virtuous mind; but you must not be too scrupulous. You will find
it impossible always to avoid the customs of fashionable life; for
though some of them are open to the censures of the strict moralist,
yet they have been too long established to be changed."
"But, mamma, I should think it wrong to comply with any custom
which pure morality condemns. When I was at Mr. Travers's, the
housemaid, who had been in the family seven years, and who was
greatly respected, was called up into the parlour and discharged
at a moment's warning. She wished to know the cause. Mrs. Travers
said to her, 'I have detected you in so many falsehoods, that I
cannot believe a word you say.' She took up her wages, and said,
'Who taught me to speak untruth? When I came into your service, I
came uncorrupted; I abhorred a lie, but did you not compel me to
the habit? Was I not forced to say, when you were unwilling to see
company, that you were ill, or from home; and if mistresses teach
servants to lie, ought they to be discharged when detected?'"
"How insolent! Did not Mr. Travers force her out of the house?"
"Yes, mamma, he resented the insult; but after she was gone, he
said, 'I hope the truth will always be spoken in future; for if we
compel our servants to falsify for our convenience, we ought not to
be astonished if they do so for their own.'"
"Well, my dear, with your high notions of virtue, I do not see how
you can excuse yourself from Mrs. Stevens's; but let me entreat you
to be on your guard, for we live, as the apostle says, in perilous
times. I would rather follow you to the grave than see you infected
with a religious contagion; and I am sure your papa would disown
you."
"Dear mamma, I wonder that you should harbour any suspicions. It
is not my intention to become religious yet. Indeed, if I were, my
religion must tolerate all the fashionable gaieties. You know I
am fond of cards and concerts, of balls and plays; and as for the
Bible, I assure you that I have not read it since I left school.
It is too grave to suit my taste, and so mystical that I cannot
understand it. Indeed, I have my doubts about it; particularly since
our acquaintance with the Ryders. Mr. John is quite a sceptic; he is
very clever, and his arguments are so powerful!"
"I have no wish that you should become a sceptic, my dear; it would
make you so much talked about."
"Exactly so, mamma; I know it is not fashionable for ladies to
become sceptics, but Miss Sims affects to be one, and really boasts
of it, which sadly mortifies her sister Amelia. However, I have made
up my mind to keep to the good old religion of our church; though
Mr. John Ryder said the other evening, in a large party, he expected
to make a convert of me."
"I admire your firmness. Yes, keep to the church, and you will be
sure to go to heaven when your Maker takes you out of this world!"
"You think I shall, ma'."
"To be sure, my dear. Our Maker could not object to take such a
dear lovely girl as you are to heaven, to live amongst the happy
innocents there."
"That's a beautiful thought. Sceptics don't expect to go to heaven,
do they, mamma?"
"No, my dear."
"Where will they go?"
"I don't know, and I don't think they know themselves. I once heard
your papa say, they expect death will snuff them out of existence as
we snuff out the flame of a candle."
"Do they really believe this? What a sad pity--snuffed out of
existence. I shall never forget the expression. I'll repeat it to
Mr. John Ryder the next time he calls; I wonder what he will say?"
"He will only laugh at it."
"Laugh at being snuffed out of existence! No, mamma, I will never
become a sceptic, to be snuffed out of existence. I would rather
turn an evangelical, for they, when death comes, are in ecstasy, in
anticipation of eternal life and happiness in another and better
world."
"What a loud ring, I wonder, ma', who it can be; but it does not
matter, we are dressed to receive company." The servant entered with
the cards of Miss Dorothy Brownjohn, and her sister Susan, who, of
course, had been ushered into the drawing-room.
"I am so glad to see you; do be seated, ladies. Well, this is a
pleasure I did not expect when I rose this morning, though I said
last night, when looking at the coal leaf waving on the bar of
our parlour grate, that we should have company to-day. We should
have made a call on you, as we missed you at the sacrament last
Sunday week, only I have been to Bath with Mr. Denham. We were all
prodigiously affected, as we thought you were ill."
"Oh no," said Miss Susan, "we haven't been exactly ill, but it was
all hurry and bustle with us that week, and I could not get through
my preparation reading and prayers, to fit me for the sacrament."
"I think my sister," said Miss Dorothy, "is too scrupulous, and I
tell her, that if she can't get done all the preparation reading and
prayers, the Almighty will overlook it, and so would Mr. Cole."
"Oh dear, yes, to be sure he would. Why, I had not time that week to
read a single extra prayer; we had company in the house every day
and night."
"The principal purpose of our calling on you this morning, dear Mrs.
Denham, is to ask you if you know any one who would suit us in the
capacity of a cook."
"What, are you going to part with the old cook who has been with you
so many years?"
"Oh dear, yes," said Miss Susan, "and I wish we had got rid of her
at the beginning. Since she has got infected with the rector's new
religion, she has not been the same woman she once was."
"Yes, there is an obvious difference," said Miss Dorothy, "in her
spirit, and appearance, and manners, which I cannot account for."
"Does she neglect her duties?"
"Oh no," said Miss Susan, "she does not neglect her work; if she did
I should soon be after her. She used to sing a good song, and be as
merry as a cricket; but no singing now, except some odd psalm; and
she never appears happy but when going to church, or reading her
Bible; and she is trying to get over the rest of the servants to her
religion."
"Have you given her notice to leave?"
"Oh no, not exactly. I'll tell you, dear Mrs. Denham, how it was. I
heard a whisper amongst the rest of the servants that the cook got
up before them in the morning, and sat up after them at night; and
I was determined to find it out, and the reason of it, for it did
not look well; now, did it? So one night, when all the rest were
gone to bed, I went down stairs very softly, and looked through the
keyhole, and saw her reading her Bible; and I made up an excuse
for going in; and I said to her, 'I think, cook, sleep would do you
more good at this hour than that book, sitting up wasting fire and
candle;' and she gave me such an insolent reply, that she ruffled
my temper very much. She said, 'If I thought so, Ma'am, I should be
in bed, but I like a little reading out of God's book before I go
to rest; and if I do my work to your satisfaction, as I hope I do,
I think you have no cause for complaint.' And the next morning she
actually gave notice to leave."
"And I am sorry to say," added Miss Dorothy, "that just before we
left home, the housemaid gave _me_ notice."
"Why, sister, you did not tell me that. This is all our rector's
doings. We were living as peaceably as a nestling of birds, till he
began to preach the new doctrines of the new birth, and faith, and
salvation by grace. I am sometimes tempted to wish myself in heaven,
out of the way of these domestic miseries."
"Mr. Cole, in his sermon on Sunday morning, said that this
evangelical religion is a spiritual epidemic; it spreads by the
power of sympathy, and affects all alike. It is a prodigious evil."
"That's true; we will have no more of it in _our_ family," said Miss
Dorothy, "for our next servants shall engage not to go and hear our
rector, and I will substitute the prayer-book for the Bible, for the
servants to read."
"Very proper," said Mrs. Denham, "that venerable book will do them
no harm."
"They may read that," said Miss Susan, "and welcome. It will never
make them miserable, nor keep them up late at night."
"Then, ladies, you are in want of two servants?"
"Yes," said Miss Susan, "and two who like to read the prayer-book
better than the Bible, and won't go to hear any of the evangelicals."
"Shall we see you at church next Sunday; Mr. Cole is going to preach
a charity sermon for our Sunday-school."
"What, have you a Sunday-school?"
"Yes, Mr. Cole felt compelled to set up one in self-defence, for he
found the children all going off to a school kept by some of the
evangelicals, and their parents followed them. We haven't many."
"For a Sunday-school," said Miss Dorothy, "in self-defence, there
is some excuse, otherwise I would not give it my sanction; I hope
you are very careful what you teach the children, otherwise you will
lift them up with pride, and they will not work as servants ought to
do."
"Mr. Cole won't have anything taught in the school but the Church
catechism."
"They may learn that," said Miss Susan, "and welcome; it won't do
them any harm. Yes, you may expect us on Sunday, and perhaps then,
Mrs. Denham, you may be able to tell us if you can help us to any
servant who will comply with our terms--read the prayer-book, and
not go near any of the evangelicals."
THE RELIGIOUS PARTY.
There was at Mr. Stevens's a select but not a large party. The
conversation was of a desultory nature till after tea, when Miss
Roscoe was requested to favour the company with a little music.
She seated herself at the piano, and sung the following hymn with
considerable effect:
"O my Lord, I've often mused
On thy wondrous love to me;
How I have the same abused,
Slighted, disregarded Thee!
"To thy church and Thee a stranger;
Pleas'd with what displeased Thee;
Lost, yet could perceive no danger;
Wounded, yet no wound could see.
"But, unwearied, Thou pursu'dst me;
Still thy calls repeated came,
Till on Calvary's mount I view'd Thee,
Bearing my reproach and blame.
"Then o'erwhelmed with shame and sorrow,
Whilst I view each pierced limb,
Tears bedew the scourge's furrow,
Mingling with the purple stream.
"I no more at Mary wonder,
Dropping tears upon the grave--
Earnest asking all around her,
Where is he who died to save?
"Dying love her heart attracted,
Soon she felt its rising pow'r;
He who Mary thus affected,
Bids his mourners weep no more."
"I scarcely know which to admire most," said Mrs. Stevens, "the
air or the hymn itself; there is plaintive melancholy in the music
which accords with my feelings, and an exquisite delicacy in some
of the expressions of the hymn, which I greatly like. How touching
the allusion to our former state of indifference and insensibility!
How correct the beautiful reference to the moral efficacy of the
Saviour's death in exciting sorrow for sin! But the last stanza, in
my opinion, is the most soothing and consolatory--
'He who Mary thus affected,
Bids his mourners weep no more.'"
"It is a favourite hymn of mine," observed Mr. Lewellin; "and the
last stanza, to which you refer, brings to my recollection the lines
of Cowper:--
'But with a soul that ever felt the sting
Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing.'
But no sorrow is so deep and pungent as that which the mind
usually feels when pierced by the convictions of guilt; and yet
there is a sacredness in the passion which distinguishes it from
unmingled anguish or grief. When first excited, it often occasions
deep mental depression; but when relief is obtained, by a clear
perception of the way of salvation through faith in the death of
Jesus Christ, it is turned into a spring of grateful joy."
"But the generality of professing Christians," said Miss Roscoe,
"scornfully reject those religious sentiments which commence their
moral operations by inflicting pain in the mind. They are religious,
but their religious opinions are not permitted to excite either
the passion of sorrow or of joy; and as soon as a person begins to
_feel_ what he believes, he is denounced a fanatic."
"Yes," replied Mr. Lewellin, "when a person begins to feel the
moral efficacy of the truth, he is regarded by many as falling into
a state of idiotcy, or rising to a pitch of frenzy. We may feel
the charm of music, but not the charm of devotional sentiment; we
may be depressed when we give offence to an endeared friend, but
a recollection of our transgressions against our Father who is in
heaven must occasion no regret; the imagination may be delighted
by captivating scenery, but not with the sublime visions of future
bliss. No! An excitement which takes its rise in such causes is
considered by the semi-Christians of the present age as a certain
indication of a disordered intellect or degenerated taste."
"The veil of ignorance," observed the Rev. Mr. Guion, "which is
thrown over the mind of the unregenerate, renders them incapable
of forming any clear perceptions of the nature or design of the
gospel. They reduce the whole of religion to a human arrangement,
which merely requires an external homage to an established formula;
and conclude that after they have uttered the solemn responses of
the Liturgy, listened to the sermon which the clergyman delivers,
and taken the sacrament, they have discharged the whole of their
duty towards God; and as they have no clear perceptions of revealed
truth, they cannot have any powerful religious impressions. Their
heart is as cold during the service as the marble slab which bears
down to succeeding generations the names of the deceased of past
ages; and as they never feel deep sorrow for sin, nor ardent love
for an unseen Redeemer, we ought not to be astonished if they treat
with contempt the excitement of such emotions in the breast of
others."
"Certainly not," replied Miss Roscoe; "I very well recollect being
much surprised when I accidentally heard a little girl singing the
following verse of a hymn, which I now much admire:--
''Tis religion that can give
Sweetest pleasures while we live;
'Tis religion must supply
Solid comforts when we die.'
I was quite incapable of conceiving how religion could give
_pleasure_. I compared a religious service with a concert; and while
the recollection of the one produced a pleasant feeling, the other
appeared dull and insipid. I compared a Sabbath-day with another
day, and regretted that custom had set it apart for observances
which were repugnant to my taste. If I went to church, I felt no
interest in the service; and if I stayed away, I was unconscious of
having sustained any loss of mental improvement or enjoyment."
"But I presume," said Mr. Lewellin, "that _now_ you can trace the
connection between religion and pleasure."
"Yes, Sir; there is an inseparable connection between the influence
of religious truth on the heart, and the highest degree of mental
enjoyment; it brings the soul into a new world of being, where
objects, unseen by the natural eye, disclose their beauties;
and truths, unfelt by the unrenewed mind, excite a joy which is
unspeakable. Now I can understand the Scriptures; the Saviour is
invested with overpowering charms, and the futurity which stretches
beyond the grave, presents a clear and spacious scene of bliss to my
imagination."
"How naturally," observed Mr. Guion, "the mind of an enlightened
Christian associates the hope of future happiness with the name
of the Redeemer. How cheering and animating to believe that after
the sorrows and turmoils of this life have ceased, we shall enter
into rest. What a scene of sublime grandeur will open on us then,
enkindling emotions of astonishment and joyous delight infinitely
beyond any ever previously felt!"
"I admit," said Mr. Lewellin, "that the external beauties of the
heavenly world will impart a high degree of delight, but the society
of the place will constitute the chief source of felicity. We shall
behold the Son of God seated on his throne of majesty and grace.
He is the perfection of beauty, and his form is as glorious as his
nature is pure. What an impression will be produced _when_ we see
him face to face!"
"I love," said Mrs. Stevens, "to think of heaven as the
dwelling-place of my Redeemer. The very anticipation of the first
interview with him whom unseen I love and adore, excites a feeling
in my soul, rich in all that is sacred and delightful. I have, it is
true, many ties which bind me to earth, yet there are seasons when I
can sing the ardent language of the poet without a faltering accent--
'Where Jesus dwells my soul would be,
And faints my glorious Lord to see;
Earth, twine no more about my heart,
For 'tis far better to depart.'"
I had as yet taken no part in the conversation, but this reference
to Jesus Christ now living in the celestial world, led me to remark
that the sufferings he endured when on earth were a decisive
proof that he came to accomplish some wonderful ulterior design.
We know, from the testimony of the Word of God, that there are
beings in heaven of divers rank and order; but from what has taken
place, and what is still taking place in the economy of the Divine
procedure, we find that a new order of beings is to be called into
existence, and one which is to take precedence of all others--to
stand out conspicuously for the admiration of all worlds, as the
most marvellous specimens of the creating power of God. But instead
of putting forth his creative power, as when the angelic orders
were called into existence, the Lord Jesus himself, in human form,
comes into the dark and wicked world, and, out of the most impure
elements, moulds a people for himself, whom he will acknowledge as
his brethren, and to whom the angels of God are to act for ever as
ministering spirits.
Mr. Lewellin replied: "We are accustomed to say that the facts of
real life are often more startling and surprising than the wildest
conceptions of romance, but the fact to which you have just given
such a prominency is one which must have taken all beings, of
all worlds, by surprise; the lowest and the meanest in the scale
of intelligence, if not the most polluted and the most vile, are
advanced, through the condescending grace of the Lord Jesus Christ,
to stand at the head of the intelligent creation of God."
"Then," said Miss Roscoe, "to be a redeemed sinner, when the
ulterior purpose of Jesus Christ is actually accomplished in us,
will be regarded as a nobler mark of distinction than to be an
archangel."
"Yes, the angels of God are the _servants_ of the celestial
establishment, but redeemed sinners are the sons of God, fashioned
like unto the glorious form of Jesus Christ himself, each one being
the express image of Jehovah's person."
An allusion having been made to the impression which must have been
made on the minds of the apostles when gazing on the ascension of
Jesus Christ, I mentioned that I had recently heard an intimate
friend give a graphic description of the scene, in a discourse
delivered in his own chapel, and, at my request, he was kind enough
to give me a copy of it. As it bore an emphatic relation to the
subject of our conversation, I then read it to the party:--
"When going with his apostles from Jerusalem to Bethany, he stops,
and stops somewhat abruptly, as though under the impulse of some
new thought--they also stop; and when he lifts up his hands, they
gather around him; he speaks--they listen with fixed eagerness of
attention; he blesses them, though in what form of expression we
are not told; they feel the power of his blessing diffusing through
their soul an indescribable sensation of calm and ecstatic joy;
still looking on him with intense earnestness, at once expressive of
their confidence and their love, they suddenly see a movement, and
are startled, but not affrighted; he moves, he rises above them, and
enters a trackless pathway, on which no one but himself could tread;
he is parted from them, gradually ascending higher and higher, till
at length a bright cloud receives him, and he disappears out of
their sight. They are petrified to the spot, not by terror, but
amazement; no one speaks--all instinctively feel that the spot is
too hallowed for sounds of human utterance. Two messengers from the
celestial world break the silence of ecstatic wonder, saying, 'Ye
men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus,
which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner
as ye have seen him go into heaven.' The apostles bow in reverential
awe, and on the spot on which he stood before he was parted from
them, they kneel down and worship him, and then return to Jerusalem
with great joy.
"With what raptures did the celestial spirits hail his return,
and with what joyful awe did they witness his re-investure with
the glory he had with the Father before the world was. A new and
never-to-be-forgotten era in the annals of immortality is now begun;
the new dispensation of mediatorial grace and love, for which
the events of four thousand years had been a preparation, is now
established; inaugurated into his office as a king and a priest on
his throne, he presents to the joyous spectators the first redeemed
sinner brought from earth to grace his triumphs. And who is selected
for this novel manifestation of his power and his love? A man of
genius? a man of rank? a man of Platonic virtue or of Socratic fame?
No: a man of crime! who but a few days before was hanging on a
cross of infamy and torture, reviling him who is now presenting him
faultless before the presence of the Most High, amidst the praises
of myriads of celestial spirits. What a wondrous scene!"
"Yes," said Mr. Guion, "that is a scene I should like to have
beheld, but the resurrection will surpass it in awful grandeur; and
this we shall all see."
This animating conversation excited a degree of feeling which I
am not able to describe. Every countenance beamed with delight,
and even Miss Denham, who had been a mere listener, manifested an
interest in it which I was rather surprised to witness. At length
Mr. Stevens rang the bell, when the servants entered the parlour,
and Mr. Guion, after reading a portion of the Scriptures, engaged
in prayer. He was solemn and devout, and though no visions of
glory were seen, nor any supernatural voices heard, yet the Divine
presence was eminently enjoyed, and we rose from our knees and sang--
"The world knows nothing of the joys
That Christian fellowship supplies;
Enamour'd of their glitt'ring toys,
Our hopes seem nothing in their eyes.
"But we can witness what we know,
And speak aloud, nor care who hears;
Our joys from heavenly sources flow,
And would be ill exchanged for theirs.
"We envy not the great and wise;
We count ourselves more blest than they:
We're taught their honours to despise,
And from their joys to turn away.
"'Twill soon appear who serve the Lord,
And who are they who serve him not:
Then let us hold his faithful word,
And ours will be a glorious lot."
On resuming our seats, Mrs. Stevens said: "I think that _all_ the
pleasures of religion are not reserved for another world. There are
some which we may partake of in this, and one of the most gratifying
is the pleasure of doing good to others."
She then read to us a letter she had received from an aged
Dissenting minister, who had a large family and a very limited
income, imploring her generous assistance to enable him to extricate
himself from some pecuniary embarrassments.
"I am a clergyman," said Mr. Guion, "and feel no disposition to
leave the church, but I know how to respect a Dissenting minister,
and to sympathize with him in his afflictions. But this good man
wants something more than sympathy, and I feel thankful that it is
in my power to offer it."
"I have already collected a few pounds," said Mrs. Stevens,
"which, with the addition of your liberal donation, will be a very
acceptable present."
"The charity of bigotry," said Mr. Lewellin, "is restricted in
its sympathies, and, like the Levite, will pass by the sufferer
if he belong to another denomination, without extending relief;
but the benevolence of the gospel, like the good Samaritan, asks
no invidious questions, weeps with them that weep, and rejoices
with them that rejoice, and rising to an elevation which renders
the landmarks of religious distinctions invisible, pours down its
charities upon all who are in trouble."