a proverb; but he had no sense of religion, though at times, I
believe, he suffered much in his conscience."
"Do you know what became of him?"
"I have heard that he was sent to Haslar hospital after he left the
_Venerable_, and I suppose he died there; and there, I suppose, he
was buried. God rest his soul!"
Mr. Stevens rose and left the room, but soon returned with the
tract which gives such an interesting account of Covey. He read
some passages from it, and while he was reading, I watched the
countenance of the sailor, which betrayed alternately symptoms of
astonishment, of joy, and of the deepest solemnity.
"I am right glad," said the honest tar, "to hear that my old
shipmate is got safe into such a port. He had a roughish voyage; but
the storm is over; and from that account,[2] he is now safe landed."
[2] Covey was one of the bravest of the brave, and as wicked as he
was brave. Mr. Pratt, in the second volume of his _Gleanings_, gives
us the following account of him:--
As the two fleets were coming into action, the noble admiral,
to save the lives of his men, ordered them to lie flat on the
deck, till, being nearer the enemy, their firing might do the
more execution. The Dutch ships at this time were pouring their
broadsides into the _Venerable_ as she passed down part of the Dutch
fleet, in order to break their line. This stout-hearted and wicked
Covey, heaped in rapid succession the most dreadful imprecations
on the eyes, and limbs, and souls of what he called his cowardly
shipmates, for lying down to avoid the balls of the Dutch. He
refused to obey the order, till, fearing the authority of an officer
not far from him, he in part complied, by leaning over a cask which
stood near, till the word of command was given to fire. At the
moment of rising, a bar-shot carried away one of his legs, and the
greater part of the other; but so instantaneous was the stroke,
though he was sensible of something like a jar in his limbs, he
knew not that he had lost a leg till his stump came to the deck,
and he fell. He was sent home to Haslar hospital, with many others;
and soon after he left it, he went on a Sabbath evening to Orange
Street Chapel, Portsea, where he heard the Rev. Mr. Griffin preach
from Mark v. 15. "He listened," says his biographer, "with attention
and surprise, wondering how the minister should know him among so
many hundred people; or who could have told him his character and
state of mind. This astonishment was still more increased when he
found him describe, as he thought, the whole of his life, and even
his secret sins. Some weeks after this," says Mr. Griffin, "he
called and related to me the whole of his history and experience.
He was surprised to find that I had never received any information
about him at the time the sermon was preached which so exactly met
his case. Something more than twelve months after this time he was
received a member of our church, having given satisfactory evidences
of being a genuine and consistent Christian. A few weeks since,
hearing he was ill, I went to visit him. When I entered his room, he
said, 'Come in, thou man of God! I have been longing to see you, and
to tell you the happy state of my mind. I believe I shall soon die;
but death now has no terrors in it. The sting of death is sin; but,
thanks be to God, he has given me the victory through Jesus Christ.
I am going to heaven! O! what has Jesus done for me, one of the
vilest sinners of the human race.' A little before he died, when he
thought himself within a few hours of dissolution, he said, 'I have
often thought it was a hard thing to die, but now I find it a very
easy thing to die. The presence of Christ makes it easy. The joy I
feel from a sense of the love of God to sinners, from the thought of
being with the Saviour, of being free from a sinful heart, and of
enjoying the presence of God for ever, is more than I can express!
O! how different my thoughts of God, and of myself, and of another
world, from what they were when I lost my precious limbs on board
the _Venerable_! It was a precious loss to me! If I had not lost my
legs, I should perhaps have lost my soul.' With elevated and clasped
hands, and with eyes glistening with earnestness, through the tears
which flowed down his face, he said, 'O, my dear minister! I pray
you, when I am dead, to preach a funeral sermon for a poor sailor;
and tell others, especially sailors, who are as ignorant and wicked
as I was, that poor blaspheming Covey found mercy with God, through
faith in the blood of Christ! Tell them, that since I have found
mercy, none that seek it need to despair. You know better than I do
what to say to them. But, O! be in earnest with them; and may the
Lord grant that my wicked neighbours and fellow-sailors may find
mercy as well as Covey!' He said much more; but the last words he
uttered were, 'Hallelujah! hallelujah!'"
"There is no refuge from the storm but in Jesus Christ," said Mr.
Stevens.
"Ah, there is no getting into the port of heaven but through Christ;
this I have known for many years; but it han't done me much good;
but I hope it will."
"Have you now left the navy?"
"Yes, and please your honour. I was wounded at the battle of
Trafalgar, when our Nelson died; and I was sent home, along with
many others, to the hospital. After I left the hospital, I went back
to sea, but I got my discharge a little more than two months ago.
Here it is, and please your honour."
"Where have you been since you got your discharge?"
"I went home to Horningsham as fast as I could travel, to see my
father, and mother, and sister; for I had not seen them for many
years. I got there about five o'clock in the evening, and when I
opened the door, I saw a stranger sitting in the chimney-corner,
who turned out to be my brother-in-law; but poor sister Susan was
dead. I was afraid to ask about father, for I began to think that
death had been on board, and capsized all of them. I saw his stick
hanging over the mantle-piece; and after a while (tears falling
as he spoke), I asked if he were alive. 'No, William,' said my
brother-in-law, 'your father has been dead five years.' 'Is mother
alive?' 'She is alive, but I fear she won't live till the morning.'
'Then I'll put on shore, and see her before she goes down.' So I
went up stairs, and as soon as mother saw me, she knew me, and she
wept for joy to see me back; and as soon as she had given me a
salute, she asked if brother George were living; and when I told her
of his death, she wept again, but they were not tears of joy. She
died in about three hours after I got home; and I staid there a few
weeks after she was buried, but the place being deserted by those I
loved, I made up my mind to slip my cable and sheer off. I couldn't
lay at anchor in such a deserted port."
"Was you with your mother when she died?"
"Yes, and please your honour; I hove to as soon as I saw her, and I
did not leave her until she went down."
"How did she die?"
"Just in the same way as I hope to die, when it pleases God to call
me. She said, 'William, I am now going to heaven, and I hope you
will follow me.'"
"Well," said Mr. Stevens, "I hope you will; but what do you intend
to do for a livelihood?"
"Why, please your honour, I don't know what to do."
"Can you work in a garden?"
"I think I can, and I'm willing to try. I used, when a lad, to work
in the Marquis of Bath's garden, along with my father, and I have
not quite forgot what he learned me."
Mr. Stevens, being in want of an under-gardener, took the sailor
into his service, and he long remained with him, a very faithful and
industrious servant; an Israelite indeed, in whom was no guile.
After the sailor left the parlour, Mr. Lewellin remarked, that the
adaptation of the gospel to man, of every order of intellect, of
every shade and complexion of character, of every age and of every
country, was to him a most decisive evidence of its Divine origin.
Had it been a human invention it would have been incumbered with
some local or national customs, and hence it would have discovered
some radical defect; but instead of this, the closer it is examined
the more its adaptation to the moral condition of humanity is
perceived; its rites are such as all may practise; its precepts
are as suited to an Asiatic or an African as to an European; and
its leading fact, "_that Christ Jesus came into the world to save
sinners_," is "_worthy of all acceptation_."
"As you have so recently left the ranks of infidelity," said Mr.
Stevens, "let me ask you--Are infidels in general sincere in the
opposition which they make to Christianity?"
"They are as sincere as a criminal would be in his efforts to
prevent the judge entering the court; but, in general, they have a
strong impression that their opposition will be useless."
"I see that I have not given my question precisely that form of
meaning which I intended. Do you think that they really disbelieve
the truth of Christianity?"
"We have many in this country, as there are many in all other
countries, who are as ignorant of the nature and design of the
Christian faith as they are of the science of astronomy or of
medicine, and they disbelieve it, if it be proper to say a thing
can be disbelieved which is not known; but I do not think that any
really disbelieve it who have received a proper religious training.
They will, when together, cheer up each others' spirits, and affect
contempt for the religion of the Bible; but I have seen a whole
company disconcerted by a clap of thunder, and retire, not to enjoy
the pleasures of reflection, but, if I may judge from what I have
felt, to writhe beneath the agonies of anticipation."
"Do you know if your conversion to the Christian faith produced any
good effect on any of your former associates?"
"I recollect on one occasion, when several of us were spending a
Sabbath evening in an hotel, after I had delivered a speech at some
length in favour of Deism, and against Christianity, I was so much
applauded, that they clapped me, and said, 'Well, Lewellin, _if
you ever turn, there must be something in it_.' After I did turn,
or rather _after I was turned_, the majority reproached me as a
hypocritical fanatic; but one came and congratulated me on having
escaped the destructive snare in which he was entangled; but added,
'My doom is irrevocably fixed, and it would be only an aggravation
of my misery to indulge a hope of salvation.' Poor fellow! he was
hurried on, even against the strong convictions of his judgment,
and the reproaches of his conscience, through almost every scene
of dissipation, till at length the strong arm of death stopped his
progress. As soon as I heard of his illness, I went to see him. I
never shall forget the interview. It brought to my recollection my
own state of misery, when the terrors of the eternal world, like
the vivid lightning, were playing around my distracted spirit. On
entering his room, he endeavoured to avoid seeing me, by concealing
his face under the bed-clothes. I approached his bedside, and
spoke, but he was dumb with silence. I endeavoured to rouse him by
the kindest expressions of friendship, and at length he uncovered
his horror-struck countenance, and said (as nearly as I can
remember), 'I don't doubt your kindness; it is indelibly impressed
on my callous heart. But why come to torment me? The _damned_ cannot
be _saved_!' 'But,' I added, 'the _chief of sinners_ may.' 'Not
after their doom is fixed. I have passed the line which divides the
saved from the lost; and I cannot retrace my steps.' 'But,----'
'But, Sir,' interrupting me, 'excuse my abruptness; I feel as though
I were now riding on the elements of woe; the voice of peace I
cannot hear. My soul is in a whirlwind of despair! The storm will
ne'er subside! The clouds of the Divine displeasure are highly
charged; they are gathering blackness! and soon--yes, I feel death
now creeping up to strike my heart!--soon, very soon I shall be cast
into outer darkness!' 'But,----' 'But spare me!' 'But, do listen--_I
may_ be the means of distilling consolation; for I have suffered
all you now suffer, and yet have obtained mercy.' 'Yes, _you_ have,
and I am glad of it for your sake; but that feeling aggravates my
agony. Distil consolation! Yes, you may; but every avenue of my
soul is filled up with anguish; it cannot enter. Tell me not of a
Saviour, for I have slighted him! Tell me not of his compassion, for
I have made it a subject of ridicule! Tell me not of heaven, for I
shall soon see it, but at an immeasurable distance! Death is come,
my heartstrings are breaking! I lie down in misery, to rise----' He
could add no more. I left him in the agonies of despair, and soon
after he died."
"How awful!" exclaimed Mrs. Stevens; "was it not too much for your
feelings?"
"Too much!" replied Lewellin, deeply affected, "I scarcely knew
how to remain, or how to move; and, had it not been for the nurse,
who entered the room just at this crisis, I think that I should
have sunk. It has left a horrifying impression on my mind, which
reflection increases; for he was the only son of a pious father,
who was ignorant of his character till he came up from the country
to attend his funeral. The good man waited on me before the rites
of sepulture were performed; and though I suppressed the strong
descriptive language of his son, yet it was not in my power to
alleviate his fears. He wept aloud. He paced backwards and forwards
in my room, like a man bereft of his senses. '_Had I lost my
property, I had merely lost what will melt in the general burning;
but I have lost my child, who will never see----. Woe is me!_' I
went to see the good man a few months ago, but his countenance has
never since worn a smile--his food is the wormwood, and his drink
the gall."
"What anguish," said Mr. Stevens, "does an irreligious child often
inflict in a parent's breast! I have often grieved because I have
not had a family, but I am sure that I shall never grieve again."
I now observed: God often employs the religious education of
children as the means of their conversion; but when they leave their
father's house, if they are not placed in a pious family, they often
turn out the most depraved. Hence we derive an argument for our
encouragement, to train them up in the nurture and admonition of the
Lord; and also a beacon to warn us of the danger to which we expose
them, when we introduce them into situations where they are under
no religious control. This good man demands our pity; but, perhaps,
if we knew the whole history of his conduct to his child, we should
be disposed to blame him. And what a warning is this fact to the
youth who has received a religious training. He may indulge himself
in a course of sin, but conscience will rebuke him; he may suppose
that his father is ignorant of his conduct, but he cannot conceal
himself from the eye of God; and he may presume on a future day for
repentance, but that day may be a day of darkness, of lamentation,
and of woe.
"Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in
the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in
the sight of thine eyes; but know thou, that for all these things
God will bring thee into judgment."
THE RECTOR OF BROADHURST.
"My dear," said Mr. Stevens, "here is an invitation from the Rev.
Mr. Ingleby, requesting us and our visitors to take tea at the
rectory to-morrow evening, when he will introduce us to the Rev. Mr.
Guion; and as we have no engagement, I presume I may send an answer
in the affirmative."
"Most certainly," said Mrs. Stevens; "to meet Mr. Ingleby and Mr.
Guion together will be a great treat; they are both men of superior
intelligence and piety, and of great conversational powers."
"I do not know Mr. Guion," I remarked, "but I have a very high
opinion of Mr. Ingleby; he breathes a fine catholic spirit, and
preaches the gospel with great simplicity, purity, and power."
"I think," said Mr. Stevens, "I know a few who excel our venerable
friend in some separate ministerial qualifications and attainments;
but in that rare union of excellencies which meet in him, he
stands, in my opinion, unrivalled. He has a voice which is clear
and powerful, his action is natural, he commands attention, and
he always rewards it; for, by an extraordinary aptness of manner,
he compels his hearers to believe that he is addressing them
individually. And I have often been astonished by the extraordinary
fertility of his mind; for while he is perpetually exhibiting
the _same truths_, the modes of their exhibition are perpetually
varying; his arguments, if they are not always new, yet they are
always put in a new form; and his figures of illustration, which
are beautifully chaste, have, if I may use such an expression, the
freshness and fragrance of novelty upon them."
"But, after all," said Mrs. Stevens, "much as I admire him when
he is in the pulpit, it is in the parlour and in the walks of
private life that he unconsciously unfolds the _entire_ of his real
character. He appears more amiable and lovely in the undress of
social intimacy, than when attired in the costume of his order. In
my opinion, he approaches nearer the perfect and upright man of the
Bible than any clergyman I know."
I had heard much of Mr. Ingleby since I had been a visitor at
Fairmount, and I now looked forward with great pleasure to the
prospect of being more fully acquainted with him. I shall here
introduce some particulars of his history, much of which I
afterwards learned.
On his leaving college, where he was greatly beloved by those who
were admitted into his intimacy, Mr. Ingleby went into Yorkshire,
and took the curacy of a country parish; and there he exhibited
in faint miniature the fine character which, in after-life, he
more clearly and broadly developed. To this spiritual cure he was
much attached; and it is probable that he would have continued in
it, but he married a niece of the gentleman who had the living of
Broadhurst in his gift, and who presented it to him on the day of
his marriage. To this living he was inducted in the year 1796; and
though he subsequently had several offers of preferment, yet he
declined them, preferring contentment and the affectionate regards
of the attached and devoted people amongst whom he laboured, to the
greater honours and emoluments which were held out to him. When he
commenced his ministerial labours, he found the church in a most
dilapidated condition; its steeple had fallen; its walls were rent
in several parts, and overgrown with rank vegetation; the rain oozed
through its roof; the grass had grown high on every walk which led
to its antique doors; and though the face of the clock was partly
visible, the clock itself had long ceased to tell the hours. Almost
the whole parish was living in a state of absolute ignorance and
moral barbarism. His heart sunk within him as he surveyed the moral
waste which he was appointed to cultivate; but recollecting that
he was not appointed to labour in his own strength, he resolved
to consecrate his life to its improvement. Having formed this
resolution, no offer, however flattering, could for a moment shake
it. The first thing he attempted was, not to raise the tithes,
which he knew would inflame the prejudices of the people against
him, but to get the church repaired. He called a meeting of the
parishioners, stated his wish, and urged them, in such a mild and
persuasive manner, to comply with it, that the utmost degree of
unanimity prevailed; and they retired congratulating each other on
the residence of a clergyman amongst them who seemed to manifest a
concern for their spiritual welfare. Though the parsonage house was,
if possible, in a more dilapidated state than the church, yet he
prudently declined alluding to it, which gave a few of the leading
men such a high idea of his disinterestedness, that they called
another meeting, and resolved that the house and the church should
be repaired at the same time. When the church, thoroughly repaired,
was reopened for divine worship, there was such a concourse of
attendants that it was not large enough to contain them. The clerk,
who had grown old in the service, having repeated the _Amen_ within
its walls for nearly half a century, said to his rector, while he
was assisting him in putting on his sacred vestments, "There is
a main lot of people come, Sir, to see our beautiful church; one
should almost think that the dead had got leave to come out of their
graves to see it."
[Illustration:
DRAWN BY S. READ. ENGRAVED BY W. L. THOMAS.
THE CHURCH OF THE NEGLECTED PARISH.
Vol. i. page 66.]
It was with some difficulty that Mr. Ingleby could get to the
desk; and when he commenced the service, instead of reading the
prayers, like his predecessors, in a hurried and irreverent manner,
there was so much gravity in his appearance, so much solemnity
in his deportment, and such a clearness and impressiveness in
his enunciation, that the whole congregation were astonished and
delighted. But it was in the pulpit, where he had to proclaim the
glad tidings of salvation, that he commanded most attention, and
excited the deepest interest. He selected for the occasion the
memorable words of St. Paul, "_For I am determined not to know
anything among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified_" (1
Cor. ii. 2). After dwelling some time on the death of Christ, and
its grand design, he said, "My brethren, I am appointed to labour
amongst you; and I have now informed you what will be the principal
subject of my ministrations. I shall preach Christ; and can I preach
on any subject so important? As you are sinners, involved in a
state of degeneracy, guilt, and condemnation, you need a Saviour who
is able to absolve you from your guilt, and bring you into a state
of reconciliation with God, and save you from the wrath to come.
Such a Saviour I now proclaim to you; a Saviour who is able to save
to the uttermost all that come to God by him, seeing he ever liveth
to make intercession for them. On the merit of his obedience and
death you must rely for pardon and eternal life; and I beseech you
to renounce at once every other object of dependence, and come to
him, by faith, with broken hearts and contrite spirits, and he will
save you."
This sermon produced a powerful impression, particularly the
following very simple illustrative argument:--"If a man, whose
tongue is cleaving to the roof of his mouth, were to put this
question to me--Will a draught of pure water quench my thirst? I
should very naturally say--_Try it._ Or if a man, when standing on a
wreck, should ask me--Will your life-boat take me in safety through
this fearful storm? instead of philosophizing on the causes of
storms, or on the art of boat-building, I should say--_Jump in, Sir,
and try it._ And I have the same reply to make to you, who may feel
disposed to ask me if coming to Jesus Christ to save you will make
you happy--_Try it._ Thousands and millions have made the trial, and
found it a successful one; and now I say to each one of you--_Try
it._"
This style of bold, yet simple address, was as novel amongst the
people as it was impressive; it commanded and secured attention;
and it was evident to all that the preacher was in earnest, for he
spake as one having authority. Some were delighted with the sermon,
and said that they had never seen the truth in such a clear light
before, and that they had never before felt it operate so powerfully
on their minds; and after the service was over, they lingered about
the church, as though they were unwilling to leave the place in
which they had been listening, with so much pleasure, to the glad
tidings of salvation. But there were a few of the _more respectable
part of the people_ who were offended, and who did not hesitate to
say, that if morality was to be excluded from the pulpit, to admit
of the introduction of this evangelical style of preaching, they
should decline attending the church. In the course of the week Mr.
Ingleby received a letter from Mr. Porteous, a county magistrate, of
which I afterwards obtained a copy, and also of his reply. I here
introduce them as curiosities:--