minutes before, "There can be no harm in taking an excursion on the
water, especially as we intend to go to chapel in the evening."
"Where's Charles?" said a female, who had appeared the most gay and
sprightly when I first saw them.
At length two boats, which had gone a considerable distance up
the river, were seen returning; and on being asked if they had
picked up any one, they replied, "Yes; two." This reply electrified
the whole party, and some wept for joy.
[Illustration: SABBATH PLEASURE SEEKERS.
Vol. ii. page 64.]
"Here's a gentleman," said a waterman as he was coming up to the
foot of the stairs, "but I suspect he's dead."
"Where's the lady?" said her brother, "Is she safe?"
"She is in the other boat, Sir."
"Is she alive?--Has she spoken?"
"No, Sir, she has not spoken, I believe."
"Is she dead; O tell me!"
"I fear she is, Sir."
The bodies were immediately removed from the boats to a house in
the vicinity, and every effort was employed to restore animation.
In little more than ten minutes it was announced that the gentleman
began to breathe, but there was no allusion made to the lady. Her
brother sat motionless, absorbed in the deepest melancholy, till the
actual decease of his sister was announced, when he started up and
became almost frantic with grief; and though his companions tried to
comfort him, yet he refused to hear the words of consolation.
"O my sister! my sister! Would to God I had died for her!"
They were all overwhelmed in trouble, and knew not what to do. "Who
will bear the heavy tidings to our father?" said the brother, who
paced the room backwards and forwards. "O! who will bear the heavy
tidings to our father?" He paused; a death-like silence pervaded the
whole apartment. He again burst forth in the agonies of despair--"I
forced her to go against the dictates of her conscience; I am her
murderer; I ought to have perished, and not my sister. Who will bear
the heavy tidings to our father?"
"I will," said a gentleman, who had been unremitting in his
attentions to the sufferers.
"Do you know him, Sir?"
"Yes, I know him."
"O! how can I ever appear in his presence! I enticed my only sister
to an act of disobedience, which has destroyed her!"
How the father received the intelligence, or what moral effect
resulted from the disaster, I never heard, but it suggests a few
reflections which I wish to press upon the attention of my readers.
As the Sabbath is instituted for the purpose of promoting your moral
improvement and happiness, never devote its sacred hours to pleasure
and recreations. He who has commanded you to keep it holy, will not
suffer you to profane it with impunity. He may not bring down upon
you the awful expressions of his displeasure while you are in the
act of setting his authority at open defiance, but there is a day
approaching when you must stand before him as your judge. And can
you anticipate the solemnities of that day, while continuing in a
course of sin, with any other than the most fearful apprehensions?
You may, like many, suppose that that day is very far off; but you
may be undeceived by a sudden visitation of Providence; and in a
moment may be removed from amongst your gay companions, to appear in
his presence. And should this be the case, with what terror-struck
amazement will you look on the awful scene around you; with what
fearful and agonizing emotions will you listen to the final
sentence--_Depart!_
Resist the _first_ temptation to evil, or your ruin may be the
inevitable consequence. "Indeed I think we shall do wrong; my
conscience condemns me; I must return," said the unfortunate girl,
when she got near the river; but having yielded to the first
temptation, she was induced to overcome her scruples, and within
less than half an hour from that time she was hurried into the
eternal world. Had she refused when her brother solicited her to
leave home, she might have lived to comfort her father in his old
age; but by complying, she first lost her strength to withstand
temptation, and then her life. What a warning! And is this the only
one which the history of crime has given you? Alas, no! Have not
many, who have ended their days on the scaffold, traced their ruin
to the profanation of the Sabbath? This is the day in which the
spirits of evil are abroad, enticing the young and the thoughtless
to vice and impiety; and if you wish to avoid the misery and
degradation in which others have been involved, devote its sacred
hours to the purpose for which they were appointed. Attend some
place of worship, where the truths of the Bible are preached with
earnestness and power, and attend regularly; and though some of your
associates may ridicule you for your habits of devotion, yet will
you suffer yourself to be conquered by such weapons? The youth who
regularly attends a place of worship on the Sabbath, and receives
the truth under a deep conviction of its excellence and importance,
often enjoys a high mental feast, and becomes imperceptibly
fortified to resist the fascinations of the world; but he who spends
the sacred hours in the society of the thoughtless, amidst scenes
of gaiety and dissipation, becomes an easy prey to the worst of
temptations, often retires to rest reproaching himself for his folly
and impiety, and is gradually led from one crime to another till
iniquity proves his ruin.
* * * * *
As I wished to hear a celebrated preacher in the evening, I
asked Mr. Lewellin to accompany me, but he declined, for reasons
which raised him in my estimation as a young man of prudence and
consistency. "I am, Sir," he observed, "decidedly of opinion that
London offers many temptations to professors of religion which
require, on their part, constant vigilance to withstand; and one of
the most specious is, the celebrity of popular preachers."
"But," I replied, "do you think it wrong to go and hear these
ministers?"
"I would be cautious how I censured any one; but I certainly think
that the love of novelty in religion often proves pernicious, not
only to those who are enslaved by it, but to their families. Let me
suppose a case. Here is a religious family who professedly attend
the ministry of the Rev. Mr. Watkins, but the father is in the
habit of hearing every celebrated preacher. Will not this roving
disposition prevent his forming that attachment towards a pastor and
his flock in which the essence of Christian fellowship consists? And
will not the influence of his example have an injurious effect on
his children? If he take them with him, he imperceptibly teaches
them to believe that he is not so much delighted with the truth
as with the agent who conveys it. And what is this but sinking
the importance and value of the truth in the estimation of those
whose hearts are naturally averse to it. If he refuse to take them
with him, and compel them to go, while they are young, to their
regular place of worship, yet, as he does not go with them, they
are left without the controlling influence of his presence, and
are exposed to the temptation of absenting themselves for some
scene of amusement. If he leave his more stated minister to go
after these popular preachers, unless he has a greater measure of
prudence than such roving professors generally possess, he will
institute comparisons in the presence of his children between them
and the settled pastor. And will not this excite prejudice in their
minds against the clergyman whose ministry they are _forced_ to
attend? Will not this prove injurious to them? Will not this tend
to alienate their minds from the love of the truth, and to make
them regard its accidental associations as the main thing; and by
teaching them disrespect for their stated minister, they may, in
time, turn away contemptuously from the message he delivers. And
these are not the only evils which result from the indulgence of
this roving disposition; it is invariably found no less injurious to
the private reputation of a Christian, than to his domestic piety."
"But how so?" I replied. "What injury can it do the private
reputation of a Christian?"
"Why, he will be regarded as an unstable man; and though he may have
many virtues, yet if this imperfection be associated with them it
will materially injure him. For what influence can an unstable man
ever acquire, unless it be the power of doing evil? Who can respect
him? Who can place any dependence on him?"
"But," I asked, "may not a Christian leave the ministry of one
preacher, to attend that of another, without sustaining or producing
any moral injury?"
"Most certainly," said Mr. Lewellin; "we are at perfect liberty to
go where we please, and to hear whom we please; but we should avoid
that fickleness of disposition, which is ever moving from one place
to another. Some admire the last preacher they have heard more than
any preceding one, and have the censer always ready to throw the
incense of flattery around the _next_ who may make his appearance.
Instead of examining themselves, to see what progress they make in
knowledge and in grace, and attending to the religious instruction
of their children and their servants on the Sabbath, they are ever
asking, Who is in town? or, Who is expected? But though I condemn
most decidedly such a volatile spirit amongst professors, yet I
think we _ought_ to attend that ministry which we find the most
profitable. _The truth which we hear is Divine, but the agent
who preaches it is human_; and though the tone and the manner of
proclaiming it will not add to its importance, yet it may tend to
give it a more commanding power of impression; and hence, it is both
our duty and our privilege to attend the ministry of that man, whose
style of preaching is the most calculated to profit us. The poet in
speaking of government, has said,
'Whate'er is best administered is best.'
The same may be nearly said with regard to sermons. There is not
such a great difference between the thoughts and arrangements of
one preacher and another as some imagine. But who has not been
struck with the difference of the impression and effect? One man
shall speak, and how dry, and sapless, and uninteresting is he! Let
another deliver the very same things, and there is a savour that
gives them freshness--the things seem perfectly new. One preacher,
by his monotonous tones and manner, soon lulls us to sleep; while
another, by his earnestness, his pathos, and his impassioned
appeals--by the aptness of his illustrations, the chasteness of his
style, and the unction of his spirit--not only fixes our attention,
but penetrates the inner man of the heart; we feel ourselves
subdued, enlightened, and powerfully excited by the Word of God.
When a man of this attractive order appears in the pulpit, by the
mysterious action of the sympathetic faculty, his presence is felt
by the people, even before his voice is heard; and in the lines of
Cowper we see a great moral fact, clothed in the vestments of poetic
beauty:--
'When one that holds communion with the skies
Has filled his urn where these pure waters rise,
And once more mingles with us meaner things,
'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings--
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide,
That tells us whence _his_ treasures are supplied.
So when a ship well freighted with the stores
The sun matures on India's spicy shores,
Has dropp'd her anchor and her canvas furl'd
In some safe haven of our western world,
'Twere vain inquiring to what port she _went_--
The _gale_ informs us, laden with the scent.'"
"But, Sir," I remarked, "if we do not derive improvement and
consolation from the ministry on which we generally attend, we ought
to attribute it to some fault in ourselves. I remember being very
much struck with a remark which I heard a venerable clergyman make
when addressing his congregation--'If, my brethren,' he said, 'you
come to hear _me preach_, instead of hearing _the truth_ which I
deliver, be not surprised if you are permitted to go away without
having felt its purifying and consoling influence. I can do no more
than give utterance to the sublime doctrines and promises of the
gospel; it is the province of my Master to make them effectual to
your salvation; and if you neglect by strong and ardent prayer to
implore his blessing, he will withhold it.'"
"A very just and important remark," replied Mr. Lewellin, "and one
which I hope we shall never forget. We ought at all times to go into
the temple in a devotional spirit, and to remember that as every
good gift, and every perfect gift, is from above, and cometh down
from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither
shadow of turning, we should, in the most humble manner, invoke his
presence; and then we shall feel less disposed to rove and less
occasion to complain of the want of spiritual enjoyment."
We were now interrupted in our conversation, by the servant, who
informed Mr. Lewellin that there were two gentlemen below who
wished to see him. "Desire them to walk up. I am not aware," said
Mr. Lewellin, "who they are; and I regret their call, as I am not
in the habit of receiving company on the Sabbath." They entered the
room, and after offering an apology for this act of intrusion, one
said, "I know, Sir, you will excuse it, as I have made up my mind
to go with you to chapel this evening, along with our friend Mr.
Newton."
I did not immediately recollect this gentleman, though his manners
and voice seemed familiar to me; but on hearing his name, I
instantaneously recognized Mr. Gordon, whom I once met in the
country[11] when enjoying an evening's ramble. "I am happy to see
you, Sir" (addressing him), "as it gives me an opportunity of
reminding you of a promise which you have not yet redeemed."
[11] See vol. i. page 94.
"Indeed, Sir! You have the advantage of me. Did I ever make you a
promise, which I have not redeemed?"
"Yes, Sir, indeed you have done so."
"Where, and when, Sir, may I ask?"
"Were you never in a thunder-storm?"
"I beg your pardon. I hope you are well. I am happy to see you in
London. I hope you will do me the honour of a call.--Why, no. I have
not been able to inform you of the result of my inquiry; for, to be
very candid, I have been too much engaged to turn my attention to
it; but I have not forgotten it.--What a storm! How did you escape
it? I took shelter in a cow-shed."
"I ran to a cottage, where I was kindly received, and in which I
witnessed a deeply interesting sight. I regretted you were not
with me, as I there saw an evidence in favour of the truth and the
excellence of the gospel, which I think you would have admired."
"Indeed! what visible evidence do you refer to? A miracle?"
"If we define a miracle to be something above the production of
human power, I should not hesitate to call what I saw a moral
miracle." I then gave an account of the decease of the woodman's
child, which he called a very interesting tale; but said he was
not sufficiently enlightened to perceive how such a fact tended
in any way to establish the truth or display the excellence of
Christianity. "We may," he remarked, "have an opportunity to debate
over it before you leave our great city; but, as we propose going
to chapel this evening, perhaps we had better not begin, lest
we should be obliged to break off the thread of our argument at
an unfavourable point. But, though I have not investigated the
important question which we discussed when we accidentally met,
yet I will do it. You see the company which I keep (pointing to
Mr. Lewellin and Mr. Newton) is a proof that I am _religiously
inclined_; and, if a few doubts should still darken my powers of
mental vision, yet the light which emanates from their chaste
reasoning may ultimately disperse them, and we all _may_ become
believers together."
"A consummation I should hail with delight."
"I believe you, Sir; and I honour the motive which prompts such a
devout exclamation."
* * * * *
On passing along Cheapside on our way to the chapel which Mr.
Lewellin usually attended, we were astonished at seeing a placard,
announcing that the Rev. Mr. Guion was to preach that evening at
Bow Church, in behalf of the Church Missionary Society; and at my
earnest entreaty, we decided on hearing him. By a statement he made
at the commencement of his discourse, we found his appearance in
the pulpit was in consequence of the sudden illness of a brother
clergyman who stood engaged to preach on the occasion; and this
accounted for our not hearing of this London visit when we were with
him at Fairmount. Having my note-book in my pocket, and my pencils
in good working order, I took down his sermon, and will transcribe
from my manuscript a few passages, which, when delivered, made a
deep impression on the whole congregation. His text was taken from
1 Tim. iii. 16, "And without controversy great is the mystery of
godliness: God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit,
seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the
world, received up into glory." His arguments in confirmation of
the divinity of Jesus Christ were few, but popular and conclusive,
yet not common-place.
"HE WAS SEEN OF ANGELS."--"Our knowledge," said the eloquent
preacher, "of angels is very superficial; yet we know, they are
beings of a superior order--holy, intelligent, powerful, and
benevolent. Jesus Christ was seen of them, at his birth, during
his temptation in the wilderness, when enduring the agonizing
conflict in the garden of Gethsemane, and on the morning of his
resurrection; and they came to witness, and to take a ministering
part in his ascension, when he went to resume the glory which he
had with the Father before the world was. This SEEING him, denotes
the intense interest they felt in his personal honour, and in the
design of his mission to earth. 'Which things,' says the apostle
Peter--that is the sufferings of Christ and the glory that should
follow--'the angels desire to look into.' They pry into and labour
to comprehend the grand theory of human redemption; and watch
with intense solicitude its practical working in the soul of man.
Hence, our Lord says, 'There is joy in the presence of the angels
of God over one sinner that repenteth.' Yes, brethren, these pure
and exalted spirits become comparatively insensible to the glories
of the celestial world, when in the act of seeing a sinner who is
ready to perish, rescued from the fearful peril of his condition,
as we should become comparatively, if not absolutely insensible
to the grandest and most picturesque scenery of nature, if we
stood on some eminence, gazing on the heroine coming out of her
father's cottage, hastening to the frothy beach, springing into the
fishing-boat, braving the fury of the tempest and the wild uproar
of the storm, to rescue the shipwrecked mariners from a vessel
sinking in the deep waters. For it is a law of their nature, no
less than of ours, that gratification shall yield to sympathy, and
that the sight of deliverance from fatal danger, shall have a more
gratifying effect on a sensitive and benevolent heart, than the
most brilliant and exciting scenes which can be presented to the
imagination, or to the senses;--thus demonstrating by a process
as certain as any undeviating law of the material economy, that
every order of being, except infernal spirits, have an instinctive
abhorrence of the disastrous crisis in the progress of suffering;
and that they feel an ecstasy of emotion which no sights of grandeur
or of beauty, and which no sounds of melody can excite, when they
behold an unanticipated deliverance from some horrifying and fatal
termination. There stands the poor criminal on the fatal platform,
and the minister of death is near him, making the necessary
arrangements for his execution; deep sympathy is expressed in every
countenance, many sighs are heaved, and many weep; the silent prayer
is offered up, and all are breathless, expecting the drop to fall
which is to hurl him with convulsive agonies into the other world.
But there is a momentary pause, as an act of homage to a stranger,
who very unexpectedly makes his appearance. This stranger, to whom
all the officials and the doomed man pay marked attention, is
also an official armed with power, not the power of death, but of
life; he is the herald of mercy; and with a loud voice proclaims
his pardon. The multitude, long absorbed in sympathetic grief, now
raise the shout of gladsome triumph, as they gaze on the once doomed
man, as he passes from the death of agony and infamy, to newness
of life; they revel in the excess of ecstatic bliss; and feel more
joyful in spirit over this one criminal saved from the horrors of an
ignominious death, than over a whole community of righteous persons
who were never involved in a sentence of condemnation.
"HE WAS BELIEVED ON IN THE WORLD."--"The testimony of the Bible,
and the records of ecclesiastical history, attest this fact,
Rev. vii. 9, 10; _and he is still believed on in the world_. I
know, brethren, that many persons of refined taste, and exquisite
delicacy of feeling, greatly admire the character of Jesus of
Nazareth, the Son of Joseph and of Mary; and they feel a deep
interest in the perusal of his history. Their imagination expands
in reflecting on that magnificent scene beheld by the shepherds
of Bethlehem, when his birth was announced by the angel of the
Lord. His healing the sick in the temple--his opening the eyes
of blind Bartimeus--and his raising the only son of the widow
as the procession was moving to the grave, has a fine effect on
their sensibilities. The Transfiguration of Tabor sheds a halo of
glory around his Divine form, which attracts and gratifies their
love of the marvellous. They catch the inspiration of a powerful
sympathy on seeing him bathed in tears, as he stands beholding in
the distant vision the desolations coming on the city of Jerusalem.
And when they gather around his cross, they feel intense regret,
intermingled with no slight degree of astonishment, that one so
kind, so humane, and withal such a friend to suffering humanity,
should be so rudely and so cruelly treated, and the falling tear
bespeaks the sorrow of their heart. Now go amongst these refined,
these poetic, these sentimental believers in the Divine origin
of the Christian faith, with the blood of atonement, and what
consternation will you produce! They will soon evince a strange
revulsion of feeling; the term itself is harsh and unintelligible;
it is the jargon of the uncouth and the vulgar; the crucifix
charms their sentimentalism--they abhor the cross. Go and talk to
them about the necessity of believing in the Son of God to save
them from perishing; go and talk to them about joy and peace in
believing, and about the good hope through grace, and you will
soon lose caste, and be sent adrift amongst the wild fanatics of
the age. They will bow down and do homage to the Divine origin of
Christianity--that ideal Christianity, which takes its nature,
shape, and hue from the creations of their fancy; but let the
Christianity of the New Testament come before them in her simple
form--pure and spiritual, breathing her own spirit, speaking her
own language, delivering her own precepts and her own promises,
advancing her own claims, and offering her own celestial gifts, on
her own humiliating and changeless conditions, and they will treat
her, as the Jews did her illustrious Author, with contemptuous
scorn; and would rather have her driven from the face of the earth,
than be enrolled as her devotees, or retained as her advocates. Be
it so. But this you regret, on _their account_, as you know that
they who believe not, will die in their sins and perish for ever,
even though superior intelligence be blended with the fascination
of the most distinguished accomplishments. And you also regret this
terrible calamity on your _own account_, as the pardoned criminal
necessarily feels an abatement of his joy when set free, by knowing
that others are left for execution. But you, Christian brethren,
believe on Him, and have the witness within. You believe on Him, and
love Him; and to you he is precious. You believe on Him, and know
that all is safe for time, safe in death, and safe for eternity."