excellent sermon, preached a short time since by Dr. R----, on
the felicity of heaven, which he said was reserved only for the
virtuous. When conversing together on the subject, in the evening
of the Sabbath, my brother said to Papa, If the virtuous only can
attain a state of felicity, what will become of the wicked, who
we know constitute the great bulk of society in every age and in
every country? As his reply gave us no satisfaction, we began
to search the Scriptures, which soon convinced us that even the
chief of sinners could be saved. The subject of inquiry appeared
to us no less important than it was novel; it deeply engaged our
attention, and we pursued it with intense application. Dr. Pye
Smith's _Scripture Testimony to the Messiah_ settled our belief;
and now we feel compelled to withdraw from all religious fellowship
with those who refuse to acknowledge the divinity of Jesus Christ.
Knowing, from your testimony and that of others, that your excellent
pastor stands very high in public estimation, we decided on hearing
him, and I trust that the impression which his discourse made on our
minds will never be effaced. He has given to us, if I may use such
an expression, the clue of a clearer discovery on some important
branches of revealed truth; and now we can perceive beauties in
the sacred volume which lay concealed from our eye, and we can now
understand many passages which had ever before appeared obscure and
inexplicable. But at times I feel a depression of spirits which
I cannot remove; yet it does not proceed from any regret at the
step we have taken, or any mistrust in the truthfulness of our new
belief, but from a keen sense of my personal unworthiness of the
Divine favour."
"I am rejoiced, dear Eliza," replied Miss Reynolds, "to hear you
utter such sentiments. God is dealing graciously with your soul.
He wounds to heal. He has convinced you of the evil of sin, and
unveiled before you that abyss of danger, to which you were exposed,
so as to prepare you for the manifestations of his favour, beaming
on you through the mediation of the Lord Jesus Christ."
"But I fear that the Saviour will not look on me with an eye of
pity, as I have so often insulted him by denying his divinity, and
the efficacy of his death as an expiation for human guilt. I am
now astonished how I could reject doctrines which are so plainly
revealed in the Bible; and sometimes the guilt of my conduct appears
so great, that I am more disposed to despair of mercy than to
cherish the hope of obtaining it."
"If you still persisted in denying his divinity, and rejecting the
atonement which he has made for sin, you might despair of mercy; but
if you admit these essential doctrines of the Christian scheme of
salvation, you may plead the promises of grace with confidence. The
Redeemer will execute judgment in the last day upon ungodly sinners
for all the hard speeches which they have spoken against him, if
they die in a state of confirmed impenitence; but if they repent
of their evil deeds and hard speeches, he will, as a faithful and
merciful High Priest, have compassion on them, will intercede for
them, and will save them."
"I now receive these doctrines as essential parts of the system of
revealed truth; but yet I sometimes feel a recurrence of my former
prejudices against them, which causes me unutterable distress. When
pleading the atonement as the foundation of my acceptance with God,
I am tempted to mistrust its efficacy; and when my heart begins to
glow with warm affection for the Redeemer, it is suddenly chilled
and suppressed by the influence of early opinions and associations.
They have taken such a firm hold of my imagination, that I cannot
disengage myself from them; and I fear they will always continue to
perplex and depress me."
"That does not surprise me. It is no easy thing for the human mind
to disengage itself from the influence of early opinions, even
after they have been renounced; but the Lord has laid help upon One
who is mighty, and whose grace will be found sufficient for you.
I would advise you to read the Scriptures with close and devout
attention; but your greatest dependence for deliverance from your
early associations should be placed on prayer. For the judgment may
be convinced of the truth by a logical process of investigation and
reasoning, even while the heart is unimpressed by it; God having
reserved to himself the power of making the truth effectual to the
salvation of them that believe, which power he exercises in answer
to prayer. The language of the psalmist is very applicable to the
present state of your mind--'Unto thee, O Lord, do I lift up my
soul. Shew me thy ways, O Lord; teach me thy paths. Lead me in thy
truth, and teach me: for thou art the God of my salvation; on thee
do I wait all the day. Remember, O Lord, thy tender mercies, and thy
loving-kindnesses: for they have been ever of old. Remember not the
sins of my youth, nor my transgressions: according to thy mercy
remember thou me, for thy goodness' sake, O Lord.'
"There is one part of the system of revealed truth," continued Miss
Reynolds, "which has not yet engaged your attention, and as it is
one of vital importance, I cannot avoid alluding to it. The part to
which I now refer, is the agency of the Divine Spirit, by which we
become strengthened in our inner man, to receive the truth in the
love of it, and to discharge the high and sacred obligations which
devolve on us. By your permission, I will read to you an extract
from a book which I happen to have brought with me:[19]--
"'As we are indebted to the Spirit for the first formation of the
divine life, so it is He who alone can maintain it, and render it
strong and vigorous. It is his office to actuate the habits of grace
where they are already planted; to hold our souls in life, and to
'strengthen us, that we may walk up and down in the name of the
Lord.' It is his office to present the mysteries of salvation; the
truths which relate to the mediation of Christ and the riches of his
grace, in so penetrating and transforming a manner, as to render
them vital operating principles, the food and the solace of our
spirits. Without his agency, however intrinsically excellent, they
will be to us mere dead speculation--an inert mass: it is only when
they are animated by his breath, that they become spirit and life.
"'It is his office to afford that anointing by which we may know
all things; by a light which is not merely directive to the
understanding, but which so shines upon the heart, as to give a
relish of the sweetness of Divine truth, and effectually produce
a compliance with its dictates. It belongs to him 'to seal us to
the day of redemption,' to put that mark and character upon us,
which distinguishes the children of God, as well as to afford a
foretaste, as an earnest of the future inheritance. 'And hereby,'
saith an apostle, 'we know that we are of God, by the Spirit which
he hath given us.' It is his office to subdue the corruption of our
nature, not by leaving us inactive spectators of the combat, but by
engaging us to a determined resistance to every sinful propensity,
by teaching our hands to war, and our fingers to fight, so that the
victory shall be ours, and the praise his. It is his office also to
help the infirmities of saints, who know not what to pray for as
they ought, by making intercession for them 'with groanings which
cannot be uttered.' He kindles their desires, gives them a glimpse
of the fulness of God, that all-comprehending good; and by exciting
a relish of the beauties of holiness, and the ineffable pleasure
which springs from nearness to God, disposes them to the fervent and
effectual prayer which availeth much. In short, as Christ is the
way to the Father; so it is equally certain, that the Spirit is the
fountain of all the light and strength which enable us to walk in
that way.'"
"I assure you, my dear Matilda, both my brother and myself feel
devoutly thankful to the God of all grace, for rescuing us from the
fatal delusion of Unitarianism, which we conscientiously renounce
as an anti-scriptural system, no less derogatory to the honour of
God, than inapplicable to the moral condition of man--a system
which flatters the pride of the heart, but which makes no provision
for the relief of a wounded conscience; and which, by placing the
hope of final blessedness on the attainment of personal virtue,
supersedes the necessity of the Saviour's death and mediation, which
constitute the most prominent and essential parts of the grand
scheme of redemption."
[19] See a _Treatise on the Work of the Holy Spirit_, by the
celebrated Robert Hall, of Leicester.
After the lapse of a few months, Mr. and Miss Macfarlane were
admitted as members into the chapel in ---- Street, of which the
Rev. Mr. ---- was pastor. They were received into communion amongst
their Christian brethren, with the utmost degree of cordiality
and affection, and are still living, the faithful witnesses of
the truth as it is in Jesus. They had many virtues adorning their
character when they were called Unitarians, but now they carry
their virtue to a greater height, by deriving their motives for
its practice from the authority of God, rather than the praise of
man. While, therefore, they feel it to be their duty still to add
to their "virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge, temperance; and to
temperance, patience; and to patience, godliness; and to godliness,
brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, charity;" they are
fully conscious of their innumerable defects, and wait in humble
expectation of eternal life, not as a reward for their good deeds,
but as a sovereign and unmerited favour.
THE PATH OF TRUTH FORSAKEN.
If all who make a public profession of religion remained faithful
unto death, we should be led to form such a high opinion of the
steadfastness of the Christian character, that we should never
dread any change of feeling or of principle. But, alas! who has
not seen the most ardent zeal grow cold--the most fervent devotion
degenerate into a lifeless formality--and the most spotless
integrity become corrupted by the maxims of the world? Who has
not seen the most eager stopping short in their course; and some,
who once bade fair to occupy stations of honour and usefulness in
the church, break away, either suddenly or gradually, from all
their religious connections, to mingle again with the workers of
iniquity, and place themselves in the seat of the scorner? What more
melancholy sight than this can be presented to the real Christian?
and how can he sufficiently deplore such a calamity? In plaintive
accents he often says, "O that my head were waters, and mine eyes
a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain
of the daughter of my people!" But there are circumstances which
sometimes render this melancholy occurrence peculiarly affecting.
If the renegade from the faith be a near relative, or an intimate
friend--one with whom we have taken sweet counsel, and walked to the
house of God in company--one who rejoiced over us "when first we
knew the Lord"--who poured the soothing words of consolation into
our minds when we first felt the deep convictions of guilt--who
was our guide and counsellor--and whom we loved with an ardent and
tender affection--how much more intense is the pain of such an
infliction; and how applicable that noble passage of Robert Hall to
such an event:--"Where shall we find tears fit to be wept at such
a spectacle? or, could we realize the calamity in all its extent,
what tokens of our compassion and concern would be deemed equal to
the occasion? Would it suffice for the sun to veil his light, and
the moon her brightness, to cover the ocean with mourning, and the
heavens with sackcloth? Or were the whole fabric of nature to become
animated and vocal, would it be possible for her to utter a groan
too deep, or a cry too piercing, to express the magnitude and extent
of such a catastrophe?"
In the previous chapter I have described the influence of truth
prevailing over long-cherished feelings and deeply-rooted
prejudices, and the substitution of correct evangelical views for
the erroneous tenets of Unitarianism. The history I am now about
to record is of a different description, and presents a melancholy
contrast to the former, exhibiting the abandonment of the faith
after a fair and apparently sincere profession, and teaching us the
necessity of constant labour and watchfulness, if we wish "to make
our calling and election sure."
Henry Beaufoy was the only son of poor but respectable parents, who
resided in the beautiful village of Brookcombe in Devonshire. This
village remained for a long series of years in a state of spiritual
darkness, till it was visited by some of the local preachers of the
Methodist Connexion. At first, when they declared the glad tidings
of salvation amongst the people, they were insulted and reproached;
and the few who received them became a by-word and a proverb
amongst their ignorant and bigoted neighbours. But regardless of
all opposition--bearing patiently every species of reviling--and
demonstrating by their gentleness of spirit, that they knew how to
return good for evil, they ultimately succeeded in subduing the
prejudices of ignorance and the violence of bigotry, and established
a flourishing society.
It happened here, as in many other places where the introduction
of the gospel has been opposed, that some of the chief of the
opponents were the first to feel its renovating power. Among this
number the parents of Henry Beaufoy held a distinguished station.
At first they, in common with many others, entertained strong
prejudices against the preachers, and endeavoured to persuade others
from attending their ministry; but at length their curiosity was
awakened, and they went to the chapel. They listened--the word
came with power--they felt the deepest contrition for their past
sins, especially their sin of opposing and ridiculing the gospel
of Christ; and eventually became no less distinguished for their
attachment, than they had been for their enmity to the faith. Their
son Henry was about twelve years of age, when this moral change
took place in his parents, and though he felt somewhat surprised at
the suddenness of the transition from the most determined hostility
against the Methodists (as they were reproachfully termed), to the
most cordial attachment, yet he was too young and too thoughtless to
examine into the causes of it. He generally accompanied them to the
little chapel, which was erected under the brow of a hill; and as
he was fond of music, and had a fine voice, he assisted in leading
the psalmody of the congregation. No material change, however,
took place in him, till after he had attained his eighteenth year;
when, being on a visit to Plymouth, he went to hear the Rev. Samuel
Bradburn, who was one of the most celebrated and one of the most
useful ministers of his day. The text from which he preached on that
occasion was selected from Heb. iv. 12--"For the word of God is
quick and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing
even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints
and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the
heart." Young Beaufoy was struck with the colloquial simplicity
of his style of address, no less than by the force of his
argumentative reasoning; but when he directed his bold and masterly
appeals to the consciences of his hearers, his heart was deeply
wounded, and, like the Philippian jailor, he could not refrain from
saying, "What shall I do to be saved?" On his return home, the
unusual gravity of his manners, his more frequent attendance at the
village chapel, his habit of reading the Bible, and of retirement
for the purposes of devotion, led his parents to indulge the hope
that their Henry was become a new creature in Christ Jesus, and
after the lapse of a few weeks, they had the satisfaction of hearing
an account of his conversion from his own lips.
If it be possible to excite in the soul of a pious parent a feeling
of joy approximating to the pure unmingled bliss of the heavenly
world, it is when his child comes to him to state the fact, and
detail the manner, of the great spiritual change which has taken
place in his heart. It is then that the prayers of the godly father
are turned into praises--that the deep and tender anxieties of the
virtuous mother begin to cease, as they then can recognize in their
son or daughter, a fellow-heir of the grace of life, with whom they
expect to live for ever and ever.
It was about this period that I first became acquainted with the
Beaufoy family. I had gone to Devonshire for change of air for a few
weeks, and took up my abode in the village of Brookcombe, where I
lodged in the house of the father and mother of young Beaufoy. I was
much pleased both with them and their son, the latter of whom used
frequently to accompany me on my excursions into the surrounding
country. On these occasions we used to have long conversations
together, in which he displayed an intelligence far above what
might have been expected from his position in life, and this,
joined to his amiable temper and pleasing manners, led me to take
a great interest in him. On leaving Brookcombe, I suggested that
he should occasionally write to me--a proposal which he received
with much satisfaction, and we maintained for a number of years a
close correspondence. Shortly after parting with him, however, an
event occurred which materially changed his prospects in life. The
same intelligence and amiable qualities which had won my heart,
recommended him to the notice of a wealthy citizen of London, who
came to visit his patrimonial estate in the neighbourhood, and he
gave him the offer of a lucrative situation in his employment. The
offer was accepted, and he prepared to leave the scenes of his
youth. His pious mother, who dreaded the temptations of London
as much as she would have dreaded the plague, said to him on his
departure, "My Henry, I am sorry you are going to leave us. I
wish you could have remained amongst us, and continued the solace
and comfort of your father and myself. But when you are far away,
exposed to the snares and dangers of the great city, I shall have no
sleep at night, for I shall lie awake to pray for you; and I shall
have no peace by day, for I shall be always trembling for you, my
child."
"Oh! mother," said Henry, whose heart was full of the thought of
parting, and whose fortitude began to fail at the sight of his
mother's tears, "do not weep. God can keep me from the temptations
of the city as well as the temptations of the village; and I have no
doubt but I shall escape them. I'll come and see you once a-year,
and then we will rejoice together."
"But how can I endure the thought of looking on you, my child, only
once in the year, on whom I have gazed these one and twenty years
with so much delight! My eyes will be dim with sorrow before the
first year is up."
"But I will write, mother, once a-month."
"But letters can't speak as I have heard you talk for nearly twenty
years. I wish the gentleman had never come amongst us. He has broken
down the fence of our union, and taken away the first-fruits of our
wedded happiness, and what have we left to make up for our loss? But
I know I must be resigned--yet I have not Abraham's faith. The Lord
bless you, and keep you, and bring you back to your father's house
in peace, that we may bless you before we die."
Henry set off in company with the gentleman who had taken him
under his patronage, and though he felt the pang of separation to
be violent, yet he bore it with firmness, and, turning away his
thoughts from the scene of grief which he had just left, he began to
amuse himself with the varied objects which presented themselves to
him in the course of this his first journey to the metropolis.
On arriving in London, he took lodgings in the City Road, in
the house of Mr. Jordan, whom the reader will remember as the
worthy landlord of Mr. Lewellin.[20] This was shortly after the
return of the latter from the country, on recovering from the
dangerous illness which had produced so important a change in
his moral character. From residing together in the same house, a
close intimacy sprang up between Mr. Lewellin and young Beaufoy,
which was much strengthened by the similarity of their religious
sentiments. Though belonging to different evangelical bodies, they,
nevertheless, zealously co-operated together in the advancement of
all the various schemes instituted by Christian benevolence, for the
promotion of the spiritual and temporal happiness of our fellow-men.
Mr. Beaufoy, who had received his first religious impressions
amongst the Wesleyan Methodists, and imbibed all their peculiar
opinions, very naturally chose to attend their chapel. They received
him with their usual kindness, and for several years he grew in
their esteem and confidence, as a young man of superior intelligence
and decided piety. For a considerable time I both corresponded with
young Beaufoy, and also, on one or two occasions, when in London,
I called on him, and invariably met with the warmest reception. I
frequently held conversations with him on the subject of religion,
and from the deep interest which he seemed to take in the subject,
I believed that he had indeed become a decided Christian. But how
deceitful sometimes are appearances, and how cautious ought we to
be in forming conclusions from mere external circumstances, however
fair the prospect may be which they present!
[20] Vol. i. page 12.
Henry Beaufoy possessed a mind admirably qualified for business,
and his abilities, in this respect, enabled him to make rapid
progress in the counting-house of his employer, where he soon
filled a lucrative and responsible situation. About five years
after his first arrival in the metropolis, he married a young lady
occupying a good position in society, but who made no decided
profession of religion. She attended the chapel because she had been
accustomed to do so from her earliest childhood, and felt attached
to the people amongst whom her parents lived and died; but she had
no clear perceptions of the nature or design of the gospel, nor
had she ever felt its enlightening or renovating power. She was
handsome, amiable, and intelligent, but she did not possess _the
one thing needful_; and though her habits and associations were of
a religious nature, yet being destitute of its pure and heavenly
spirit, she became a snare to her husband, by drawing off his mind,
by imperceptible degrees, from things that are unseen and eternal,
to those that were visible and temporal.
Mr. Beaufoy's income was, as already mentioned, considerable, which,
together with the fortune he had with his wife, enabled him to live
in a style far above his early expectations; but he had too much
good sense to involve himself in debt, and too much regard for his
parents to allow them to be in difficulties, while he had abundance.
He often used to say, when in his native village, "I covet wealth
that I may enjoy the luxury of doing good;" and when Providence
granted him his desire, he partook of this source of gratification
to a very large extent. His regular remittances to his parents
exceeded their wishes; while his liberality to the poor, and every
religious institution with which he stood connected, raised him high
in the esteem of his Christian brethren. But, alas! his spirituality
did not keep pace with his prosperity; nor did the fervour of his
devotional spirit equal the degree of his diligence in business.