assure you that there is no occasion for it; the religion which has
given me a distaste for pleasures so ephemeral and unsatisfactory,
has opened to me sources of enjoyment of a much higher order. I do
not stoop to earth or any of its gay scenes for mental bliss, but
arise to intercourse with the Great Invisible. I no longer seek for
religious impressions amidst the forms and ceremonies of an external
devotion, but in the exercise of that faith which brings remote
objects near, and which invests those which are unseen with a more
attractive power than those which are visible. I no longer hover
in a state of uncertainty respecting my final destiny, for I enjoy
the bright beamings of that hope which is full of immortality; and
can attest that now my mental happiness is more pure, elevated, and
stable, than it was when I was a devotee to fashionable amusements."
"I am glad," said Mr. Roscoe, "to hear that you are happy; but I
must confess that it is a sort of happiness of which I can form no
idea. The Almighty is very good; he wishes to make all his creatures
happy--some in one way and some in another; we should follow where
inclination leads. Inclination is the first law of nature, which all
must obey if they wish to be happy; and I think that we ought not to
interfere with each other's propensities."
"But as by nature we are inclined to evil, ought not _such_ a
propensity to be restrained? What are the various laws of civil
society but so many proofs of the evil propensity of our nature, and
so many restraints on its indulgence?"
"I admit that the majority are wicked, and that they require the
strong arm of the law to keep them in subjection; but I cannot admit
that _all_ are corrupted by the evil principle. What models of
perfection may we select from the circle of our acquaintance!--men
of honour, of integrity, of benevolence--men in whose character all
the virtues are concentrated, and who live amidst the contagion of
the world without being injured by it--men who would scorn an act
of meanness or duplicity; who would sacrifice their ease and their
wealth to promote the general good; _who are religious without
ostentation_; and who know how to enjoy the felicity of social life
without being entangled by its snares. Are we to suppose that such
men are corrupted by evil principles, and that they are under some
fatally evil inclination?"
"You will admit, my dear father, that a community of rebels may
cultivate the social virtues among themselves, even while they live
in a state of revolt against their sovereign, and in hostility
against all who retain their loyalty?"
"Yes, my dear, certainly they may."
"Do we not read in the Scripture, that _all_ have sinned against
God--that _all_ are gone astray from their subjection to his
authority--that _all_ are become corrupt? And do we not know that
the sentence of death has passed upon _all men, because all have
sinned_? Now if, as you suppose, some have escaped the general
contagion, and are absolutely pure and virtuous, how is it that they
are involved in the same sentence of condemnation with the openly
depraved and wicked? Where is the equity of such a decision? And are
we not accustomed to say, when kneeling before the Lord our Judge,
'We have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep; we have
followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts; we have
offended against thy holy laws; we have left undone those things
which we ought to have done, and we have done those things which we
ought not to have done, and there is no health in us; but thou, O
Lord, have mercy upon us, miserable offenders?'"
"Yes, my dear Sophia; but you must remember that our excellent
Liturgy was composed to suit the moral condition of the great
majority of the people; and therefore it became necessary that such
strong language should be employed; but you cannot suppose that it
is strictly applicable to the virtuous part of the community."
"Then why do they adopt it? Why do they acknowledge, on their knees
before God, what they deny to man? Is not this a resistless proof of
the evil propensity of human nature?"
"I think not. I think it is a proof of the generous amiability of
human nature, as the virtuous part of society consent to employ
language which is not strictly applicable to themselves, out of
compassion to the more degenerated and worthless, who ought to make
such concessions, and pray in such strong terms of humiliation."
"How, then, ought the virtuous to pray, if they ought not to pray
in the strongest terms of humiliation? Shall we revive the spirit
of the ancient Pharisee, which our Lord condemned; and shall we
approach the footstool of the divine throne with his language: 'God,
I thank thee that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust,
adulterers, or even as this publican. I fast twice in the week, I
give tithes of all that I possess?' In this prayer there is the
language of self-gratulation and the spirit of censoriousness, but
no humble confession for sin, nor any petition for mercy."
"Being a virtuous man, he had no sins to confess, and therefore did
not need to implore mercy, but he did not forget to offer thanks to
God for his virtuous endowments.
"He did not _feel_ the guilt of his sins, nor did he _feel_ the need
of mercy; but his insensibility was no proof of his innocence. The
publican was in the temple at the same time, but how different the
spirit which he discovered, and the language which he uttered: 'And
the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his
eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful
to me, a sinner!' And in the following verse we read the judgment
which Jesus Christ pronounced on the state of these two men: 'I
tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the
other: for every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he
that humbleth himself shall be exalted.'"
"I am sorry, my dear," said Mrs. Roscoe, "that you have taken
such gloomy views of human nature; I do not think that they will
contribute to your happiness, and I very much regret that you should
ever have imbibed them. We were once happy and united, but now we
are a divided family; the introduction of this evangelical religion,
as it called, among us, has broken up our peace, and we are censured
by many of our friends for permitting you to follow your present
bias. We did hope, when the fervour subsided, you would return to
your former habits of life, but I begin to despair of this."
"The views of human nature which I have taken, dear mamma, are
scriptural, and in strict accordance with the language of the
prayers and articles of our church. If I am mistaken, I am willing
to be convinced of my error; but, on a question of such magnitude,
I can receive only the most substantial proof. You charge me
with breaking up the peace of the family; this charge possesses
a keen point, and it has deeply grieved me. My peace was broken,
and I wandered almost a forlorn object of grief, because I had no
prospect of happiness till I was led to embrace my present religious
opinions; these have acted on my wounded spirit as the rebuke of the
Saviour did on the agitated waters of Gennesaret, and now I enjoy
an internal calm; and must the restoration of peace to my mind be
regarded as the destroyer of domestic happiness?"
"Why, you know, my dear, that your views on religious subjects
differ from ours; indeed, I think them very eccentric, and we cannot
approve of them, and our friends make many remarks which are not
pleasant. Some say that you are a Methodist, some that you are a
Calvinist, and many say that you are become quite a fanatic. These
things are unpleasant, they mortify us. We think it quite a disgrace
to our family that you should have such things said about you. I
therefore hope you will consent to go with us to Mr. Denham's ball;
it is held, I assure you, principally on your account; there is to
be a large party, and all will be delighted to see you. You then
will wipe off the odium which your eccentric views have brought on
yourself and us. Your father has made a very handsome purchase for
the occasion, which he intends to present to you. You know it will
not prevent your being very religious."
"I would sacrifice much to please and gratify you, my dear mamma;
but do not press me to a compliance which I cannot yield to without
making a sacrifice of principle."
"But what principle would you sacrifice by complying with such a
request?"
"If I were to go I should feel no interest in the scene, and my
sadness would throw a gloom over the cheerfulness of others; and I
should render myself the object of satirical remark, rendered keener
than any which has yet been directed against me, as my inconsistency
would justify it; for those who are so anxious to get me among them,
well know that I must first sacrifice my religious principles before
I can consent."
"O no, my dear, they will receive you with more delight than they
would an angel; and when you get among your old friends, you will
disengage your mind from your religious meditations, which you will
find a great relief; I have no doubt you will be quite yourself
again, and that will make us all as happy as we used to be. I feel
in ecstasy in prospect of it. Do yield to our request."
"Yes, I must disengage my mind from all religious recollections
or anticipations to be happy on such an occasion; but such a
disengagement would be the entire destruction of my happiness in
this world, and the prospect of it hereafter."
"Then, must we go without you?"
"I cannot consent to go unless you insist on it; and even then I
should go with reluctance, and I fear my presence would disturb the
harmony of the evening."
"I assure you," said Mr. Roscoe, "it is with the deepest regret that
I witness the pernicious infatuation under which you are labouring.
Fitted to move in any rank of life, and to command the respect
and esteem of a large circle, who would feel proud to enjoy your
friendship and society, you seem determined to descend even to the
lowest, and gather up the fragments of a fanatical felicity among
the evangelical professors who abound among us. My peace is gone,
because yours is wrecked; and my hopes of your future respectability
are all vanished. I certainly did expect that you would comply with
my request to accompany us to Mr. Denham's, when I solicited it as
a personal favour; but I now perceive that your religion has taught
you how to refuse a parent's request; and if the first-fruits are
disobedience, what will be the issue? After all the pains that I
have bestowed on the cultivation of your mind, and the bleeding
anxiety of my heart during your protracted illness, to see you now
come forth to contemn the elegant accomplishments of social life,
and the society of those with whom you have been accustomed to
mingle with so much delight and _eclat_, is a calamity which will
bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave?"
Miss Roscoe was too much affected by this severe and unexpected
address, to make any reply; and though she endeavoured to suppress
her feelings, yet she was obliged to retire to her own room, where
a flood of tears gave her some relief. When somewhat composed,
she opened her Bible, and the following passage struck her eye:
"Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess
also before my Father which is in heaven. But whosoever shall deny
me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in
heaven. Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I come not
to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance
against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the
daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a man's foes shall
be they of his own household" (Matt. x. 32-36). The remarks of
her favourite commentator, Scott, strengthened her views of the
passage, and she felt more and more that it was her duty to act
consistently with her religious principles, though she might incur
the displeasure of her parents.
Soon after this conversation took place, a select party came to
spend the evening at the Roscoes'; and, after tea, the cards were
introduced as usual.
"I shall be happy," said the Rev. Mr. Cole (addressing himself to
Miss Roscoe), "to have you for a partner at whist."
"I am sorry, Sir, to deny you any request, but I cannot comply with
the one which you have just made."
"Indeed! why, we have often spent the evening in this amusing
manner, and I hope we shall spend many more."
"Yes, Sir, we have; but it is not my intention to consume any future
portion of my time in such an amusement."
"But do you think that there is any moral evil in it?"
"It has, in my opinion, _the appearance of evil_, from which _we are
commanded to abstain_."
"But of two evils is it not the wisest maxim to choose the least?
and is it not a smaller evil _to amuse ourselves at cards, than, as
is often the case at evening parties, to play at scandal and defame
the reputation of others_?"
"Unquestionably; but I presume that a wise and good man would avoid
both these evils."
"But I am not aware that any evil can arise from this amusing
exercise."
"Does it not consume that time which ought to be devoted to a more
profitable purpose? Does it not frequently give excitement to those
passions of our nature which ought to be repressed? Does it not
encourage a passion for gaming, which, we know, has involved many in
entire ruin?"
"But that is the abuse of the thing."
"Nay, Sir, I think it is the natural tendency of it."
"But are we to have no amusements because some indulge in them
to excess? Is life to pass away in a dull, monotonous routine of
duty? Are we always to live in a state of exile from the charms
and fascinations of social intercourse? Is the mind never to relax
itself amidst the diversions of polished society? Must we ever keep
up our attention to the sombrous claims of religion, and always
think, and speak, and act, as though we were treading on the verge
of an awful eternity? Indeed, I give it as my decided opinion, that
that species of religion which interdicts these amusements, cannot
claim a divine origin, because it is opposed to human happiness."
"That species of religion, as you are pleased to call it, does claim
a divine origin, and, perhaps, if you examine its claims, you will
find them attested by the spirit of the New Testament. Permit me
to ask you one question, and I am willing that your answer shall
decide the question at issue between us--Do you believe that if
Jesus Christ or any of his apostles were now present, they would
consent to pass away the hours of this evening in such an exercise
as playing a game of cards?"
"Perhaps not, but they were extraordinary persons, and their virtue
kept them from many sources of amusement from which we, who are more
frail, may very innocently draw a portion of our pleasure."
"Then you admit that it is our frailty that leads us to such
amusements, and that if _we possessed more exalted virtue_ we should
avoid them?"
"You reason excellently well, Madam, against the amusement; but
_such is the frailty_ of our nature, that I fear the passion cannot
be subdued with such a weapon."
"Perhaps not, Sir."
"Pray, Madam, what amusements would you sanction?"
"Those which would afford me pleasure on reflection, and in which I
could be engaged in my last moments."
"The apparent delight with which evangelical professors anticipate
their _last_ moments, is a tacit acknowledgment that the present are
dull and insipid."
"We anticipate our last moments, Sir, with awe, mingled with
delight, and though you may imagine that our present moments are
dull and insipid, yet, I assure you, you are mistaken. We have
our sources of happiness, but card-playing is not included in the
number."
"I cannot but think that evangelical religion has an antisocial
tendency, and would, if generally prevalent, deprive us of all our
innocent recreations."
"Evangelical religion, like the religion of the New Testament,
requires us not to be conformed to this world, but to be transformed
in the renewing of our mind, and it produces a distaste for those
frivolous and pernicious amusements in which the votaries of
this world delight; but I am not aware that it has an antisocial
tendency, unless you mean by that expression, that its tendency is
to mark out the essential difference between a real Christian and
one who bears only the name."
"Why, we are all Christians, and good Christians, too; but our
Christianity does not teach us to wait the arrival of death before
we can be happy."
"Yes, Sir, there are the pleasures of sin, which we are commanded to
forsake for the recompense of reward."
"And, Madam, there are the pleasures of innocence, which are as
sweet and as sacred as the joys of angels."
"But I cannot suppose that you include card-playing among the
pleasures of innocence."
"Most certainly I do!"
"Then, do you imagine that our old friend, Mr Lock, is of the same
opinion, who in an evening was reduced from a state of affluence to
a state of poverty?"
"Why, that was an unlucky night for him, certainly; but you know we
do not play for more than we can afford to lose."
"I think, Sir, with all due deference to your judgment, that every
one who plays at this game of innocence stakes more than he can
afford to lose."
"You are, indeed, an ingenious casuist, and I wish to know how you
can prove the correctness of your assertion."
"Can you afford to lose your temper?"
"If I do lose it I can easily recover it again."
"You may, Sir, but can others?"
"If they cannot, they are to blame."
"_Then, Sir, this game of innocence is found on experiment, first,
to destroy the placidity of the temper, and then to involve its
abettors in censure._ But there is often more staked in this game
than the loss of temper."
"What is there, Madam?"
"The loss of friendship. You know that the families of the Orrs and
the Humes have never met in any party since the quarrel which took
place two years since at Brushwood House."
"Why, that was a very serious affair, certainly, but you know that
such quarrels rarely happen."
"Nay, Sir, they often happen, only friends interpose and effect a
reconciliation. But with such facts imprinted on our memory, can we
say that such a game is the game of innocence?"
"I think, Madam, you are rather too severe, for you must allow that
it often beguiles away many a languid hour."
"Which hours, Sir, ought to be spent in preparation for immortality."
"You veer, Madam, towards death, from whatever point of the compass
you set out."
"And, Sir, death is veering towards us, in whatever employments we
are engaged; but would you like to feel his fatal infliction when
seated at a card-table, or returning from a theatre?"
"Too grave; much too grave, Madam, to be pleasant."
FRESH PERPLEXITIES.
Mrs. Denham was not one of the select party that met at Mr.
Roscoe's, as she had accompanied her husband to Bath, where he was
detained longer than he expected, having some important family
matters to adjust with the executors of a deceased uncle. On the day
after her return home, when sitting quietly by herself in her little
back parlour, working away hard and fast with her knitting needles,
Miss Denham came in, took a seat by her side, and thus began:--
"Do you know, mamma, that Miss Roscoe is become so religious, that
she actually refused the Rev. Mr. Cole as a partner at cards, at Mr.
Roscoe's party, and said so many hard things against card-playing,
and brought forward so many arguments from some old Puritanical
book, that he was at times quite disconcerted?"
"Yes, my dear, and it is enough to disconcert any good Christian to
have religious subjects introduced at our convivial parties."
"O yes, mamma, exactly so. I think if we are religious on a Sunday,
it is as much as ought to be expected. Our Maker can't expect more.
Do you think he can, ma'?"
"Certainly not, my dear; if he did, we should have had two Sundays
in the week, instead of one."
"Well, ma', I really wonder how it is that Miss Roscoe has become
so religious all at once. What a pity. I suppose she must be very
unhappy."
"Yes, my dear, that you may depend on. Her parents are nearly
broken-hearted. Dear Mrs. Roscoe says that all their peace is gone;
and they really dread the consequences. She has positively refused
to attend our ball on Friday week."
"Is it possible? I wish I had known it, I would have reasoned the
point with her. I will go and see her. I think I can persuade her,
because I recollect putting aside an engagement one night last
winter to go with her to see the _Beggar's Opera_."
"Ah! my dear, when this evangelical religion, as it is called, takes
possession of a person's mind, it is no use to attempt to reason or
try persuasion--reason has nothing to do with it."
"Then, mamma, it must be a very unreasonable thing."
"Exactly so, my dear, and I hope you will avoid its snares."
"Dear mamma, I really wonder that you should consider it necessary
to give such a hint; I assure you I have no prepossessions in its
favour. Indeed, it is not my intention to trouble myself at all
about religion yet; of course, I shall go to church along with you
and papa, and take the sacrament once or twice a-year. That will do,
won't it, ma'?"
"Yes, my dear, our Maker won't desire more from such a young person
as yourself. But still it will be necessary to avoid all intercourse
with those religious people who are known to be evangelical; for the
Rev. Mr. Cole says he thinks that there is something of a bewitching
nature in it, as it is known sometimes to overcome those who have
the greatest antipathies against it."
"Why, mamma, you quite alarm me. Then no one is safe. Is it
possible for me ever to take to this evangelical religion? O, I
would rather enter a nunnery at once, and take the veil for life."
"Yes, my dear, and I would rather you should; but still I deem it
prudent to give you a hint to be on your guard; for I heard you,
a short time since, drop some expressions, when speaking of Mrs.
Stevens, which quite alarmed me."
"Indeed, mamma! I don't recollect it. I certainly think Mrs.
Stevens a most amiable lady; and though she may have rather too
much religion, yet she is very accomplished, and a most interesting
companion."
"She is amiable and accomplished, but I think her _a most dangerous
companion_."
"What! the amiable Mrs. Stevens a dangerous companion? Why, mamma,
she is a truly virtuous and lovely woman."
"She is so, my dear, and that makes her so dangerous. She is always
aiming at proselyting others to her religion, and such is the
bewitching charm of her eloquence, and such the fascination of her
manners, that she scarcely ever fails. Why, do you know, though I am
ashamed to confess it, she nearly got me over to her religion when I
was with her by myself one evening last winter."
"Dear ma', you quite surprise me. _You_ nearly made an
_Evangelical_! Did you ever tell pa' about it, and what did he say?"
"O, no, my dear, I never mentioned it before to any one; and I
should not like to have it repeated."
"I may just mention it to Mr. Ryder, as a curiosity in the economy
of life."
"No, no, I beg you won't; it will make me so much talked about, and
it will induce her to make another effort. But, as I was saying,
you really must be on your guard. You have not my fortitude and
self-possession. She is a most beguiling woman, and has so much
tact. She easily accommodates herself to the taste of her visitors,
she bribes the poor by her benevolence, fascinates the young by her
pleasantry, and entangles the thoughtless by her arguments. No one
is safe who associates with her."
"But, mamma, I do not think she would proselyte me, for I have no
predilection for religion. It is too gloomy a subject to suit my
taste. Indeed, I do not understand it; though every now and then I
am tempted to wish I did; I have at times such strange thoughts and
feelings."
"Of course, you know, my dear, it is a duty you owe the Almighty to
resist an evil temptation."
"Exactly so; but is it not odd that I should ever be tempted
to a thing for which I have no predilection, and which I don't
understand? But, ma', I am under an engagement to take tea with Mrs.
Stevens and Miss Roscoe next week--what shall I do?"
"Decline, of course, my dear."
"But the time is fixed."
"You can send a note, _and plead indisposition as an apology for
absence_."
"But would that be honourable, if I should not be indisposed?"
"You know it is fashionable."
"Yes, mamma, but I have long felt a great dislike against the
fashionable habit of sacrificing truth to expedience. I cannot do
it. I have no strong desire to become religious, but I wish to
be virtuous; and I think an inviolable regard to truth the very
foundation of virtue."