advert to the day of final decision, I thought I should have a crown
of glory awarded me. O! how I was deluded; but the delusion has
passed away; and though I now see defects where I could not discern
them before, and feel that I am not worthy to unloose the latchet
of my Master's shoes, yet I hope, through his free and sovereign
grace, that I shall be saved."
"Did your clerical brethren," Mr. Stevens inquired, "express any
astonishment or displeasure at the change which took place in your
religious opinions?"
"Yes, Sir, one, a very amiable and learned man, with whom I had been
carrying on a literary correspondence, wrote me a long and rather
severe letter. He said that he was astonished that a person of my
distinguished reputation should condescend to take up the crude and
unphilosophical notions of the modern fanatics. Pause, Sir, said
he, and think of the fatal step you are taking--a step which, if
actually taken, will tarnish the lustre of your character, blast
for ever all hope of your preferment, and doom you to associate
through life with those whom to shun is a virtue, and esteem a vice.
I replied to his letter, stated the doctrines which I believed,
and the reasons why I believed them, and assured him that he was
labouring under a powerful misconception, from which I was happily
delivered; and concluded by saying, that if it were vile in the
estimation of my friends to revere and love such men as Newton,
Cecil, Venn, and Ingleby, I was resolved to become viler still. This
closed our correspondence."
Mr. Guion, who was naturally very facetious, amused us with a
drollish story about two ladies, on whom he had called in the course
of his pastoral visits. These were two maiden sisters, who had
resided together for rather more than half a century, and possessing
an independent fortune, were persons of considerable consequence
in the parish. They were now too far advanced in life to take _the
lead_ in fashion, but they did not _lag far behind_; and though
their opinions on some subjects were regarded as rather antiquated
by their juvenile friends, yet they were usually treated with very
great respect. They were considered as very religious, _particularly
so_; and were very devout, when _seen at their devotions_. The
preparation week was to them a week of very great importance, and
very toilsome mental labour; and it is rather remarkable, that
neither of them had been detained from the sacrament for the space
of thirty years, _except when they had company_. At the time of Mr.
Guion's visit, the eldest, Miss Susan, was sitting in the breakfast
parlour, reading.
_Mr. Guion._--"Good morning, Madam, I hope you are well."
_Miss Susan._--"Indeed, Sir, I am not. I have not been well since
you began to preach the new doctrines of the new birth and faith,
and salvation by grace, which Mr. Ingleby taught you. I wish he had
been on a visit to Jericho, instead of being appointed to preach
that visitation sermon. Indeed, Sir, I don't like your preaching
against cards; for, Sir, I never play for money; and _beside, all
the money I ever win I give to the poor_. You have driven me and
my sister from the church, Sir, and if we are lost, you will have
to answer for it. And beside, Sir, _I never will believe that God
will damn any body_. We were all living, Sir, as peaceably as a
nestling of birds, till you began your present style of preaching,
but now every body has something to say about religion. I am sorry
to say that religion is getting quite into disrepute, now the common
people are becoming religious." Miss Susan had not finished the last
sentence, before Miss Dorothy entered. She was more polite, but
there lurked under her politeness a malignancy of disposition which
her sister did not discover, amidst all her flippant invectives.
_Miss Dorothy._--"Well, Sir, I did not expect that you would have
done us the honour of a call."
"_Mr. Guion._--"I wish, Madam, to pay respect to all my
parishioners."
_Miss Dorothy._--"Out of the pulpit, I presume."
_Mr. Guion._--"Yes, Madam, and in it."
_Miss Dorothy._--"Surely, Reverend Sir, you are now indulging us
with a joke, and I wonder that such a _religious clergyman_ as you
are can use such a profane weapon."
_Mr. Guion._--"I am not aware, Madam, that I ever behaved
disrespectfully towards any of my parishioners, when discharging the
public duties of my office. If I have, I sincerely regret it, and
you would oblige me if you would let me know in what."
[Illustration: MR. GUION'S FIRST INTERVIEW WITH THE MISSES BROWNJOHN.
Vol. i. page 82.]
_Miss Dorothy._--"Did you not tell us, Sir, on Trinity Sunday, that
publicans and harlots were more likely to enter the kingdom of
heaven than your more righteous hearers? And did you not tell us
that we must implore mercy, in terms _equally humiliating_? What was
this, Sir, but proclaiming the jubilee of vice and the armistice of
virtue?"
_Mr. Guion._--"I merely quoted the language of Jesus Christ, which
he addressed to the chief priests and elders of Jerusalem, and as
we are all sinners, I am at a loss to conceive how any can implore
mercy but in the same phraseology of speech. The language of our
church, you know, Madam, is very, very appropriate to us all, '_Lord
have mercy on us, miserable sinners_.'"
_Miss Dorothy._--"No, Sir. I am not a miserable sinner. That
language is only intended for the depraved part of your audience."
_Miss Susan._--"Miserable sinners! Ah! miserable enough. Why, Sir,
there is more misery in the parish _now_, than there has been _for
the past forty years, put it all together_. I went into the kitchen
the other night, and I saw our cook with the Bible on the table,
weeping as though she had lost her father. And this, Sir, is all
your doings; and when I told her she should not go to church any
more to be made miserable, she began crying again, and had the
impudence to tell me the next morning, that unless she could have
the liberty of going to church on a Sunday, that I must provide
myself with another servant. So you see, Sir, what misery you are
propagating among us."
_Mr. Guion._--"All pure religion commences in repentance towards
God, and can there be repentance without sorrow? And if tears, the
signs of sorrow, should be shed, ought this to excite astonishment?
And you will permit me to say, that prohibiting your servant from
attending church on the Sabbath is neither kind nor equitable. The
Scriptures tell us of some who will not enter the kingdom of heaven
themselves, nor suffer them that are entering to go in."
_Miss Dorothy._--"I see your reference, but feel not its force. And
as we differ so materially in our religious opinions, I think we
had better decline any farther intercourse. You may go, Reverend
Sir, and comfort the miserable, who are crying for mercy, _because
they need it_, but you will allow us and our friends to enjoy that
mental complacency which arises from a full conviction that we
discharge our duties to our God and to our neighbour, and this we
take as a bright omen of our future destiny. We have no desire to be
initiated into the mysteries of your faith, but we do justly, love
mercy, and walk humbly with our God."
_Mr. Guion._--"If we cannot agree on the speculative points of
religion, probably we may on its relative duties. And now, ladies,
you will allow me to state the ulterior design of my visit. John
Brown, a very worthy man, who is in the employ of Mr. Rider, fell
two months since from the top of a barley-mow, and broke a leg. He
is still confined to his bed. He has five children, and his wife
is on the eve of being again confined. This severe affliction has
reduced the whole family to a state of extreme distress, and I am
anxious to procure a little assistance for them."
_Miss Dorothy._--"They should apply to the parish. We pay our rates,
and that, you know, Sir, is giving to the poor."
_Mr. Guion._--"A gift is a voluntary donation, but paying the parish
rate is _no gift_, it is a legal compulsion. And besides, this poor
man has always avoided an application to the parish, and I think
it is not only our duty, but our interest, to encourage the poor
to depend on their own resources, and the occasional assistance of
their richer neighbours, rather than force them, by neglect, to have
resource to the parish rate. There is a high spirit of independence
in the mind of a poor, honest, industrious man, which keeps him
from making any application to the overseers; but when that spirit
of independence is broken down by the iron hand of want, and he is
compelled to solicit parish relief to save himself from starvation,
the repugnance is no longer felt, and then, by withholding a little
temporary assistance in time of need, we injure the tone of his
moral feelings, and create a family of paupers, who may hang on the
parish rate all their life."
_Miss Dorothy._--"If, Sir, you always _reasoned in the pulpit_
with, as much correctness as you now _reason out of it_, your more
respectable parishioners would not turn their backs on you. I will
think of the case of this poor man, and if, after having made
due inquiry, we think it a meritorious case, perhaps we may send
something."
_Mr. Guion._--"On the accuracy of my reasoning when in the pulpit
it would be improper in me to express an opinion, but you will
allow me to say that it is only _a very small portion_ of the
respectable part of my parishioners who have turned their back on
me. The generality attend the church more regularly, if not more
devoutly, than before I commenced my present style of preaching. And
who are those who have recently deserted the church? Not those who
are separated from the spirit and the customs of this world, but
those who are lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God, who feel
a higher gratification in reading plays and novels than in reading
the Sacred Scriptures, in whose families no altar of devotion is
erected, and who are more disposed to ridicule pure religion when it
is infused into a living character, than to admire its excellence
or imitate its example. If I preach contrary to the Scriptures, or
to the Articles of our church, it will be an easy thing to detect
me; but if my preaching accord with them, to contemn it will be an
aggravation of guilt, and to desert it will be judging ourselves
unworthy of eternal life."
_Miss Susan._--"Every tub must stand on its own bottom. You go to
heaven your way, and we will go ours."
_Miss Dorothy._--"Yes. We are commanded not to be righteous
over-much. The Deity is pleased when he sees his rational creatures
happy, and he does not require us to forego the innocent diversions
which improved society has instituted for its own gratification.
However, it is not my wish to prolong a debate which is mutually
unpleasant."
"Do these ladies," inquired Mrs. Stevens, "ever come now to hear you
preach?"
"No, Madam, Miss Dorothy bears what she calls her expulsion
from church in a genuine pharisaical _hauteur_ of spirit; and is
sullenly silent about the cause of it. But Miss Susan is bitterly
vituperative. She often says I shall have to account to the Almighty
for driving her from the church where she was christened, and
confirmed, and taken the sacrament ever since, and where she hoped
to be buried with her ancestors; but she declares I shall never bury
her."
"Do you ever see them now, Sir?"
"We occasionally meet, when we go through the formal ceremonial of a
polite recognition. They do not object to a bow from their rector,
though they object to his sermons."
"Have they any pernicious influence over others to keep them from
church?"
"Yes, Madam, over a few of the frivolous and the gay, who now attend
Mr. Cole's church, when they go anywhere. And there these two ladies
go on sacrament Sunday--wind and weather permitting."
"We often," said Mr. Ingleby, "see the depraved and dissolute
repenting, and seeking salvation through faith in Jesus Christ,
but we rarely know a genuine Pharisee converted; they are too good
in their own estimation to need a Saviour. They will bow at the
mention of his name, but they will not look to him to save them;
and primarily, because they are under no apprehension of ever being
lost."
We were startled, while gravely listening to this tale of the two
spinster ladies, by the sudden tolling of the church bell. Mr.
Ingleby left the room to ascertain the cause, and on his return
informed us that, owing to some mistake, he had to conduct the
service at a funeral, which he expected would not take place till
the following day.
"Pray, Sir," said Mrs. Stevens, "who is to be interred?" "One of the
choicest lambs of my flock. She fell a victim to the inconstancy of
a worthless man; but towards the close of her imbittered life she
enjoyed unruffled peace of soul, and died in full and certain hope
of a joyful resurrection to eternal life." He now left us to prepare
for the service, and we resolved to follow him to the grave-yard.
[Illustration: A LAMB OF THE FLOCK BORNE TO HER REST.
Vol. i. page 87.]
Seated by myself upon a tombstone, I sat musing on death and
immortality; on the raptures and the woes of the invisible world;
on the dying and on the dead; till I saw the procession moving
slowly up a lane which led to the place of sepulture. The pall was
supported by six females dressed in white; and one walked before
the corpse, carrying a chaplet of flowers. The parents and their
surviving children followed; and a large proportion of the village
hung on, as deeply interested spectators. On entering the church,
the bier was placed in the aisle; the pall-bearers standing by its
sides during the whole of the service. The procession at length
moved to the grave, which was under the shade of a yew tree. Every
eye appeared suffused with tears; but when the noise of the earth
falling on the coffin was heard, there was such a simultaneous
emotion of grief excited, that nearly all wept, except the parents.
They stood motionless; the power of feeling seemed suspended; a
fixed melancholy was impressed on their countenance; and they walked
away, the victims of despair, moving from one dreary spot to another
not less dreary.
As their grief appeared too singular to use any of the common
methods which that passion generally adopts to gain relief from its
own inflictions, I felt anxious to ascertain the specific cause
of its excitement; and, on returning to the rectory, I asked Mr.
Ingleby to give us the history of the deceased.
"She was," he said, "the eldest daughter of an opulent farmer,
who resides about half-a-mile off; an extremely handsome and
accomplished girl; and, from the elegance of her manners, and her
intellectual attainments, she was fitted to move in the most polite
circles. But though she stood without a rival in the whole hamlet,
she was either unconscious of her superiority, or had too much good
sense to display it. She would visit the sick, instruct the children
of the poor, or perform any other work of mercy. In her the passion
of selfishness was annihilated, and she lived to bless others. But
she wanted the grace of pure religion to give the finishing polish
to her attractive charms: and had she possessed this at an earlier
period of her life, she might still have been, what she once was,
the glory of her father's house.
"About four years ago, a young gentleman of rank and fortune, but
of dissipated habits, obtained an introduction to her; an intimacy
was formed, which soon ripened, in her unsuspecting breast, into
an ardent attachment. Her parents, who ought to have guarded her
against the cruel monster, did all in their power to encourage his
visits; and on one occasion, when I ventured to suggest that I
suspected the purity of his intentions, they were offended. But the
veil of deception, which he had thrown over his professions, was
very unexpectedly rent asunder; and with a levity and insolence of
manner, which rarely occur in the annals of human treachery, he tore
himself away from her, leaving her the dupe of her own credulity,
and the victim of her own grief. Abandoned by one she loved, and
thrown as an orphan on the world, even while her parents were still
living, she withdrew from society, and, like the stricken deer,
sought a tranquil death in a gloomy shade. Her health gradually
declined, and it was thought proper to try if change of air and
change of scene would not become the means of restoring it. She
went, with a younger sister, to Teignmouth, to spend the winter; but
on her return we all perceived that she was hastening to the tomb.
"I called to see her a few days after her return, and was both
astonished and delighted to find that, during her residence at
Teignmouth, she had given almost undivided attention to the
momentous claims of religion. 'Though, Sir,' she said, 'I have had
the privilege of attending your ministry from my early childhood,
and have had my mind, at various times, most powerfully impressed by
the truth, which I have heard you preach, yet I never understood the
plan of salvation till recently. I used to admit the importance of
religion, but _now I feel it_; and though I cannot say that I have
attained to any high degree of eminence in knowledge or enjoyment,
yet light has broken in upon my understanding, and I am permitted
to indulge a good hope through grace. How astonishing! I was sent
to Teignmouth for the recovery of my health, which I have not
obtained; _but there I found the pearl of great price_' (Rom. xi.
33).
"I asked her if anything of a particular nature occurred while she
was at Teignmouth, to force on her attention the great question
relating to her personal salvation? when she gave me the following
statement:--
"'When out for a walk one evening, I ran into a roadside cottage,
for shelter against a very heavy shower of rain. I there saw a young
person, about my own age, dying of a decline; and in a short time
her physician came, who is a very godly man, and I overheard part of
their conversation. I heard her say, I am not now afraid of dying
or of death. I know by the loss of this frail life I shall gain
immortal life in heaven--a life of happiness, where there will be no
sin, or sorrow, or pain, or poverty, or death.'
"'I called,' she added, 'the next day, with a few jellies and
oranges, but I found the cottage in a state of great confusion and
sorrow, for she died just before I entered it. On the following
Sabbath her funeral sermon was preached at the Dissenting chapel,
and I heard it. The text made a deep impression on my heart, as
I thought it applicable to myself--"_Her sun went down while it
was yet day_." From that hour I gave an undiverted attention to
the apostolic injunction--"Work out your salvation with fear and
trembling;" and I trust, Sir, I can now say I do believe in the
Son of God, and hope He will save me. I may live to outlive my
affliction, and the poignant sufferings which have been the cause of
it; but it is very doubtful. What a mercy that I am now prepared for
death and its issue.'
"She grew better as the spring advanced; the influence of religious
principle moderated the violence of her mental anguish; her spirits
regained their natural vivacity; she resumed her customary habits of
going about doing good, and again mingled amongst the living; but
now her preference was to the excellent of the earth, who love and
fear God. So great was the change in her appearance, that we all
flattered ourselves that the fatal disease had received a check,
and that she would yet live to bless us with her presence and her
example. But the disorder, which we thought subdued, was silently
spreading itself through her whole frame; and having taken a fresh
cold, it attacked her with greater violence, and within the space of
three weeks she was taken from us. At my last interview with her,
which was only a few hours before her decease, she said, 'I am not
_now_ afraid to die. The subject has long been familiar to me. It
is divested of all its terrors. "I know that my Redeemer liveth."
I enjoy His presence this side the Jordan, and doubt not but the
waters will divide when He calls me to pass through.'
"On seeing her mother weep, and her father retiring in sorrow from
the 'post of observation,' she said with great composure, 'My dear
parents, weep not for me. I shall soon, very soon be released from
all my pain, and see Him, "whom having not seen, I love; in whom,
though I see Him not, yet believing, I rejoice with joy unspeakable
and full of glory." I leave you in this vale of sorrow, to ascend
the mount of bliss; and I hope you will follow me. And O! that he
who has been the guilty cause of my early death, may obtain mercy in
that day when we must stand together before the judgment-seat.' She
spoke but little after this, and at seven o'clock the same evening
she said, 'Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,' smiled, and expired.
"Since her death her parents, who are virtuous, but not pious, have
been inconsolable; they reproach themselves in the bitterest terms
for the inducements which they threw in the way of the murderer of
their daughter and the destroyer of their happiness; and though
they have no doubt of her present felicity, yet, being ignorant of
the nature of that felicity, and having no animating prospect of
attaining it themselves, they sorrow as others who have no hope. I
have visited them several times since the dear deceased left us; but
grief has taken such an entire possession of their mind, that the
words of consolation seem to aggravate its violence, and I fear,
unless mercy interpose to prevent it, that the grave will soon be
opened to receive them."
"Nothing," said Mr. Stevens, "gives such buoyancy to the mind, in
the season of affliction, as communion with God. This holy exercise
induces resignation, as well as submission to His will; raises
up the soul above the conflicting elements of sorrow, into the
tranquil regions of peace; and, by associating it with the unseen,
yet not unfelt realities of the eternal world, makes it unwilling
to look for permanent and substantial happiness amidst the fleeting
possessions of earth."
"I was present," said Mrs. Stevens, "when my dear sister, Mrs.
Lewellin, lost her Eliza. She wept as she followed her remains to
the tomb; but she did not repine. She said to me, after the rites of
sepulture were performed, as we sat together in the room in which
the dear girl expired, 'If it had been the will of the Lord to have
spared my child, I would have received her back with grateful joy;
but as He has taken her to Himself, I can bow and say,
'I welcome all thy sov'reign will,
For all that will is love;
And when I know not what thou dost,
I'll wait the light above.'"
"Religion," said Mr. Ingleby, "has a fine effect on the soul in the
day of prosperity; but its excellency is most visible in the season
of adversity; then it shines with peculiar radiance, demonstrating
its superhuman origin, by the omnipotence of its power in moderating
the intensity of grief, and inspiring the soul with a hope full of
immortality."
SATURDAY EVENING AT FAIRMOUNT.