now found them as willing to talk, as destitute of
any thing to say. Their conversation was vapid and frivolous. They laid
great stress on small things. They seemed to have no shades in their
understanding, but used the strongest terms for the commonest occasions,
and admiration was excited by things hardly worthy to command attention.
They were extremely glad, and extremely sorry, on subjects not
calculated to excite affections of any kind. They were animated about
trifles, and indifferent on things of importance. They were, I must
confess, frank and good-natured, but it was evident, that as they were
too open to have any thing to conceal, so they were too uninformed to
have any thing to produce: and I was resolved not to risk my happiness
with a woman who could not contribute her full share toward spending a
wet winter cheerfully in the country.
The next day, all the hours from breakfast to dinner were devoted to the
harp. I had the vanity to think that this sacrifice of time was made in
compliment to me, as I had professed to like music; till I found that
all their mornings were spent in the same manner, and the only fruit of
their education, which seemed to be used to any purpose was, that after
their family devotions in the evening, they sung and played a hymn. This
was almost the only sign they gave of intellectual or spiritual life.
They attended morning prayers if they were dressed before the bell rang.
One morning when they did not appear till late, they were reproved by
their father; Mrs. Ranby said, "she should be more angry with them for
their irregularity, were it not that Mr. Ranby obstinately persisted in
reading a printed form which she was persuaded could not do any body
much good." The poor man, who was really well disposed, very properly
defended himself by saying, that he hoped his own heart went along with
every word he read; and as to his family, he thought it much more
beneficial for them to join in an excellent composition of a judicious
divine, than to attend to any such crude rhapsody as he should be able
to produce, whose education had not qualified him to lead the devotions
of others. I had never heard him venture to make use of his
understanding before; and I continued to find it much better than I had
at first given him credit for. The lady observed, with some asperity,
that where there were _gifts_ and _graces_, it superseded the necessity
of learning.
In vindication of my own good breeding, I should observe that in my
little debates with Mrs. Ranby, to which I was always challenged by her,
I never lost sight of that becoming example of the son of Cato, who,
when about to deliver sentiments which might be thought too assuming in
so young a man, introduced his admonitions with the modest preface,
Remember what our _father_ oft has taught us.
I, without quoting the son of the sage of Utica, constantly adduced the
paternal authority for opinions which might savor too much of arrogance
without such a sanction.
I observed, in the course of my visit, that self-denial made no part of
Mrs. Ranby's religious plan. She fancied, I believe that it savored of
works, and of works she was evidently afraid. She talked as if activity
were useless, and exertion unnecessary, and as if, like inanimate
matter, we had nothing to do but sit still and be shone upon.
I assured her that though I depended on the mercy of God, through the
merits of his Son, for salvation, as entirely as she could do, yet I
thought that Almighty grace, so far from setting aside diligent
exertion, was the principle which promoted it. That salvation is in no
part of Scripture represented as attainable by the indolent Christian,
if I might couple such contradictory terms. That I had been often
awfully struck with the plain declarations, "that the kingdom of
heaven suffereth violence"--"strive to enter in at the strait
gate"--"whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy
might"--"give diligence to make your calling sure"--"work out your own
salvation." To this labor, this watchfulness, this sedulity of endeavor,
the crown of life is expressly promised, and salvation is not less the
free gift of God, because he has annexed certain conditions to our
obtaining it.
The more I argued, the more I found my reputation decline, yet to argue
she compelled me. I really believe she was sincere, but she was ill
informed, governed by feelings and impulses, rather than by the plain
express rule of Scripture. It was not that she did not read Scripture,
but she interpreted it her own way; built opinions on insulated texts;
did not compare Scripture with Scripture, except as it concurred to
strengthen her bias. She considered with a disproportionate fondness,
those passages which supported her preconceived opinions, instead of
being uniformly governed by the general tenor and spirit of the sacred
page. She had far less reverence for the preceptive, than for the
doctrinal parts, because she did not sufficiently consider faith as an
operative influential principle; nor did she conceive that the sublimest
doctrines involve deep practical consequences. She did not consider the
government of the tongue, nor the command of her passions, as forming
any material part of the Christian character. Her zeal was fiery because
her temper was so; and her charity was cold because it was an expensive
propensity to keep warm. Among the perfections of the Redeemer's
character, she did not consider his being "meek and lowly" as an
example, the influence of which was to extend to her. She considered it
indeed as _admirable_ but not as _imitable_; a distinction she was very
apt to make in all her practical dissertations, and in her
interpretation of Scripture.
In the evening Mrs. Ranby was lamenting in general and rather customary
terms, her own exceeding sinfulness. Mr. Ranby said, "You accuse
yourself rather too heavily, my dear: you have sins to be sure." "And
pray what sins have I, Mr. Ranby?" said she, turning upon him with so
much quickness that the poor man started. "Nay," said he meekly, "I did
not mean to offend you; so far from it, that hearing you condemn
yourself so grievously, I intended to comfort you, and to say that
except a few faults--" "And pray what faults?" interrupted she,
continuing to speak however, lest he should catch an interval to tell
them. "I defy you, Mr. Ranby, to produce one." "My dear," replied he,
"as you charged yourself with all, I thought it would be letting you off
cheaply by naming only two or three, such as--." Here, fearing matters
would go too far, I interposed, and softening things as much as I could
for the lady, said, "I conceived that Mr. Ranby meant, that though she
partook of the general corruption--" Here Ranby, interrupting me with
more spirit than I thought he possessed, said "General corruption, sir,
must be the source of particular corruption: I did not mean that my
wife was worse than other women."--"Worse, Mr. Ranby, worse?" cried she.
Ranby, for the first time in his life, not minding her, went on, "As she
is always insisting that the whole species is corrupt, she can not help
allowing that she herself has not quite escaped the infection. Now to be
a sinner in the gross and a saint in the detail; that is, to have all
sins, and no faults, is a thing I do not quite comprehend."
After he had left the room, which he did as the shortest way of allaying
the storm, she apologized for him, said, "he was a well-meaning man, and
acted up to the little light he had;" but added, "that he was
unacquainted with religious feelings, and knew little of the nature of
conversion."
Mrs. Ranby, I found, seems to consider Christianity as a kind of
free-masonry, and therefore thinks it superfluous to speak on serious
subjects to any but the initiated. If they do not _return the sign_, she
gives them up as blind and dead. She thinks she can only make herself
intelligible to those to whom certain peculiar phrases are familiar; and
though her friends may be correct, devout, and both doctrinally and
practically pious; yet if they can not catch a certain mystic meaning,
if there is not a sympathy of intelligence between her and them, if they
do not fully conceive of impressions, and can not respond to mysterious
communications, she holds them unworthy of intercourse with her. She
does not so much insist on high moral excellence as the criterion of
their worth, as on their own account of their internal feelings.
She holds very cheap, that gradual growth in piety which is, in reality,
no less the effect of divine grace, than those instantaneous
conversions, which she believes to be so common. She can not be
persuaded that, of every advance in piety, of every improvement in
virtue, of every illumination of the understanding, of every amendment
in the heart, of every rectification of the will, the Spirit of God is
no less the author, because it is progressive, than if it were sudden.
It is true Omnipotence can, when he pleases, still produce these
instantaneous effects, as he has sometimes done; but as it is not his
established or common mode of operation, it seems vain and rash,
presumptuously to wait for these miraculous interferences. An implicit
dependence, however, on such interferences, is certainly more gratifying
to the genius of enthusiasm, than the anxious vigilance, the fervent
prayer, the daily struggle, the sometimes scarcely perceptible though
constant progress of the sober-minded Christian. Such a Christian is
fully aware that his heart requires as much watching in the more
advanced as in the earliest stages of his religious course. He is
cheerful in a well-grounded hope, and looks not for ecstasies, till that
hope be swallowed up in fruition. Thankful if he feel in his heart a
growing love to God, and an increasing submission to his will, though he
is unconscious of visions, and unacquainted with any revelation but that
which God has made in his word. He remembers, and he derives consolation
from the remembrance, that his Saviour, in his most gracious and
soothing invitation to the "heavy laden," has mercifully promised
"rest," but he has no where promised rapture.