"I reflect with shame, and at times with agonizing regret, on the
efforts I have made to seduce others from the way of righteousness
and peace. My friend Lewellin has happily escaped from the evil
course into which I led him on his first settlement in London,[40]
and he is now a bright star in the church of Jesus Christ; but I
fear that some have passed into the eternal world, under the fatal
delusions with which I perverted their minds. These two old friends
who lately paid me a visit of congratulation, and others still
living, who are lost in the crowd of gaiety and dissipation, have
sustained incalculable injury from the influence of my example,
and the fatal tendency of my former sentiments and opinions. A
recollection of these facts will entail upon me bitter regret and
stinging remorse through the whole course of my life; and though I
may obtain mercy from Him whose name I have so often blasphemed,
yet from them I can expect nothing but the severest invective for
having misled them, or the keenest satire and reproach for turning a
renegade, as they will term it, to the system of scepticism we once
professed in common."
[40] Vol. i. p. 13.
THE RECTOR'S DEATH-BED.
For several years Mr. Ingleby's health had been gradually declining,
but to the last he displayed great vigour of intellect and vivacity
of spirit. When I saw him on the occasion of my wedding visit to Mr.
Lewellin, he appeared to be still hale and active, notwithstanding
the great age which he had attained. In common with the rest of his
friends, I expected that he might still be spared for a few years
to instruct them by his counsels, and animate them by his example.
Mr. Roscoe's death, however, proved a severe shock to him; he fell
into a state of nervous depression; and after a violent cold which
he took in going to visit a poor cottager, in a remote part of his
parish, his parishioners began to fear that he would soon be removed
from them. For several Sabbaths he was confined to the rectory;
but when he grew a little better, he resumed the discharge of his
pastoral duties. Though he brought into the pulpit the stores of
knowledge which he had been collecting for many years, and felt
his spirit still glowing with the ardour of an intense affection
for the spiritual and eternal welfare of his hearers, his energy
was now considerably abated; his voice, which was originally full
and commanding, became low and enfeebled, and he often appeared
exhausted by fatigue, even before he had half finished the service.
We sometimes see a congregation, which a minister has collected
together in the days of his vigour, forsaking him in his old age, to
pay their homage to the rising sun of popularity; preferring the
voice of a comparative stranger to that of their former shepherd;
but the venerable Ingleby was never deserted. The people pressed
to hear him when the silver locks of age adorned his head, with as
much eagerness as when he possessed all the energy of youth; and
felt as deep an interest in the last services which he conducted,
as in any that had preceded them. It must be admitted that his
situation did not bring him within the immediate influence of
any strong competition for public favour; but though many of his
congregation resided much nearer other clergymen, they nevertheless,
at all seasons of the year, continued regular in their attendance
on the ministrations of Mr. Ingleby to the close of his life. This
attachment to their pastor took its rise in the usefulness of his
public labours; and as he had uniformly conducted himself amongst
them as a holy man of God, devoting his time and his influence to
promote their happiness, his character rose in their esteem as
circumstances gave him an opportunity of developing it. He acted on
the following maxims, which were given him by an aged clergyman, not
long after he took orders, and the practical utility of whose advice
Mr. Ingleby soon experienced in securing him the permanent regard
of his flock:--"Preserve the sanctity of your public character
in the intercourse of private and social life. Do not visit your
people often, except when they need your visits, and then convince
them, that while you have no time to spare for the purposes of
amusement or recreation, you are ever ready to attend to the claims
of pastoral duty. Avoid engaging in the commerce of the world; yet
never think that you are acting beneath the dignity of your station
when engaged in giving advice to the inexperienced, or assisting
others by your counsels, to guide their affairs with discretion.
Let the poor of your flock know that their pastor is their friend
in adversity, their advocate when oppressed, and will be their
comforter when on the bed of sickness or of death."
About a month before his decease he arose on the Sabbath morning
free from pain, the spirit of former times came upon him, and he
felt that he could get through the labours of the day, without
availing himself of the assistance which his neighbour, the Rev.
Mr. Guion, had so kindly offered. The text from which he addressed
the congregation was taken from 2 Pet. i. 13, 14:--"Yea, I think
it meet, as long as I am in this tabernacle, to stir you up, by
putting you in remembrance; knowing that shortly I must put off
this my tabernacle, even as our Lord Jesus Christ hath showed me."
When he read the words, the attention of the people was immediately
fixed on him. The effect which was produced by the delivery of
this discourse was very powerful. It was undoubtedly much aided by
the peculiar circumstances of the speaker, who was grown gray and
infirm in the service of the people, and who in his introduction
informed them, that he was led to the choice of the subject,
under an impression, which left no doubt of the propriety of its
application to himself. The aspect of the preacher, pale, emaciated,
standing on the verge of eternity--the simplicity and majesty of
his sentiments--the sepulchral solemnity of a voice which seemed
to issue from the shades, combined with the intrinsic dignity of
the subject--perfectly quelled the audience with tenderness and
terror, and produced such a scene of audible weeping as was perhaps
never surpassed. All other emotions were absorbed in devotional
feeling; it seemed to us as though we were permitted for a short
space to look into eternity, and every sublunary object vanished
before "the powers of the world to come." "I had often heard him,"
says Mr. Stevens, in a letter which I received from him, "when he
was more energetic, but never when he was more impressive; when he
discovered more originality of genius, but never when he displayed
more intensity of feeling; when he employed a more polished and a
more imaginative style of address, but never when he spoke with more
authority and power; and, thinking with the rest of the audience,
that he was now terminating his labours, I felt a high gratification
that he was enabled to bring them to a close with so much credit to
himself, as the able and faithful minister of the New Testament.
His appeal to the people, after he had finished his discourse and
closed his Bible, delivered in simple and unaffected language,
subdued the whole audience, and left us, when he had finished it, no
alternative but an involuntary burst of sorrow that we should hear
no more that voice to which we had so often listened."
The following is an extract from the Rector's farewell sermon:--
"My dearly beloved brethren, I have now served you in the ministry
of the gospel for more than forty years, and am on the eve of
closing my labours amongst you. Looking back on my life, I discover
many defects in my character, and many imperfections in the manner
in which I have discharged my public duties; these I most humbly
deplore; but I trust they have been only the ordinary infirmities
of a Christian minister, who has uniformly aimed to reach a higher
point of excellence than he could ever attain. If I cannot, like
the great apostle of the Gentiles, appeal to the holiness and
unblameableness of my behaviour amongst you; yet I trust I can
to the ardour of my affection, and the fidelity of my public
ministrations; and while I would entreat you to cast the veil of
charity over all the blemishes of my character, I would, at the
same time, charge 'every one of you, as a father doth his children,
that ye would walk worthy of God, who hath called you unto his
kingdom and glory.' The truth which I have preached to you is now
my support in prospect of the scene which is before me. The time
of my departure is at hand. My course is nearly finished. I shall
soon stand before the judgment-seat of Christ. My eternal state
shall soon be decided; and I shall soon know the final decision.
But I am not alarmed. I do not dread death. The judgment-seat does
not appal me. The final sentence awakens no fearful forebodings of
sorrow. I am looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto
eternal life. Whether I shall ever be permitted to address you
again from this pulpit, is known only to Him who works all things
after the counsel of his own will; nor do I feel very solicitous
to do so. If I should, I shall appear amongst you in weakness, if
not in fear and in much trembling; and if I should not, I hope you
will be provided with another minister, who will, either in this
church, or elsewhere, as the Lord may direct, preach, to you with
more energy, and with more success, the glorious gospel which I have
so often proclaimed to you. But I cannot leave you without saying,
that as I have not shunned to declare the whole truth of God in
the most faithful manner, if any of you should eventually perish,
you will not have it in your power to say that it was owing to my
unfaithfulness. Any of you perish! What! will you reject the counsel
of God against yourselves? Will you refuse to come to Jesus Christ,
that you may have life? Will you neglect the great salvation, which
has been made known unto you; and sink down to endless woe under
the accumulated guilt of your impenitence? Must I be compelled to
appear as a witness against any of you, in that day when God shall
judge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ according to my gospel?
and, instead of seeing you accepted in the Beloved, shall I see you
banished from the presence of the Lord for ever? And must I now
terminate my labours amongst you, under the awful impression, that
while they have been the means of saving some, they have become the
innocent occasion of aggravating the just condemnation of others?
and thus, like the apostle, while to some I have been the savour of
life unto life, must I be to others the savour of death unto death?"
When the service was over, many of the people crowded into the aisle
though which he passed; some stood in the porch of the church,
others along the pathway which led across the graveyard, and some
few followed him to the rectory, to shake hands with him and bid
him farewell; sorrowing, like the elders of Ephesus, when they fell
on Paul's neck and kissed him, most of all that they should see his
face no more. This spontaneous expression of attachment, on the
part of the people, deeply affected the venerable man, who wept as
he reiterated his parting benediction to the aged and the young;
and though he had strength given him to go through this trying
hour, yet, on entering his parlour, he complained of a giddiness,
and immediately fell fainting into the arms of Mr. Lewellin. This
excited considerable alarm through the whole family; and one of
the servants, in the paroxysm of her agony, sent forth the report
that her master was dead. On his being removed into the open air,
however, he soon revived, though, from the distorted appearance
of his countenance, it was evident that he had received a slight
paralytic stroke. He slept the greater part of the afternoon,
but towards evening became very animated, and for several hours
conversed, with great cheerfulness, on the immortality of the soul,
and its final and blissful destiny.
When Socrates was under sentence of death, he assured his friends,
who came to offer him their sympathy, that his chief support
in prospect of taking the fatal draught, was an expectation,
not unmixed with doubts, of a happy existence after death. From
reasoning and reflecting on the subject, he had been led to the
conviction that something of man remains after his decease, and that
the condition of good men will at last be better than that of the
bad; but he could not discover in all his researches, any positive
evidence in support of this opinion; and hence, while he expressed
a hope of entering the invisible world on passing away from this,
he candidly acknowledged that he had his doubts. "My situation,"
said the venerable Ingleby, "is more enviable than that of the sage
of Athens. He doubted the immortality of the soul, while I firmly
believe it. And why do I believe it? Not because my nature revolts
at the thought of annihilation; not because I feel an instinctive
desire to outlive the triumphs of death; but because He who sees
the end from the beginning has said, that the wicked 'shall go away
into everlasting punishment; but the righteous shall go into life
eternal.'"
"We ought," said Mr. Lewellin, "to be very thankful to the Author of
revelation, for having announced the fact of our immortality in such
a clear and unequivocal manner; for it has always struck me, that no
other argument can be admitted as conclusive, but the testimony of
one who has an actual knowledge of an endless futurity."
"I quite agree with you," said Mr. Ingleby; "for how is it possible
for any being to know that I shall live for ever but that Great
Being who knows the end from the beginning? The communications
which we have in the Bible, on this subject, are professedly his
testimony; but if we reject these communications as fabulous, we
must either give up our hope of immortality, as an idle fancy, or
abandon ourselves to that state of dubious uncertainty, in which
the Athenian sage lived and died. And to this dilemma the infidels
of modern times are reduced; hence, while they cannot _disbelieve_
in a future state of existence, they cannot anticipate it with any
degree of confidence. If the gospel be, what they say it is, a
cunningly devised fable, which has its origin, not in the records of
truth, but in the invention of man, it is a fable which is eminently
conducive to human happiness; and I should consider that man my
enemy, who would even attempt to expose its fallacy. I am now near
the close of life, the tomb is opening to receive me, and ere long I
shall cease to be an inhabitant of this world. Am I to perish like
the beasts of the field? or am I to exist in another state of being?
These are questions which now present themselves to my mind, with
an air of solemn majesty, which they never before assumed; but to
whom can I propose them, with any hope of obtaining a satisfactory
reply? There is no voice which speaks, but that which comes from the
excellent glory; and that voice tells me, that this mortal shall put
on immortality; that death shall be swallowed up in victory; and it
teaches me to offer my thanksgivings to God, who hath given me the
victory over the fear of death, and the terror of the grave, through
our Lord Jesus Christ."
"The language," observed Mr. Stevens, "which our Lord addressed to
his disciples, just before his departure, to assuage the violence
of their grief, is no less calculated to afford us consolation
under our sufferings, especially when we are brought near the verge
of eternity:--'Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God,
believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it
were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.
And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and
receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.'"
"I do believe in Him," replied the Rector, "and enjoy the influence
of that belief, in the calm placidity of my mind. I do believe
that he is preparing a place for me amongst the mansions of the
blessed, and I enjoy the influence of that belief in the sublime
anticipations of hope. Yes, I shall soon see him in all the glory of
his majesty, and in all the tenderness of his compassion; and with
the rest of the redeemed I shall soon bow down in his presence with
mingled emotions of astonishment and delight! With astonishment,
that he ever condescended to love me, and to employ me in his
service; and with delight, at the scenes which I shall then behold,
and the voices which I shall then hear. Then shall I be satisfied
when I am assimilated to the Divine likeness."
"You have then no doubt of your final salvation?"
"No, Sir; I wait for it as an event of absolute certainty."
"I perceive," rejoined Mr. Stevens, "that you now make no reference
to the opinion which you have so often expressed respecting the
'different degrees of glory which the righteous will have conferred
on them in the heavenly world.'"
"I am too deeply anxious on the more important point of getting
into heaven, to bestow even a moment's consideration on the degree
of my future happiness. I know I shall have infinitely more than I
deserve; even if I should have less than the least of all saints;
and I am perfectly willing to take what portion my Lord may assign
me, under a full conviction that--
'The man who dwells where Jesus is,
Must be completely blest.'"
"I once heard you say," remarked Mrs. Stevens, "that you had no
doubt but we should know each other in the heavenly world. Have
you, Sir, on more mature deliberation, been induced to change that
opinion?"
"No, Madam. When I enter heaven, I shall not forget that I was once
an inhabitant of earth--that I once lived in a state of rebellion
against God--that he was pleased to bring me to repentance and
faith in the Lord Jesus Christ--that he employed me in the ministry,
and assigned to me the parish of Broadhurst as the scene of my
labours--that I associated in the days of my pilgrimage, with you
and your husband, your nephew and his wife, and other Christian
friends--and that in the exercise of social communion I once enjoyed
some tokens of the Divine favour. If then we shall retain a distinct
recollection of places and occurrences connected with our earthly
sojourn, we shall surely not forget the persons who gave to those
places and occurrences their chief interest and importance. Suppose
I should now, while you are sitting by my side, steal out of life,
and enter heaven, should I on my passage lose a remembrance of
the room in which I expired, or the events which have transpired
this day? Impossible! And could I remember these things, without
remembering you and my other pious friends? And when you arrive,
and are presented faultless, will you not be presented faultless
in the individuality of your person, with all _your_ remembrances
of places, of persons, and events fresh upon you? And will it
be possible for us to associate with each other without making
some reference to the former state of our existence, which will
necessarily lead to a discovery of who we are, and from whence we
came, even if there should be no more direct method of gaining a
knowledge of each other? But apart from this general reasoning, we
may appeal to the Scriptures, which, I think, give their decided
sanction to these views. Hence we find the apostle, when writing
to the Thessalonians, who had through his instrumentality been
converted to the faith of Christ, says, 'For what is our hope, or
joy, or crown of rejoicing? Are not even ye in the presence of our
Lord Jesus Christ at his coming? For ye are our glory and joy.' I
cannot affix any meaning to this passage, unless I believe, that
each apostle, and every minister in every succeeding age of the
church, will know the persons who have been converted to God through
their instrumentality; and that from this knowledge will arise some
peculiar degree of glory and of joy."
"Then, Sir," said Mr. Lewellin, "doubtless you can now anticipate a
high degree of felicity from this source, as God has been pleased to
make your ministry very useful?"
"I have no doubt but I shall partake of this source of happiness;
but I am not now anticipating it. My mind is too deeply occupied
by the important question of getting into heaven, to bestow one
solitary thought on the minor questions of our speculative belief.
I am nearing the borders of the holy land of promise; living now
in the anticipation of soon seeing the King in his beauty, and of
undergoing that transformation which I shall feel when I see him."
"Then, Sir, you think you will 'shortly put off this tabernacle,'
and enter that 'house which is not made with hands, eternal in the
heavens?'"
"Yes, Mr. Lewellin; and I can put it off with as much composure as
I can throw aside a worn-out surplice. The time of my departure is
near."
"But," said Mrs. Lewellin, "what shall we do when you are taken from
us? We shall be like the sheep, when the shepherd is gone!"
"No, my dear friend, the great Shepherd may pitch another fold, and
lead you to another pasturage; but he will still 'feed his flock; he
will gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and
will gently lead those that are with young.'"
His friends now left him to repose. He slept through the
greater part of the night, but towards the morning became very
restless--often complaining of a strange sensation in his head. He
took a light breakfast, and as he felt rather drowsy, requested
that he might not be disturbed. About noon he awoke; but felt no
disposition to rise. He again took a little nourishment, and again
fell asleep, and slept till near five o'clock. When he awoke he
asked the hour, but he paid no attention to the reply which was made
to him. His physician now gave it as his decided opinion that he
would not live through the night. "He is in no pain; and if I judge
from the state of his pulse, I should suppose that his life will
gradually depart from him; perhaps when he is asleep." But about
seven o'clock he suddenly revived, sat up in his bed, and requested
to have his hands and his face washed. When this office of kindness
was performed for him, by Mrs. Lewellin, he looked on her for some
moments without uttering a word; and then stretching out his hand
he said, "My dear, I thank you. You have not anointed me against
my burial; but you have refreshed me to encounter the last enemy.
Death is upon me, but he does not come in a terrific form. No; he
is changed from the king of terrors into an angel of deliverance. I
will thank you, Sir," addressing himself to Mr. Lewellin, "to read
the eighth chapter of Paul's Epistle to the Romans, and then pray
for me; and pray that I may be favoured with a sense of the Divine
presence when passing through the valley of the shadow of death."
Mr. Lewellin having complied with his wishes, the venerable pastor
then gave his friends his blessing; exhorting them to cleave to the
Lord with full purpose of heart. After remaining silent for some
minutes, during which time he appeared to be in the solemn act of
commending his soul to God, he looked round with great benignity of
countenance, and said, "Why, my children, do you weep?"
"Is it possible, Sir," Mrs. Lewellin replied, "for us to lose such a
pastor and such a friend without weeping?"
"Well, I will forgive your tears, because I know you love me; but
I cannot weep with you. Though I have not before me that scene
of martyrdom which presented itself to the great apostle of the
Gentiles, when addressing his son Timothy, yet I can adopt the
triumphant language which he then uttered, and with an equal degree
of confidence:--'I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my
departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my
course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a
crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall
give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that
love his appearing.'" And having uttered these words he reclined his
head on his pillow, and gently breathed his last.
THE RECTOR'S FUNERAL.