into battle, which forced him to risk disobedience to orders rather
than skulk from the advancing foe, made a stronger impression on my
imagination than his after conversion did on my heart. It carried
me back also to the scenes which my old friend, Captain Dunlop, had
often pictured to me, of his hairbreadth escapes from danger; and
then his last words recurred to my memory with terrible force--'Mr.
Tennent, I am a wreck, and lost.' I put the tracts again into my
pocket, as I thought, and sat in terrible and depressing cogitations
for a long time; but providentially I had put back only one of them;
the other had fallen on the ground, and a slight breeze blew it just
under the notice of my eye. I took it, and read the title--_Poor
Joseph; an Authentic Narrative_.[5]
[5] A poor, half-witted man, named Joseph, whose employment was to
go on errands and carry parcels, passing through London streets one
day, heard psalm-singing in the house of God; he went into it; it
was Dr. Calamy's church, St. Mary's, Aldermanbury. The preacher read
his text from 1 Tim. i. 15--"This is a faithful saying, and worthy
of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save
sinners, of whom I am chief." From this he preached, in the clearest
manner, the ancient and apostolic gospel, and Joseph, in rags,
gazing with astonishment, never took his eyes from the preacher, but
drank in with eagerness all he said, and trudging homeward, he was
heard thus muttering to himself, "Joseph never heard this before!
Christ Jesus, the God who made all things, came into the world to
save sinners like Joseph; and this is true, and it is a 'faithful
saying!'" Not long after this Joseph was seized with a fever,
and was dangerously ill. As he tossed upon his bed, his constant
language was, "Joseph is the chief of sinners, but Jesus Christ came
into the world to save sinners, and Joseph loves him for this." His
neighbours who came to see him wondered on hearing him always dwell
on this, and only this.
One man, finding out where he heard this sermon, went and asked
Dr. Calamy to come and visit him. He came, but Joseph was now very
weak, and had not spoken for some time, and though told of the
doctor's arrival, he took no notice of him; but when the doctor
began to speak to him, as soon as he heard the sound of his voice
he instantly sprang upon his elbows, and seizing him by his hands,
exclaimed, as loud as he could with his now feeble and trembling
voice, "O Sir! you are the friend of the Lord Jesus, whom I heard
speak so well of him. Joseph is the chief of sinners, but it is a
faithful saying, that Jesus Christ, the God who made all things,
came into the world to save sinners, and why not Joseph? O, pray to
that Jesus for me; pray that he may save me; tell him that Joseph
thinks that he loves him for coming into the world to save such
sinners as Joseph." The doctor prayed; when he concluded, Joseph
thanked him most kindly; but his exertions in talking had been too
much for him, so that he shortly afterwards expired.
"On any other occasion I should have doubted the truthfulness of
the narrative, and should have ridiculed it as a tale got up for
dramatic effect. But I did not do so now. The sentiments of the tale
came with such force, that a flood of tears bore testimony to its
wondrous effect on my proud spirit, and I was now deeply humbled and
abased before Him whose eye is pity and whose arm is power.
"Returning to my lodgings I bought a Bible, now no longer an object
of scornful contempt, but of veneration and love, and sat down to
read it with as much eagerness of soul as a disconsolate child in a
distant country would open an unexpected letter from his father. I
am not ashamed to confess to you that I shed many tears that night,
as the Bible lay on the table before me; tears of contrition, when
recalling to my remembrance some of my reproachful sayings against
it; and tears of gratitude to Jesus Christ, the friend of sinners,
for causing me once more to revere and love my Bible. For some time
I was fearfully anxious lest the newly-enkindled emotions of my
heart should die out, and that I should again be left to go back
into my old practices of evil, and possibly re-occupy the seat of
the scorner. I therefore resolved to let time test the genuineness
of the great change before I said anything to any one about it. Time
has done this; and you, Sir, are the only person to whom I have
made the disclosure; and I have no doubt but you will rejoice to
hear from me a simple statement of what the Lord has done for me,
and how he has had compassion on me. We may meet again; and if we
should, we shall meet as fellow-believers in the precious Bible, and
in the Saviour it reveals to us. Last week I sent a family Bible
to the woodman, and a small Bible to each of his children, simply
telling him that it was a present from one who once attempted to
sap his faith in the divine authority of the Bible, but who now
venerates and loves it as God's best gift to man.--I remain, yours
respectfully,
"GEORGE TENNENT."
THE FAMILY OF THE ROSCOES.
Mr. Roscoe was the son of an eminent London citizen, who, by his
successful speculations in trade, had risen from indigence to the
possession of great wealth. He had two brothers and one sister. His
eldest brother took to his father's business, his youngest entered
the church, and his sister married a country gentleman of fortune
and respectability. He was originally designed for the law; but,
after spending a few years with an eminent solicitor, he abandoned
the profession, and devoted himself to a life of pleasure. After
years of wandering from one place to another, he settled in the
neighbourhood of the village of Aston, where he built a spacious
mansion, as elegant within as its external appearance was imposing.
Soon after its completion he married an amiable and intelligent
lady, of a small fortune, but of great prudence. For some time they
lived in the enjoyment of domestic peace; and while Mr. Roscoe
gained reputation as a man of intelligence and of taste, Mrs. Roscoe
was universally esteemed for her affability and benevolence. Years
passed along--they had several children, but all died in infancy.
These successive bereavements had such a depressing effect on Mrs.
Roscoe, that solitude became oppressive, and society aggravated her
grief, and the shades of melancholy were gathering thick around
her; yet she was comforted under her sufferings by the sympathy and
affection of a fond and endeared husband.
Time, which had covered the grave of her children with verdure,
began to close up the wounds of her heart; but, when permitted to
enjoy the anticipations of becoming once more a mother, she was
doomed to witness the growing indifference of her husband towards
herself. Her other trials depressed her, but this overwhelmed her.
Her affection still glowed pure and ardent; and though she long
resisted every unfavourable impression, and redoubled her efforts to
please, and to render his home attractive, yet she saw her happiness
a wreck, and found herself bereft of all the endearments of life.
This change in Mr. Roscoe was produced by his intimacy with Sir
Henry Wilmot, of Cleveland Hall. Sir Henry was the only son of an
eminently pious mother, who died when he was seven years of age;
he was thus left entirely to the care of his father, a man of
superior mental attainments, but of gay and dissipated habits, and
a free thinker on theological questions. When young he resisted the
contagion of evil by which he was surrounded; but having finished
his education, which was not favourable to the growth of religious
sentiments, he paid a visit to the continent, and there he became
thoroughly corrupted. On the decease of his father, he returned to
take possession of the family inheritance; and brought with him
all the loose opinions and dangerous principles of those with whom
he had associated. Being a man of elegant manners, of sociable
disposition, generous and warm in his professions of friendship, who
had seen the various aspects of society, and was qualified either
to debate in argument or amuse at play, he soon acquired a powerful
ascendency over Mr. Roscoe, whom he often induced to prolong his
visits at the Hall to a late hour. The influence of evil, like the
influence of good principles, is at first imperceptible; but it is
usually found that the one corrupts more rapidly than the other
reforms. The erection of the building requires a skilful combination
of talents and materials; but it may be demolished by the rude hand
of a barbarian, who knows not how to draw an elevation, or execute a
design.
Cleveland Hall, which had been in former days the house of mercy and
of prayer, was now become the rendezvous of the vices--the seat of
licentiousness and of moral pollution;
"There _many_ fell, to rise no more;"
and there Mr. Roscoe lost the fine bloom that once glowed on
his character; and if a sense of decency operated as a partial
restraint, yet his home and his wife were comparatively forsaken.
Mrs. Roscoe, who watched this progressive change with deep anxiety,
would occasionally solicit the company of her husband during the
tedious evenings of the winter, but rarely succeeded; for, such was
the infatuation which had seized him, that he could not be happy
away from Sir Harry. At length the hour arrived which teems with
eventful consequences to a family, and Mrs. Roscoe became the mother
of a lovely female child. At first her life appeared in imminent
danger; and when this was announced to her husband, he was deeply
affected, and sat mute in silence; but it was not the dignified
silence of the soul bowing down in submission to the will of God,
but the silence of horror-struck guilt, which dares not speak. After
waiting a considerable time, the victim of his own reflections, he
resolved at last to see his wife; but when he entered her room he
found that she had fallen into a profound sleep. As he was retiring,
the nurse threw off the covering that concealed the face of his
daughter, and the sight operated as a spell upon his passions. As he
kissed the babe, the tide of conjugal affection flowed back into his
soul, and he resolved from that hour to become once more a domestic
man. The next morning he sent a short polite note to Sir Harry,
saying that he should in future decline all intimacy.
Had he merely resolved to drop the intimacy by degrees, leaving the
Hall earlier in the evening, and going less frequently--offering
reasonable excuses for these variations, and then trivial ones--it
is more than probable that Sir Harry would have employed an extra
amount of fascinating influence to prevent a dissolution of the
connection. But by coming to a decision at once, and acting
on it--by the transmission of the note--he broke the spell of
enchantment under which he had long been held, and effected his
emancipation with comparative ease. Herein he displayed consummate
wisdom, and should be regarded as a model of imitation by any one
who feels himself entangled in a similar snare. Hesitation, combined
with a resort to cautious expedients, is far more likely to give
perpetuity to a beguiling temptation than to dissolve its charm;
whereas, a resolute determination to break away from it, followed by
some bold and decisive step, is almost sure to prove successful; the
self-conquest is then made without much difficulty, the character is
redeemed from infamy, and domestic happiness is re-established on a
solid foundation.
Mrs. Roscoe soon recovered--the life of the child was spared--her
husband became kind and attentive--and the sun of her domestic
happiness, which had gone down, returned to lighten her long
cheerless habitation. She was always a religious woman; but her
religion was restricted to opinions, and forms, and ceremonies,
which had no moral power on her mind. She had her seasons of
devotion, but she regarded her devotional exercises as a duty, not
a privilege; and read her Bible occasionally, but her reading was
generally confined to its histories, or narratives, or parables.
She regularly attended her church, and repeated the responses of
its Liturgy with great solemnity, but she never conceived that the
essence of religion consists in the renovation of the soul. She
was amiable and benevolent, discharged the relative duties of life
with strict honour and punctuality, and threw over the path of her
visible history a lustre which all admired; and feeling satisfied
with her personal goodness, she very naturally concluded that
God required nothing more. To her the scheme of salvation, which
requires repentance towards God, and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ,
was not less offensive than to the avowed unbeliever; and though she
had more liberality than her husband, yet she was equally severe
in her remarks on those whose piety led them to oppose the customs
of the world, and devote themselves to the Redeemer. Her formalism
was both rigid and acrimonious; and though it yielded no mental
enjoyment, yet it excited much self-complacency, inducing her to
think she was fit for heaven, without creating any intense longings
to go there.
Years passed away in the enjoyment of health, unannoyed by cares
or sorrows, till Miss Roscoe was seized with that depressing
melancholy which has been already described,[6] and which threw a
sombrous gloom over all their prospects. From this affliction she
was now recovering, and though her parents beheld with joy the
gradual return of her cheerfulness, yet her cheerfulness was of
such a serious cast that they rejoiced with trembling. As they were
sitting together one evening, when their daughter had displayed
unusual liveliness, Mr. Roscoe said, "My dear Sophia, it gives us
great pleasure to witness your pleasantry, and we hope that in a
short time you will be able to partake of the amusements in which
you once took so much delight. We have resolved to celebrate your
convalescence by giving a ball, and we hope you will lead off in
style."
[6] See p. 129.
This communication, which was intended to raise her spirits, had a
contrary effect; and she replied, "I am conscious that you always
keep my happiness in view, but I assure you that such a mode of
celebrating my deliverance from the gloomy night of mental sadness
would ill accord with the sentiments and feelings of my mind; the
song of mirth I would exchange for the hymn of praise, and would
prefer the retirement of devout meditation to the noisy bustle and
fantastic exhibition of human vanity and folly."
"But such amusements," replied Mr. Roscoe, "used to afford you
gratification, and I do think, my Sophia, that they will contribute
very materially towards restoring that high-toned vivacity which
your spirits usually preserved."
"Yes, father, I once took great delight in such amusements, and
almost contemned the person who despised them, but my taste is
changed; and if you wish to retard the restoration of my mental
energy and vivacity, you have only to urge a compliance, which will
wound my conscience."
"This reply, my Sophia, confirms the fearful apprehensions which I
have recently entertained concerning you."
"What, my father, are these fearful apprehensions?"
"You are escaping from the gloom of a physical depression, to
be involved in a religious gloom, which will prove still more
injurious. You know that I have always inculcated religious
principles, and set you a virtuous example, and can you suppose
that I would now recommend amusements which _ought_ to wound your
conscience?"
"But _it would wound my conscience_ were I to mingle again in
the gay parties, and partake of the amusements, in which I once
delighted; and I am sure, after such an avowal, you will not press
it."
"I would not press anything on you which would give you pain, but I
fear lest the religious turn which you are now taking should lead
you either to despondency or enthusiasm."
"O my father, it is a belief that Jesus Christ died for sinners,
even the chief, that has given peace and hope to my deeply-depressed
mind. This is the theme on which I love to dwell. In comparison
with this, the charms of poetry or the discoveries of science are
insignificant and worthless."
"But, my dear, I hope you do not rank yourself among the chief of
sinners. You have always been a dutiful child, kind and attached
to those around you; the ornament of your family; your character
is free from a stain, and your moral principles are as pure as the
light of heaven; and would it not be an insult to your Maker if you
were, as is too much the fashion among our modern saints, to class
yourself with those who are too worthless to merit his regard?"
"But, my father, we may be very excellent in the sight of man,
and yet offensive in the sight of God. The Pharisees of the New
Testament are compared to 'whited sepulchres, which indeed appear
beautiful outwardly, but are within full of dead men's bones, and
of all uncleanness.' I feel the comparison in relation to myself
to be just. I have discharged the relative duties of life with
some degree of propriety, and know that my character is free from
reproach; I have devoted myself to the improvement of my mind, and
held in veneration the religion on whose external ordinances I have
attended, but I have not sought for happiness in the enjoyment of
the divine favour, nor have I, till recently, either understood or
felt the power of religious principles on my heart. However, though
I may be blameless towards man, I am a sinner against God, but a
sinner hoping to be saved by grace through faith, and that faith is
not of my own originating, it is the gift of God."
"My Sophia, I never heard you talk in a strain like this before;
you appear to have taken a most gloomy view of human nature, and,
according to my judgment, you are gone off among the mysteries of
modern Calvinism, and, unless you retrace your steps, you will be
plunged into a state of depression more perplexing, because more
hopeless, than that from which you are now emerging."
"I know I never talked in this strain before, because the veil of
ignorance concealed from me the truths which I now discern with so
much clearness in the Scriptures. The apostle says, 'The natural
man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are
foolishness unto him; neither can he know them, because they are
spiritually discerned.' And I can attest, from my own experience,
the accuracy of this statement. But the eyes of my understanding
are now enlightened, and I can discern a beauty and grandeur in the
scheme of salvation which I never saw before. The Scriptures are now
the pure fountain from whence I draw the water of life. My taste
is now formed by the influence of the truth which they reveal, and
such is the altered state of my mind towards God, and the Redeemer,
and another world, that I feel as though introduced into a new
condition of being. You may imagine that this mental process will
issue in gloom and dejection, but no; I feel myself rising above the
conflicting elements of grief on which my mind has been tossed, into
the enjoyment of that 'peace which passeth all understanding.'"
"But, my Sophia, I fear that you are carried away by the flights
of your fancy, and are _now_ labouring under a delusion which will
leave you more wretched than it found you."
"But, my dear father, _suppose it be a delusion, is it not a
pleasing one_? It has delivered me from a species of melancholy,
which no other expedient could remove. But it is no delusion,
because the effect is produced by truth operating on my mind through
the medium of my judgment; and if you examine the Scriptures
you will perceive that they represent such a moral change as
indispensably necessary. Jesus Christ says that unless we are born
again we cannot see the kingdom of heaven. This new birth I once
thought was baptism by water, but I now perceive the absurdity of
such an opinion, for those who are born again are fitted for heaven;
but can we believe that all who are baptized are fitted for heaven?
There is baptism by water, which is the external sign of that moral
purification which is denominated the baptism of the Spirit. And St.
Paul says, 'If any man be in Christ he is a new creature; old things
are passed away, behold all things are become new.' And though some
would say that this refers expressly to the reformation which must
take place in the more abandoned and impure, yet the comprehensive
phrase which he employs (_if any man be in Christ_) demonstrates the
necessity of this change in each individual, irrespective of the
peculiar modification of his character."
"I admit that there must be a change, my Sophia, but as that must be
produced by our own reflections, it does not require these flights
of the fancy which you are now taking."
"But, my dear father, can a change so important as that which
the Scriptures describe, take place in the human soul without
affecting all its faculties and passions? The change may be sudden
or gradual, according to the sovereign will of the great agent by
whom it is produced, but when it does take place, a person cannot
be unconscious of it. It is not merely a change of opinion, but of
principle; it not only gives a distaste for the follies and vanities
of the world, but raises the affections to the unseen realities of
eternity, and transforms the whole character into a resemblance
to Jesus Christ's. Dr. Paley says, 'It is too momentous an event
ever to be forgotten. A man might as easily forget his escape from
shipwreck.'"
"I know that this change is necessary in relation to some, _but I
cannot see that it is necessary in relation to you_; and I fear that
you are perplexing your mind with a subject which, if not above your
reach, is altogether inapplicable to you."
"But, my dear father, I _feel_ the necessity of this change in
relation to myself, and it is evident that my opinion accords with
the current language of the Scriptures. Hence we read of being born
again, of passing from death unto life, of being created anew in
Christ Jesus, of being made new creatures, and _I feel that I have
undergone this change_. It is no airy notion which flutters over my
fancy; it is no superstitious impression sporting with the credulity
of my mind; it is no mysticism of opinion which dreads the light of
investigation; but a substantial fact, which I cannot doubt, and to
which I attribute, and _exclusively attribute_, my present mental
composure and felicity. Yes, I now can say I am happy."
"It gives me pleasure to hear that you are happy; and though I fear
your happiness arises from a source which will ere long dry up, yet
I will not disturb it while it lasts. Your heart, I know, is good,
and the errors into which you have now fallen will be corrected, I
have no doubt, by the mature reflections of your judgment. It is
natural for persons who have laboured under a physical depression
of spirits to be delighted by almost any object of pursuit which
first strikes their attention. Some are charmed with the gaieties of
this world, and some with imaginary conceptions of the felicities
of the next, and hence are carried away with the visions of their
own fancy; but time cools their ardour, and they ultimately live to
think and act like other people; and this, I trust, will be the case
with you."
"My errors I hope to detect, and when detected I will renounce them,
but my religious principles, I hope I shall never live either to
renounce, or compromise, or dishonour."
"I know, my dear, that you are too virtuous to dishonour, and too
independent to compromise any good principles, but I hope you will
renounce those gloomy and mystical views which you have recently
imbibed, and return to the adoption of those in which you have been
educated. A mind that is given to change becomes the sport of every
wind of doctrine, and liable to be imposed on by the sleight of men,
and cunning craftiness whereby they lie in wait to deceive."
"But, my dear father, you will permit to say that I am not deceived.
I have carefully examined the Scriptures, especially the New
Testament, and I am as thoroughly convinced that I have been living
in a state of total ignorance of the nature and design of the gospel
of Jesus Christ, as I am opposed to the absurd rites of Papal
superstition."
"Well, my Sophia, I perceive that you are too much enamoured with
your opinions to enter on a logical investigation of them at
present; but when the freshness of novelty is worn off, and your
mind reverts to its accustomed accuracy of perception and sobriety
of feeling, we may then do so with mutual satisfaction."