to their country seat, as the loss of that ministry under which
they had been brought to feel the power of the truth; especially
as the Vicar of the parish was decidedly opposed to evangelical
sentiments. The junior branches of the family were intelligent and
accomplished, but they made no profession of religion; and now
they were liberated from the restraints which a faithful and an
enlightened ministry had thrown over the evil tendencies of their
nature, they evinced a strong inclination to adopt the habits, and
conform to the customs of fashionable life, which greatly perplexed
and depressed their pious parents, especially their mother. An
intimate friend (Mrs. Loader), who spent some weeks at the Elms, saw
this manifest change in their predilections, and availing herself of
a favourable opportunity, she alluded to it, when in conversation
with Miss Holmes, and delicately, yet most earnestly, urged her to
be on her guard, or the change in their place of residence would
become a snare, if it did not break up all their religious habits,
and prove fatal to their spiritual happiness and safety. This
admonitory warning Louisa received with gratitude, as a fresh proof
of the kind concern her friend felt for the best interests, both of
herself and of the entire family. "Indeed," she remarked, "the world
abounds with evil, but no temptation is so pernicious, or so much
to be dreaded, as irreligious society; and this is the only society
which we now have. I fear it will prove destructive of all the good
impressions we have received under the ministry of the venerable Mr.
Newton. His appeals operated as a check and as a restraint on the
evil tendencies of our nature; but now we are allured into worldly
habits, by being told from the pulpit that we ought to see life,
and have free access to all its scenes and sources of pleasure and
amusement. Mamma has been endeavouring to persuade papa to take
an excursion to Dawlish, which will remove us from this scene of
danger, and I hope on our return we shall be enabled to withstand
every enticement injurious to our religious habits." On taking
leave, Mrs. Loader presented her with a copy of Doddridge's _Rise
and Progress of Religion in the Soul_, which Miss Holmes said she
had read, but promised to peruse again, as a compliment to the
kindness which had dictated the present.
Miss Holmes' two sisters, Emma and Jane, were several years younger
than herself. They bore some resemblance to each other in the
general outlines of their character, but materially differed in
some of its more prominent features. As they had just finished
their education in a school, where all the accomplishments could be
acquired, except the one most essential to human happiness, they
felt themselves in their native element when moving in the circles
of gaiety and folly. Emma had the finest figure, but Jane possessed
the most cultivated mind. The former excelled in gracefulness of
manners, the latter in sweetness of disposition; and while Emma
was rather fond of display, there was an unobtrusive modesty about
Jane which inclined her to conceal her most attractive charms. Emma
appeared to most advantage in a large party, where she moved, and
spoke as though she were the presiding spirit of the scene; Jane,
in a select circle, where the interchange of thought and sentiment
could take place without being subjected to the interruptions and
breaks which a promiscuous throng invariably occasions. Emma was
rather of a satirical temper, with a keen sense of the ludicrous;
but Jane surpassed most of her own age in that practical good sense
which is more valuable than artificial polish. Though, however, they
thus differed so materially in some of the more prominent features
of their character, they were nevertheless passionately fond of
each other, and much attached to their parents, their brothers, and
sisters.
As Mr. Holmes had applied himself to the toils of business with
unremitting constancy for so many years, and had acquired a large
fortune, he yielded without hesitation to the solicitations of Mrs.
Holmes and his daughters, and took a tour with them through the
west of England, visiting in their route all the localities either
famed for their natural beauty, or interesting by their historical
associations. Travelling by easy stages, they at last reached
Dawlish in Devonshire, with which they were so much delighted that
they remained there for several months. Here it was that Miss Holmes
was introduced to Miss Roscoe, with whom she formed an acquaintance,
which soon ripened to an ardent friendship, and proved in future
years a source of much spiritual enjoyment.
A MISFORTUNE OFTEN A BLESSING IN DISGUISE.
Shortly after the return of the family to the Elms, from their
Devonshire excursion, Miss Holmes sustained an accident, which,
though apparently an untoward occurrence, she used afterwards to
speak of as having exercised a most salutary influence on her
character. As she was stepping out of the carriage one day, the
horses suddenly moved forwards, by which her foot got entangled
between the step and the wheel, and she was very much injured.
A messenger was immediately despatched for a surgeon, who, on
examining the bruised parts, reported that no bones were broken, but
said that the ancle joint had been violently sprained. After the
application of leeches, and giving orders to prepare a fomentation
to reduce the swelling, he requested that she would immediately
retire to rest; and if she felt any pain in the morning, not to
attempt to walk, but keep her foot in a horizontal position. These
instructions were attended to; but she passed a very restless night,
and in the morning was much worse than had been expected. This
accident confined her a close prisoner for some months, so that she
had no opportunity of renewing her former intimacies, which had been
interrupted by the excursion to the west of England. Many called
and left their cards, and some of her more intimate friends would
come occasionally and sit with her; but a sick chamber possesses few
attractions for the votaries of pleasure, who generally turn from it
with careless indifference.
As she usually enjoyed a great flow of spirits, and was rather
volatile in her disposition--more fond of the pleasures of society
than the grave exercises of meditation--she was very depressed and
irritable during the first few weeks of her confinement, often
censuring in strong terms the inattention of the servant in leaving
the horses; but she gradually became more reconciled to her state,
and at length turned her attention to reading, to divert her mind
and beguile the tedious hours. She would have preferred some of the
popular tales and novels of the day to any of the volumes in her
father's library; but she had too much regard for his authority and
his feelings to send for works which she knew would be displeasing
to him.
One afternoon, when her parents and sisters went to dine with her
brothers in London, leaving her alone, she requested the servant to
bring her a book; and one book after another was brought, and closed
almost as soon as she had read the title-page. At length she thought
of the book which her esteemed friend, Mrs. Loader, had given her,
and of her promise to peruse it. She took it up from the table
near which she was sitting, but after turning over a few leaves
put it from her, saying, "I have read it." But as she had pledged
herself to read it again, she took the book once more--reluctantly
and carelessly read the running titles which are prefixed to its
different chapters, till she came to the tenth, when her attention
was imperceptibly arrested, and she perused it with a degree of
interest which no other religious composition had ever excited.[16]
[16] The author has transcribed, from Doddridge's _Rise and
Progress_, nearly the whole of this chapter and the subjoined
prayer, as he conceives they will prove very acceptable to those of
his readers who have not the original work.
"Thus far have I often known convictions and impressions to arise,
which, after all, have worn off again. Some unhappy circumstance
of external temptation, ever joined by the inward reluctance of an
unsanctified heart to the scheme of redemption, has been the ruin of
multitudes. And, 'through the deceitfulness of sin, they have been
hardened,' till they seem to have been 'utterly destroyed, and that
without remedy.' And therefore, O thou immortal creature, who art
now reading these lines, I beseech thee, that, while affairs are in
this critical situation, while there are these balancings of mind
between accepting and rejecting that glorious gospel which I now lay
before you, you will give me an attentive audience, while 'I pray
you in Christ's stead that you would be reconciled to God.'
"One would indeed imagine there should be no need of importunity
here. One would conclude, that as soon as perishing sinners are told
that an offended God is ready to be reconciled--that he offers them
a full pardon for all their aggravated sins--yea, that he is willing
to adopt them into his family now, that he may at length admit them
to his heavenly presence--all should, with the utmost readiness
and pleasure, embrace so kind a message, and fall at his feet in
speechless transports of astonishment, gratitude, and joy. But alas!
we find it much otherwise. We see multitudes quite unmoved, and the
impressions which are made on many more are feeble and transient.
Lest it should be thus with you, O reader, let me urge the message
with which I have the honour to be charged; let me entreat you to be
reconciled to God, and to accept of pardon and salvation in the way
in which it is so freely offered to you.
"I entreat you, 'by the majesty of that God in whose name I come,'
whose voice fills all heaven with reverence and obedience. He
speaks not in vain to legions of angels; but if there could be any
contention among those blessed spirits, it would be, who should be
first to execute his commands. Oh, let him not speak in vain to you!
I entreat you, 'by the terrors of his wrath,' who could speak to you
in thunder--who could, by one single act of his will, cut off this
precarious life of yours, and send you down to hell. I beseech you
by his tender mercies, which still yearn over you, as those of a
parent over 'a dear son,' over a tender child, whom, notwithstanding
his former ungrateful rebellion, 'he earnestly remembers still.'
I entreat you, 'by all this paternal goodness,' that you do not
compel him to lose the character of the gentle Parent in that of the
righteous Judge.
"I beseech you further, 'by the name and love of our dying Saviour.'
I beseech you, by all the condescension of his incarnation, by
that poverty to which he voluntarily submitted, 'that you might be
enriched' with eternal treasures; by all the gracious invitations
which he gave, which still sound in his Word, and still coming,
as it were, warm from his heart, are 'sweeter than honey or the
honey-comb.' I beseech you, by all his glorious works of power and
of wonder, which were also works of love. I beseech you, by the
memory of the most benevolent Person, and the most generous Friend.
I beseech you, by the memory of what he suffered, as well as of
what he said and did; by the agony which he endured in the garden,
when his body was covered 'with a dew of blood.' I beseech you, by
all that tender distress which he felt, when his dearest friends
'forsook him and fled,' and his blood-thirsty enemies dragged him
away, like the meanest of slaves, and like the vilest of criminals.
I beseech you, by the blows and bruises, by the stripes and lashes,
which this injured Sovereign endured while in their rebellious
hands; 'by the shame of spitting, from which he hid not that kind
and venerable countenance.' I beseech you, 'by the purple robe, the
sceptre of reed, and the crown of thorns which this King of glory
wore, that he might set us among the princes of heaven.' I beseech
you, by the heavy burden of 'the cross,' under which he panted,
and toiled, and fainted in the painful way 'to Golgotha,' that he
might free us from the burden of our sins. I beseech you, by the
remembrance of those rude nails that tore the veins and arteries,
the nerves and tendons, of his sacred hands and feet; and by that
invincible, that triumphant goodness, which, while the iron pierced
his flesh, engaged him to cry out, 'Father, forgive them, for they
know not what they do.' I beseech you, by that unutterable anguish
which he bore, when lifted up upon the cross, and extended there as
on a rack for six painful hours, that you open your heart to those
attractive influences which have 'drawn to him thousands, and ten
thousands.' I beseech you by all that insult and derision which
the 'Lord of glory bore there;' by that parching thirst, which
could hardly obtain the relief of 'vinegar;' by that doleful cry,
so astonishing in the mouth of the only-begotten of the Father,
'My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?' I beseech you, by
that grace that subdued and pardoned 'a dying malefactor;' by that
compassion for sinners, by that compassion for you, which wrought
in his heart long as its vital motion continued, and which ended
not when 'he bowed his head, saying, It is finished, and gave up
the ghost.' I beseech you, by the triumphs of that resurrection by
which he was 'declared to be the Son of God with power;' by the
spirit of holiness which wrought to accomplish it; by that gracious
tenderness which attempered all those triumphs, when he said to her
out of whom he had cast seven devils, concerning his disciples, who
had treated him so basely, 'Go, tell my brethren, I ascend unto my
Father and your Father, unto my God and your God.' I beseech you, by
that condescension with which he said to Thomas, when his unbelief
had made such an unreasonable demand, 'Reach hither thy finger, and
behold mine hands, and reach hither thine hand, and thrust it into
my side; and be not faithless, but believing.' I beseech you, by
that generous and faithful care of his people, which he carried up
with him to the regions of glory, and which engaged him to send down
'his Spirit,' in the rich profusion of miraculous gifts, to spread
the progress of his saving Word. I beseech you, by that voice of
sympathy and power, with which he said to Saul, while injuring his
church, 'Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?' by that generous
goodness, which spared the prostrate enemy when he lay trembling at
his feet, and raised him to so high a dignity as to be 'not inferior
to the very chiefest apostles.' I beseech you, by the memory of all
that Christ hath already done, by the expectation of all he will
further do for his people. I beseech you, at once, by the sceptre
of his grace, and by the sword of his justice, with which all his
incorrigible 'enemies' shall be 'slain before him,' that you do
not trifle away these precious moments, while his Spirit is thus
breathing upon you--that you do not lose an opportunity which may
never return, and on the improvement of which eternity depends.
"I beseech you, 'by all the bowels of compassion which you owe to
the faithful ministers of Christ,' who are studying and labouring,
preaching and praying, wearing out their time, exhausting their
strength, and very probably shortening their lives, for the
salvation of your soul, and of souls like yours. I beseech you, by
the affection with which all that love our Lord Jesus Christ in
sincerity long to see you brought back to him. I beseech you, by
the friendship of the living, and by the memory of the dead; by the
ruin of those who have trifled away their days and are perished in
their sins, and the happiness of those who have embraced the gospel
and are saved by it. I beseech you, by the great expectation of that
important 'day, when the Lord Jesus shall be revealed from heaven;'
by 'the terrors of a dissolving world;' by the 'sound of the
archangel's trumpet,' and of that infinitely more awful sentence,
'Come, ye blessed, and depart, ye cursed,' with which that awful
solemnity shall close.
"I beseech you, finally, by your own precious and immortal soul;
by the sure prospect of a dying bed, or of sudden surprise into
the invisible state, and as you would feel one spark of comfort in
your departing spirit when your flesh and your heart are failing. I
beseech you, by your own personal appearance before the tribunal of
Christ (for a personal appearance it must be, even to those who now
sit on thrones of their own); by all the transports of the blessed,
and by all the agonies of the damned, the one or the other of which
must be your everlasting portion. I affectionately entreat and
beseech you, in the strength of all these united considerations, as
you will answer it to me, who may on that day be summoned to testify
against you; and, which is unspeakably more, as you will answer
it to your own conscience--as you will answer it to the eternal
Judge--that you dismiss not these thoughts, these meditations, and
these cares, till you have brought matters to a happy issue--till
you have made a resolute choice of Christ, and his appointed way of
salvation; and till you have solemnly devoted yourself to God in the
bonds of an everlasting covenant.
"And thus I leave the matter before you and before the Lord. I
have told you my errand; I have discharged my embassy. Stronger
arguments I cannot use--more endearing and more awful considerations
I cannot suggest. Choose, therefore, whether you will go out, as
it were, clothed in sackcloth, to cast yourself at the feet of him
who now sends you these equitable and gracious terms of peace and
pardon; or whether you will hold it out till he appears, sword in
hand, to reckon with you for your treasons and your crimes, and
for this neglected embassy among the rest. Fain would I hope the
best; nor can I believe that this labour of love shall be entirely
unsuccessful--that not one soul shall be brought to the foot of
Christ in cordial submission and humble faith. 'Take with you,'
therefore, 'words, and turn unto the Lord,' and say unto him, 'Take
away all iniquity, and receive me graciously; so will I render the
praise of my lips.'"
The impression which this reading produced was such as she had never
previously felt; the arrow of conviction had pierced her heart,
but the feelings excited were more those of joy than of grief. She
re-perused the chapter; it disclosed new beauties--it sent forth
a still stronger power of excitement. Her soul was alternately
elevated and depressed, agonized and composed, as though she had
no control over its movements. She recalled to her remembrance
those powerful, yet momentary impressions of truth, which she had
experienced in former years, when sitting under the ministry of
the venerable Newton; and trembled lest those under which she was
now labouring should prove equally transient. It was this fearful
apprehension which gave her more pain, than a discovery of her moral
danger; because she knew that there was salvation for the chief of
sinners; but she knew that if these impressions left her they might
never return. She arose from the couch of weariness and suffering,
and stood resting on the back of her chair, while she gave vent to
her feelings in the following form of prayer:--
"Blessed Lord, it is enough! it is too much! Surely there needs not
this variety of argument, this importunity of persuasion, to court
me to be happy, to prevail on me to accept of pardon, of life, of
eternal glory. Compassionate Saviour, my soul is subdued; so that I
trust the language of my grief is become that of my submission, and
I may say, 'My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed; I will sing
and give praise' (Psalm lvii. 7).
"O gracious Redeemer! I have already neglected thee too long. I have
too often injured thee; have crucified thee afresh by my guilt and
impenitence, as if I had taken pleasure in 'putting thee to an open
shame.' But my heart now bows itself before thee in humble unfeigned
submission. I desire to make no terms with thee but these--that
I may be entirely thine. I cheerfully present thee with a blank,
entreating thee that thou wilt do me the honour to signify upon it
what is thy pleasure. Teach me, O Lord, what thou wouldst have me
to do; for I desire to learn the lesson, and to learn it that I may
practise it. If it be more than my feeble powers can answer, thou
wilt, I hope, give me more strength; and in that strength will I
serve thee. O receive a soul which thou hast made willing to be
thine!
"No more, O blessed Jesus, no more is it necessary to beseech and
entreat me. Permit me, rather, to address myself to thee with all
the importunity of a perishing sinner, that at length sees and
knows 'there is salvation in no other.' Permit me now, Lord, to
come and throw myself at thy feet, like a helpless outcast that has
no shelter but in thy generous compassion; like one 'pursued by the
avenger of blood,' and seeking earnestly an admittance into the
'city of refuge.'
"'I wait for the Lord; my soul doth wait; and in thy word do I
hope,' that thou wilt 'receive me graciously.' My soul confides in
thy goodness, and adores it. I adore the patience which has borne
with me so long; and the grace that now makes me heartily willing
to be thine; to be thine on thine own terms, thine on any terms.
O secure this treacherous heart to thyself! O unite me to thee in
such inseparable bonds, that none of the allurements of rank, or
of fortune--none of the vanities of an ensnaring world--none of
the solicitations of sinful companions, may draw me back from thee
and plunge me into new guilt and ruin! 'Be surety, O Lord, for thy
servant for good,' that I may still keep my hold on thee; till at
length I know more fully, by joyful and everlasting experience, how
complete a Saviour thou art. Amen."
As she sat musing on the wondrous scene which had passed before her,
adoring the long-suffering which had borne with her follies, and
the grace which had so unexpectedly invested the truth with such
attractive and subduing power, she was roused by the entrance of her
mother. "I hope, my dear Louisa," said Mrs. Holmes, "you have spent
a more pleasant day than you anticipated." "I have been more free
from pain than usual," she replied; "and upon the whole, the hours
have passed away agreeably, though I certainly felt my solitude to
be irksome."
Many who have felt the renewing influence of the truth, when
looking back to the earlier periods of their history, can recal
to their remembrance some text of Scripture, an observation in a
sermon, or a remark in conversation, which had an extraordinary
effect at the time it was heard; fixing their attention as though
it spoke with commanding authority; and which may be regarded as
the first strivings of the Spirit of God within them. These sacred
occurrences have served as the rallying point of hope, when the mind
has been driven to the remotest distance from the faith of Christ;
and notwithstanding the preference which may have been given for a
season to the pleasures of sin, there has been a secret inclination
for those of righteousness--God having implanted a witness in the
bosom who has never ceased to warn and to reprove.
Miss Holmes, when about the age of twelve years, heard Mr. Newton
make the following remark, in addressing himself to children: "You
should treasure up in your memory, while you are young, all the
religious knowledge which you can obtain, as it may be of great
service to you at some future day, when your attention may be
directed to the momentous question of your salvation. You will then,
when convinced of sin, and awed by the terrors of the world to come,
know how to obtain relief, and be kept from that state of deep
perplexity in which many are plunged, who are brought to see their
danger, while ignorant of the way of escape."
This judicious remark struck her with peculiar force, and ever
afterwards she listened to the preaching of the gospel, in
anticipation of the future benefit which she might derive from it.
From that moment she lived in the full expectation of the great
spiritual change, which was ultimately produced in her mind. Often,
at different periods, would she retire from the fascinations of
the world to pray for a new heart; and though she had urged her
request till hope began to wane, yet she was never permitted to
despair of obtaining the blessing. It is true, the paralyzing
influence of her new connections and habits had greatly diminished
her anxieties and solicitudes for the one thing needful; but the
early impressions of its importance which she had received, when
listening to the faithful appeals of Mr. Newton, were too deeply
imprinted in her heart ever to become obliterated; and though
she usually assumed great ease of manners, and wore the smile of
complacent cheerfulness, yet beneath these outward appearances there
lay concealed a wounded, and at times an agonized spirit. She would
sometimes join in the satirical play of wit on the eccentricities
of professors, but always discountenanced any attack on the truth
or sanctity of religion; and though she was becoming more and more
conformed to the world, yet she could not disengage herself from the
influence which the powers of the world to come had early acquired
over her judgment and her conscience. She had too much religion to
be happy with the gay, and too little to be happy with the pious;
mingling with each, yet not being able to partake of the enjoyments
of either, she was doomed to a life of perpetual mortification.