Mr. Corrie, whose father had attended the ministry of Romaine, and
transmitted to his son a profound veneration for the memory of that
distinguished clergyman. He was a widower, rather advanced in life,
a man of wealth; and had residing with him two unmarried sisters.
These ladies were amiable and intelligent--zealous and active in
the cause of humanity and religion--and their chief delight was in
going about doing good. Mr. Corrie usually spent the forenoon in
his study, while his sisters went forth on their visits of mercy to
the cottages of the poor; and they generally passed their evenings
in agreeable and profitable conversation, or in reading to each
other. They often read a portion of Mr. Romaine's Works, which they
considered the standard of orthodoxy; and though they were willing
to submit every religious opinion to the test of Scripture, yet they
never thought of subjecting his opinions to such an ordeal. His
treatises on the Life and Triumph of Faith, and some Letters which
have been published since his decease, they regarded with almost as
much reverence as the Epistles of the inspired writers; believing
that no author equalled him in correctness of sentiment and depth of
experience.
Miss Holmes, in her perambulations on behalf of the Bible
Society, happened to call on the Misses Corrie, to solicit their
subscriptions, just as they were sitting down to tea; and being
pressed to remain, she consented to spend the evening with them.
Their cheerfulness--the spirituality of mind which they discovered
in their conversation--the fervent spirit of devotion which was
apparent in Mr. Corrie when engaged in family prayer--and the
confidence with which they spoke of their interest in Christ,
operated so powerfully on her feelings, that she remained with them
much longer than she intended; and when the lateness of the hour
compelled her to leave, she could not do so without requesting
permission to repeat her visit. "We shall be happy to see you at
any time," said Miss Corrie; "and if it be in our power to teach
you the way of the Lord more perfectly, we shall consider ourselves
highly honoured."
Religious conversation is one of the most useful methods of
instruction and consolation we can employ; but sometimes, when
a false standard of experience is adopted, it becomes the means
of perplexing and distracting inquiring minds. Our Lord taught
his disciples, as they were able to receive instruction; keeping
alive their attention, while he allayed the restlessness of an
unprofitable curiosity, by saying--"I have yet many things to say
unto you, but ye cannot bear them now. Howbeit, when he, the Spirit
of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall
not speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he
speak: and he will shew you things to come." And on this wise maxim
the Holy Spirit condescends to conduct His process of instruction,
that we may not be confounded by communications which we are unable
to understand; but be led on step after step in the province of
Divine knowledge, till we are "able to comprehend with all saints,
what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; and to know
the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that we may be filled
with all the fulness of God." And it is of great importance, in
relation to the government of our conduct towards others, and for
our own tranquillity and spiritual improvement, that we rigorously
adhere to the same maxim; or we may inflict a wound, while
attempting to impart the consolations of our faith, and absolutely
retard that growth in knowledge which we are anxious to cultivate
and advance.
Mr. Corrie was eminently pious, but a man of rather weak
understanding, and who had associated with but few intelligent
Christians in the earlier part of his life. His first undigested
thoughts had grown up into firm and immoveable opinions; and though
he devoted a large portion of his time to reading the Scriptures,
yet, owing to the bias of which he was not conscious, he more
frequently searched for passages in support of his own peculiar
notions, than studied them to enlarge his views of the entire scheme
of Divine truth. He was positive, but not perverse; inflexibly
attached to his own belief, but not disposed to inveigh against
that of another; and though he imbibed some religious opinions
which have done great injury to the dignity and the amiability of
the Christian character, yet in him their tendency was neutralized
by the sweetness of his natural disposition and the fervour of his
devotional spirit. He dwelt much on the high points of election
and predestination; maintained with great pertinacity that human
nature undergoes no moral improvement, but remains as impure and
deceitful after the great change has taken place, as it was before;
and he considered an assurance of our final salvation so essential
to the nature of faith, that he would not regard as a true believer
a person who did not enjoy an unclouded prospect of eternal glory.
These topics bounded the range of his inquiry; and though at times
he would unawares make concessions which compromised their accuracy,
yet when apprized of his danger, he would step back with singular
adroitness, and resist the force of an argument to expose their
fallacy, by saying to an antagonist, "_You_ see through a glass
darkly, while I see face to face." If these opinions had been
confined within the circle of his own family, and the few pious
friends who were of the same theological school, he would have done
no injury, as their devotional spirit and habits would have proved
a safeguard against their pernicious tendency. But by bringing them
forward in promiscuous company, and by holding them up as essential
articles of the Christian faith, he often involved the judgment of
the young disciple in great perplexity, and unintentionally threw
down some of those barriers which the Scriptures have raised to
restrain the evil propensities of our nature. The effects of these
opinions on the mind of Miss Holmes may be seen in the following
letter, which she addressed to her friend Mrs. Loader, a few weeks
after her introduction to this family:--
"MY DEAR FRIEND,--I should have replied earlier to your last
letter; but since my convalescence I have been so engaged with
my new duties, as the secretary to our Auxiliary Bible Society,
that I have not been able to find time. I cannot express to you
in words, how much pleasure I derived from your communication.
It came at a season when my mind was sinking into despondency,
and when I was tempted to give up my hope; but the Lord was
pleased to employ it as the means of dispersing the darkness
which was hovering around me, and I was enabled to rejoice once
more in the light of his countenance. I had gained that elevated
spot--that spiritual Pisgah, to which you so beautifully allude;
from whence I could read
'My title clear
To mansions in the skies;'
and from whence I thought I should never be displaced; but
alas! I am again compelled to give utterance to a feeling of
despondency.
"I had my fears at the very commencement of my religious course,
that my convictions and impressions, like the morning cloud and
early dew, would soon pass away, and that I should be permitted
to relapse into my original state of darkness and indifference;
yet these fears came upon me only at times, like a sudden gust
of wind in a serene evening. Now, alas! I have to mourn over
their perpetual presence and desolating power; and I sometimes
think, the doom of a backslider, or an apostate, awaits me. I
shudder in anticipation of such a dreadful issue; and though
I often pause and listen, yet I hear not the voice of the
Comforter. Yet I cannot go back; perhaps I may say, when taking
a survey of the more general state of my heart, I move slowly
onwards between hope and fear.
"I have lately formed an intimate friendship with two excellent
ladies, who reside with their brother, not more than a quarter
of a mile from the Elms; and in whose society I spend a
considerable portion of my leisure hours. From the influence
of their example, and from their conversation, I anticipated
much spiritual improvement; but the oftener I visit them, the
deeper I am plunged in mental despondency; and though I have
ventured to allude, in indirect terms, to the perplexed state of
my mind, yet I cannot obtain from them the words of consolation
which I need. They and their brother have adopted the views of
Romaine as their religious standard; and hold his memory in such
veneration, that they rank him next to the inspired writers, and
tacitly condemn all who, on any religious points, differ from
him. They have lent me his treatises on the Life and Triumph of
Faith, which I have read with close attention; but instead of
deriving from them that satisfaction which I was led to expect,
they have revived all my former fears, and invested them with
a tenfold poignancy. He says, when addressing the believer,
'Thou must be first persuaded of thine interest in Christ,
before thou canst make use of it, and improve it; and therefore
the knowledge of thy union with him must be clear and plain,
before thou canst have a free and open communion with him.' I
might have passed over this passage, without having taken any
particular notice of it, had it not coincided with the belief
which has been so often expressed by my excellent friends, the
Misses Corrie and their brother. They say, in the most express
terms, that an assurance of our interest in Christ, and of our
final salvation, is essential to faith; but this assurance
I do not possess. Sometimes I have thought that the Saviour
has looked with an eye of compassion on me, and has raised my
desponding soul to the ineffable manifestations of his love;
but I cannot say that 'he gave himself for me.' I rely on the
efficacy of his death for acceptance and eternal life; but I
dare not say that my dependence is genuine. In some favoured
moments, I have anticipated the blissful interview, when I have
hoped to see him as he is, but I cannot speak with confidence--O
no! I dare not. While my necessities compel me to go to the
Saviour, and plead his promises, my want of assurance keeps me
back; and thus, being suspended between these propelling and
repulsive powers, I suffer extreme mental torture.
"But this is not the only subject on which my mind is perplexed.
In a conversation the other evening, when we were tracing up the
bestowment of every good and every perfect gift to the free and
unmerited grace of God, Mr. Corrie asserted, with the utmost
degree of confidence, that no true believer in Jesus Christ can
doubt his personal election to eternal life. This assertion,
made by so good and amiable a man, and which met the decided
approbation of his sisters, fell upon my ear with all the terror
of the condemning sentence; and from that moment to the present,
I have been driven, as an outcast, from the promises of mercy,
I have read the Scriptures to satisfy my mind on this point,
and there I read of sinners being chosen in Christ before the
foundation of the world--of their being elected according to the
foreknowledge of God the Father--of their being predestinated;
but this high point appears invested with such terror, that my
spirit recoils when attempting to approach it; and though I have
prayed for faith to receive the hidden mysteries of revelation,
and for wisdom to understand them, yet I cannot believe that I
am one of the selected number, whose name has been enrolled in
the Lamb's book of life. But should I feel all this terror on
my spirit, when adverting to a doctrine which appears stated,
with the utmost degree of explicitness, by the inspired writers,
if I had that faith which is of the operation of the Spirit
of God? Should I, if I possessed like precious faith, recoil,
with almost instinctive dread, from a subject on which my pious
friends speak with so much animation and delight? Surely there
must be some defect in my experience, which renders me incapable
of disengaging myself from the bondage of fear in which I am
held; and which holds me back from a participation of that
glorious liberty which I see enjoyed by the children of God
around me.
"There is one point of resemblance between my experience and
that of my friends, too striking to pass unnoticed; yet, when
reading the Scriptures, it has merely served to involve me in a
still more perplexing labyrinth of difficulty. It is this--they
maintain 'that our hearts undergo no moral improvement when
the great renovation takes place, but remain as impure and
deceitful as before.' I certainly did anticipate, when I first
felt the influence of the truth, that I should grow in grace
as well as in knowledge; and that I should attain to a more
near conformity to the image of Jesus Christ; but on a close
and impartial examination, I am compelled to believe that I
have made no progress: indeed, I fear I have made a retrograde
movement. I do not feel that calm satisfaction, or any of the
blissful emotions I felt, when my attention was first arrested
by the unseen realities of eternity. I do not feel that
indifference to worldly objects, which I felt when confined to
a couch of pain and languor. I am not so deeply affected by the
unparalleled love of Christ, as I was when I first viewed him
bearing away the iniquities of the people by the agonies of his
death; nor does sin appear so exceedingly sinful, as when I
first experienced its bitterness. I am neither so grateful for
my mercies, nor so abased on account of my transgressions, as I
was when the light of a supernatural manifestation first threw
open to my view my neglected obligations and concealed defects.
I feel, if possible, more fully convinced of the absolute need
of a Saviour, than I was when I first felt the burden of guilt
upon my conscience, but yet I am less able to exercise faith in
him; and instead of that peace which was diffused through my
heart when I first believed, I am sometimes driven to the verge
of despondency.
"I have not yet communicated to my dear parents the present
perturbed state of my feelings, as I am unwilling to give one
pang of sorrow to their tender bosom; and though I sometimes
pray that the Lord would be pleased to turn away from me the
face of his anger, and comfort me, yet I cannot pray in faith.
Surely no one else ever felt what I feel, or suffered what I
suffer. There are two verses in a favourite hymn, which, I
believe, was composed by the venerable Newton, which I can
repeat with intense earnestness:--
'Lord, decide the doubtful case;
Thou who art thy people's Sun,
Shine upon thy work of grace,
If it be indeed begun.
'May I love thee more and more,
If I love at all, I pray;
If I have not lov'd before,
Help me to begin to-day.'
"I am happy to inform you, that there is a Dissenting chapel
about three quarters of a mile from the Elms, in which the
gospel is preached with great simplicity and power, and where
my esteemed friends, the Corries, usually attend; so that a kind
Providence has made that provision for our spiritual necessities
outside the pale of the Establishment, which we should have
preferred within, but which is denied us unless we go to a
considerable distance. We have attended this chapel regularly
for some time, and are much delighted with the minister. He is
an amiable, unobtrusive man--imbued, I trust, with the spirit of
his Master--cheerful in his disposition, but rather reserved.
Those who are admitted into more familiar intimacy, speak of him
in the highest terms of affectionate respect; and he is much
esteemed by his people. You know we are attached to the Church;
but, after mature deliberation, we are satisfied that it is
our duty to hear the gospel; and as it is not preached by our
Vicar, we feel it no less a duty than a privilege to go where
the Lord has sent it. Our decision has offended some of the
_anti-evangelical_ high church families, who regard the Church
of England with as much veneration as a Roman Catholic would a
relic of St. Peter; but we must obey the dictates of conscience,
which will no longer permit us to attend a ministry where the
truths of the gospel are not preached.
"From some of our new clergyman's discourses I have derived
consolation, but he has not touched on any of the points of
perplexity in which my mind is involved; and though at times
I have thought of soliciting a personal interview, to make
known to him all I feel, and all I fear, yet I cannot assume a
sufficient degree of confidence to do it. Indeed, I cannot speak
freely on such delicate subjects to any one but to you; and I
hope, if you cannot spare time to pay us your long promised
visit, that you will favour me with your advice, and I know you
will not neglect to pray for me.
"My sister Emma, I regret to say, continues to manifest a
decided aversion to the things of the Spirit of God--they are
foolishness to her; but Jane is becoming much more serious. I
do not think that she is yet decided, but I hope the good work
is begun. I often find her with her Bible, and sometimes she
retires to her own room in the evening, where I hope she spends
some portion of her time in praying to her Father in secret;
and if so, He who seeth in secret will ultimately reward her
openly.--Yours affectionately,
"LOUISA.
"To Mrs. Loader."
When a young Christian searches the Scriptures for correct
information on the great questions of religion, and is favoured
with the assistance of judicious and pious friends, he usually
passes on from one degree of knowledge to another without meeting
with the formidable obstructions and perplexing embarrassments to
which he is exposed, by the conflicting opinions which are prevalent
amongst us. The light which shines on the sacred page, when it comes
_directly_ from above, is clear and pure, and makes distinctly
manifest, to the judgment and the conscience, the truth as it is in
Jesus, in its simplicity and power. But when it passes through a
human medium, it often shines in an oblique course, throwing into
the shade some essential parts of the economy of Divine truth; and
hence a defective theory is sometimes embraced, which always proves
unsatisfactory, and sometimes fatal to our peace. It is therefore
impossible to exercise too much caution, in the early periods of
our experience, in the choice of our religious associates, and of
the books which we read; as it is in the power of error, whether
it comes from the lips of friendship or from the press, to do more
essential injury than the truth may be able to repair, till after a
lengthened period of extreme anxiety and disquietude. And as we are
so liable to receive pernicious impressions from the numerous errors
which are in perpetual circulation around us, we cannot depend with
too much simplicity, or docility of disposition, on the Holy Ghost,
whom the Saviour has promised to his disciples. "And I will pray the
Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide
with you for ever; even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot
receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know
him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you. He shall teach
you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever
I have said unto you. He shall glorify me: for he shall receive
of mine, and shall shew it unto you." Hence it is indispensably
necessary for the Christian, in every period of his life, but
especially when entering on his religious course, to implore the
gracious influence of the Divine Spirit, to guard him against every
species of error--to lead him into all truth--and to invest the
truth with that holy unction, which will render it no less a source
of the highest intellectual improvement, than of the most exquisite
mental enjoyment. Such a habit of dependence on Divine aid will be
an effectual safeguard against the spirit of self-sufficiency, which
proves so fatal to those who are enslaved by it; and while it will
stimulate to mental diligence in searching the Scriptures, that we
may ascertain what is the mind of the Spirit, it will keep us in a
state of independence of human opinion.
But while I wish to point out to the attention of the young
Christian, the dangers to which he is exposed from the society of
his pious yet injudicious friends, and to bring him into immediate
connection with the Spirit of truth, I would, at the same time,
guard him against indulging any visionary expectations respecting
the mode of His instruction, or the infallible certainty of the
opinions He may permit us to form. He teaches through the medium of
the Scriptures, even while the judgment is altogether unconscious of
any supernatural assistance; but His communications are restricted
to those points in the system of truth which are essential to
salvation; leaving us to form our own judgment on questions of minor
importance. Hence the agreement amongst the disciples of Christ, on
what is essential, and their diversity on what is non-essential.
But even when we are taught by the Holy Spirit, and thus imbibe
the truth in its most perfect state, it will not always retain its
original power of impression, but will admit of a partial declension
in moving the affections, even while its authority over the judgment
and the conscience remain undiminished. Hence the lines of Cowper
are often employed as expressive of the disconsolate state of the
heart:--
"Where is the blessedness I knew,
When first I saw the Lord?
Where is the soul-refreshing view,
Of Jesus and his Word?
What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd!
How sweet their mem'ry still!
But they have left an aching void,
The world can never fill."
And this cessation of a powerful excitement, which usually
succeeds the first impressions of truth, is often regarded, by the
Christian, as an indisputable evidence of the decay of his religious
principles, when it may be nothing more than a necessary consequence
of the more advanced progress of his personal experience, as the
change of the leaf, from living green to the auburn hue, is a plain
indication that the fruit is advancing in its ripening process.
The above account presents an instance, which has many parallels,
of the struggles, anxieties, and perplexities, which so often beset
the mind of the believer on his first entering on his career of
Christian experience. I shall return soon to the continuation of the
history of Mr. Holmes' family; but, in the meantime, must beg the
courteous reader to accompany me back, for a short space, to my own
town, from which I have been led by this digression in my narrative.
THEATRICAL AMUSEMENTS.
PART I.
One morning, while musing on the changing scenes of my eventful
life, recalling the past, and speculating on the future, I received
a letter from an old friend, requesting that I would call on
her as soon as I could make it convenient. From the tone of the
letter, and some expressions contained in it, I judged she was in
trouble, and accordingly proceeded immediately towards her house.
As I was passing along, I remembered that, several years before,
I had received a similar note, written by the same hand, and in a
similar strain of grief. The writer was a widow, whose husband had
been cut off in the flower of his days, leaving her to provide for
their children, who were at that time all dependent on her. On the
occasion I speak of, I found her bewailing the alarming illness of
her only son, a youth of about fifteen years. She complained with
bitterness that the Almighty, who had taken away her husband, was
now about to take away her first-born also. I attempted to bring her
mind into a state of acquiescence to the Divine will, by reminding
her that no affliction came by chance--that he who works all things
after his own counsel, often sends an early affliction, to prevent
a more painful one--and that when he is pleased to take from us our
choicest comforts, it is "for our profit, that we might be partakers
of his holiness." She replied that the Almighty might tear her son
from her, but she could not surrender him. When I expostulated with
her, she did not attempt to justify her opposition to the will of
God, but excused herself from the affection she bore her son; and
earnestly requested me to pray for him, and pray that his life might
be spared. We prayed together for the lad, and in due time he was
restored to health. Having removed soon after this to a different
quarter of the town, I had seen but little of him or his family for
a considerable time.
Perhaps, thought I, as I drew near the house of sorrow, the life
of this son is again in danger. He has been spared a few years,
as the staff of his mother's strength, and now she is inured
to her troubles, he is about to be taken from her. Indulgent,
yet mysterious Providence! The lines of the poet recurred to my
recollection with peculiar force--