life and become more imbued with the love of the truth, I feel an
increasing attachment to real Christians of every denomination,
particularly the faithful ministers of Jesus Christ. When I first
took orders I was a first-rate bigot; I resolved to have nothing
to do with Dissenters. I despised them. I contemned our venerable
friend Mr. Ingleby for his liberality, and refused to associate with
him because he associated with some pious Dissenters. I thought that
as they left the church they should be banished from all intercourse
with our society; and such was the degree of my hostility towards
them, that it would have given me pleasure to have seen them sent to
some distant colony, where they could live by themselves. But since
it hath pleased God to call me out of the darkness of ignorance in
which I was involved, into his marvellous light, and shed abroad his
love in my soul by the power of the Holy Ghost, I have cherished
the pure benevolence of the gospel, and now recognize all as
fellow-heirs of the grace of life who bear the image and breathe the
spirit of Jesus Christ."
"I think," said Mr. Stevens, "that the spirit of bigotry is
decidedly antichristian, as it separates those from each other who
are redeemed by the precious blood of Christ, and it has a natural
tendency to excite strong aversion in the minds of unbelievers
against religion; hence we ought to watch and pray, lest we should
be imperceptibly injured by it."
"But do you think," said Miss Roscoe, "that it is possible for a
real Christian to possess an atom of bigotry?"
"An atom!" exclaimed Mr. Lewellin, "I know some who are enslaved by
it."
"What! and Christians?" said Miss Roscoe.
"Yes."
"Indeed! I should have thought it impossible. But you would not
adduce their bigotry as an evidence of their personal religion?"
"O no, it is an evidence of their personal weakness."
"From such a spirit, Sir, I hope we shall ever be preserved. I would
shun it as much for its meanness as I do for its malignity; and look
on it as a demon who destroys the harmony which ought to prevail
among all who rest their hope in Christ."
MISS ROSCOE.
It was near the end of the following week ere Miss Roscoe and Mrs.
Stevens again met. After some remarks from Mrs. Stevens upon the
evident depression of her friend's spirits, Miss Roscoe observed:
"Since I had the pleasure of seeing you last week, I have felt the
extremes of anguish and of joy. My life is indeed a chequered one,
and I often wonder how the scene will end."
"Yes, my dear, the life of _every Christian_ is a chequered life.
He is liable to a continued change of feeling, and the scene of
Providence is ever shifting; the current of his history may run
on for a season in a smooth and even course, but it is constantly
exposed to obstructions. Joy and grief are very delicate passions;
and as they have such a powerful influence over us, it is wisely
ordained that we shall not be kept in a state of perpetual
excitement. They come in as with a flood of feeling; but, instead of
laying waste the mind, they often become the means of enriching it
with the most nutritious consolations."
"But how difficult it is to control grief, when it springs out of a
domestic calamity."
"I hope, my dear, you have no new domestic trial."
"I am not aware that I have a new one, but I have one that has
inflicted a most poignant wound, and I know not what steps to take.
My dear parents manifest the most decided hostility to my religious
opinions and habits. When they confined their hostility within the
bounds of argument and persuasion, I found it comparatively easy to
maintain the contest; but now they begin to reproach me, and I fear
their attachment is on the decline. To survive the loss of their
affection, I think, will be to live too long for my own peace. Where
shall I find another home? Where shall I find another father? Where
shall I find happiness when my parents cease to love me and regard
me as their daughter?"
"Though your parents are hostile to your religious opinions
and habits, their hostility will not continue always. They are
disappointed by your not appearing in that circle of society in
which they expected you to move; and are mortified by the satirical
remarks which your religious profession has provoked; but time will
soften down these asperities of feeling, and they will eventually
tolerate what they may never be disposed to sanction."
"But what ought I to do? Am I to sacrifice my religious principles
to parental solicitation? I have been advised to do so, as obedience
to parents is a cardinal virtue of Christianity. It is a virtue
which ought to live in the heart of every child; yet I feel I cannot
give it that form of expression which they wish. It is this that
aggravates my sorrow. I love them, I revere them, I would sacrifice
my health and my life to please them; but I cannot, I dare not
sacrifice my conscience."
"Your situation is very delicate and painful; yet you must remember
that you are under the peculiar protection of the Redeemer. He
has all power in heaven and on earth, and works all things after
the counsel of his own will. He can cause light to spring out of
darkness, and often comes forth to deliver his people when they
despair of help. I would advise you to be firm, yet temperate; to
blend the utmost degree of kindness with inflexible decision; to
avoid every appearance of eccentricity; not to introduce religious
questions in conversation at an improper time, and when you _do
introduce them_, cautiously abstain from minor and subordinate
topics; bear reproach without murmuring; never discover an eagerness
to expose erroneous views of truth, unless you have reason to
conclude that it can be done without giving offence; and, as a
general maxim, prove the truth and the excellence of your religious
sentiments and opinions, more by your life than by your tongue."
"I sometimes think that I shall sink beneath my afflictions, but
at other times I rise above them. I know that it is through much
tribulation that the righteous are to enter the kingdom, and I
know, also, that amidst all their tribulations they enjoy peace.
The candidate for immortality ought not to object to the cross; but
when the cross is prepared by those we love, it becomes peculiarly
oppressive. After much deliberation and many prayers, I resolved on
writing to my parents, and have placed in the hands of my father, as
I left home, a letter, a copy of which I will read to you:--
"'MY BELOVED PARENTS,--It is with many varied and conflicting
emotions that I now address you; you may think it strange that I
have chosen the more formal style of writing, rather than conversing
with you, but I trust you will agree with me that, considering
the importance of the subject which is now engaging so much of
our mutual thoughts and feelings, and the different opinions
we entertain, it is of great consequence that we should fully
understand each others' sentiments. Upon your kind sympathy I throw
myself; judge me not harshly; though compelled to differ from you on
many points, still let me have your usual kindness and consideration.
"'I am fully aware of the deep and poignant sorrow which my late
course of conduct has brought upon you; you have ever been to me
kind and indulgent, have brought me up in the enjoyment of every
comfort and elegance which your station in life has enabled you to
command; no expense has been spared to fit me for the position in
society you wish me to occupy; and now, by my own act and decision,
I deprive you of the pleasure and reward which you so naturally
expect. You wish to see me moving in elegant society, joining with
youthful vigour in those scenes of amusement and worldly gaiety in
which you think I ought to find delight, and attribute my objections
to such amusements to a morbid antipathy to the elegancies of life,
and an assumption of ascetic rigour ill suited to the character of
one who has enjoyed my advantages. Both from love and duty, you
require me again to frequent these scenes of amusement in which I
now feel no interest, again to conform to the usages of fashionable
life, and again to be, what I once was, "a giddy worldling." My dear
parents, were it an earthly attachment you asked me to surrender,
however great the sacrifice, however my heart, its woman's hopes and
happiness might be wrecked, so great is the affection I bear you, so
high a regard have I for parental authority, that I would yield. But
what is it that you ask of me? Not such a sacrifice as this--that
time, your love, and other ties might heal--but the sacrifice of
all I hold most dear, most valuable--the sacrifice of _myself_, my
precious and immortal soul. Start not, my father, but ponder well
and deeply what I say. Judge me not by this world's judgment, but
by the Scripture authority, which I know you revere, and will never
gainsay. I believe in no strange doctrine; no new or fanciful form
of religious truth has taken possession of my heart and feelings.
Taking the testimony of Scripture for my guidance, seeking to be
led alone by its revealed truth, and to learn and to obey its
commands, how can I conform to the world, and yet remain a disciple
of Christ Jesus? The two are impossible! "Be ye not conformed to
the world" is a solemn command, to which I must yield obedience.
It has pleased God in his providence so to influence my heart and
conscience, that I now see things with a different eye than before;
I must therefore regulate my conduct by these convictions. Love of
the world, and worldly pleasures, cannot find a place in the heart
of one who has given herself to Christ. You may plead that God
requires not sacrifices such as these from his people, especially
in opposition to parental authority; and that I have no right to
blast your happiness, and bring disgrace upon your family by my
eccentric notions. I cannot admit that by my decision I am justly
incurring your displeasure, or disgracing myself and you. I cannot,
conscientiously with my sense of duty to Christ, any longer mix with
the gay and thoughtless, make myself a partner in their follies, or
join in their amusements; but I am not required to shun literary
pursuits, the improvement of my mind, and those intellectual
enjoyments in which I have ever delighted; but believing, as I do,
the utter inconsistency of all worldly dissipation and gaiety with
the pursuits of a Christian life, I must for ever renounce them.
I am prepared for all that misrepresentation and contempt from
others may do to wound and annoy, but cannot give up my religious
principles, and what I consider my Christian duty. I trust, with
the blessing of God, and help from him, sustained by the love and
sympathy of my dear Redeemer, I could willingly become _a martyr_,
but never either an inconsistent professor or an apostate.
"'My beloved parents, ponder well ere you deprive me of your
confidence and affection; listen not to the satire and bitterness
of others, who cannot judge me as I ought to be judged. Believe
me--supreme love to the Saviour will not make me love you less;
my religious feelings will not make me indifferent to the claims
of parental regard, authority, and affection. I shall not be less
your child because I call God my father. I implore you, let not
domestic strife and sorrow enter our once happy home! For the sake
of _peace_, must I conform to the world, return to the habits and
customs of fashionable life, be again--what I once was--one of
the gay and thoughtless, or no longer the child of your fondest
affections, or perhaps even an inmate of your home? Bear with me
while I tell you; my choice is made; I am prepared to sacrifice
everything but my religious freedom, my love for my Saviour, and
obedience to his authority. 'He that loveth father and mother more
than me, is not worthy of me.'
"'It will not be long, at the longest space of time, before this
world, with all its gaieties and follies, will pass away from us;
we know not how much of sorrow or joy lies before us; what will
sustain us should sorrow as a flood flow over us, desolation, and
bitter woe? Will the jocund laugh, the merry dance, the enlivening
strain of earth's sweetest music, soothe the heart overburdened
with deepest sorrow? If we have no other foundation to rest upon
than these--no other friendship than that of the world, which is as
evanescent as its happiness--where shall we go if sorrow withers
our joys and enters our home? But we may escape these, and, like
a peaceful stream, our years may glide from us, our sky still be
bright and serene, and a cloudless sunset cheer our departing day;
but night follows day--and there is a night, dark and stormy if
unenlightened from above, coming upon us all, for which we each
one must prepare--the night of death! What will it avail us then
whether riches or poverty, rank or _meanness_, has been our portion
here? These will not save us; all that human love and friendship
can effect will be unavailing then, if our hope is not on high--if
an Almighty friend is not with us to divide for us the waters of
dissolution--to become our intercessor and Saviour. Oh! my beloved
parents, dearer to me than life itself, think of these things; think
of the last earthly scene; let me prepare for it, and forget not
that the same preparation is needful for you.
"'I can no longer trifle with the things of time; an eternity of
bliss or woe is before me. I am prepared for the sacrifice of all
earthly honour and happiness, that I may be safe in Christ, and
prepared to meet him at his coming. That you, my dear parents, may
finally meet me in the heavenly world, where no sorrow can enter,
and where the voice of discord is never heard, is the sincere prayer
of your affectionate and dutiful child,
"'SOPHIA.'"
"I have no doubt," said Mrs. Stevens, "but this letter will
operate greatly in your favour. Your parents are labouring under a
misapprehension, which your open and frank statement will remove;
and while they must admire the independence which claims its
rights, they will respect those religious principles which no human
authority can, or ought even to attempt to subdue."
"Oh! they are the best of parents, and if they had not been
influenced by the evil spirit of others, they never would have
disturbed my peace. I blame not them, but the officious few who,
like the ancient Pharisees, will not go into the kingdom of heaven
themselves, nor suffer them that are entering to go in. But I
forgive them. They demand my pity--they have it--and my prayers
also, for they know not what they do. I will now, as a diversion
from this painful subject, read to you an interesting letter which
I have just received from a young friend with whom I formed an
acquaintance when at Dawlish, and I have no doubt it will give you
great pleasure, as it has given me. She was, when I first knew her,
devoted to the pleasures of this world; but now, I trust, she is
seeking those of a better:--
"'MY DEAR SOPHIA,--I received your last letter; on looking at
the date of it, I must apologize to you for leaving it so long
unanswered. It came to me while my mind was in an agitated state,
and I had almost abandoned the hope of future happiness. Not that
I have been called to pass through any scene of earthly trial and
disappointment, but my volatile and thoughtless heart has been
deeply impressed by the conviction of my sinfulness in the sight
of God, and my consequent danger. Although I have received a
religious education, and ever felt a reverence for what is sacred
and sublime, yet love for real religion had never found a place
in my heart. Far from my thoughts and feelings was all regard
for what is most essential to our eternal interests. Fond of the
society of the worldly and gay, my chief pleasure and pursuits have
been in the world--gayest among the gay, the festive dance, the
evening assembly--all the pleasures which may be derived from the
associations and charms which this vain and transitory scene can
give, had acquired a complete ascendency over my heart. The thought
of death and futurity I banished from me, living on in a state of
careless, thoughtless indifference.
"'At this time a friend presented to me a little treatise, and I
could not from politeness refuse to read it. From its perusal I
have received those deep and powerful impressions, which, I trust,
may never be effaced from my heart. I now see wherein I have acted
so foolishly. God, in his great mercy, has poured into my soul the
light of Divine truth. Oh! how greatly are all things changed to me!
I can no longer find pleasure in worldly dissipation and gaiety; I
have entirely forsaken those scenes of folly and sin; and am I not
happy? The peace and true joy which only a Christian can know, has
taken possession of my heart; love to my Saviour, who lived and died
for me, and a sense of his forgiving mercy, is my chief delight.
In the study of the Holy Scriptures I find intense enjoyment; the
time I formerly spent in thoughtless gaiety I now devote to the
improvement of my mind, and the sacred delights of private devotion.
If you, my dear Sophia, have felt the renewing influence of Divine
truth, you will be able to rejoice with me, and fully comprehend the
gratitude I feel to Him who has arrested my steps, and is now, I
trust, leading me in the paths of purer happiness and peace.
"'Hoping soon to receive another letter from you, and with kind
remembrances from my dear parents, believe me, ever your sincere
friend,
"'LOUISA.'"
"It is pleasing," said Mrs. Stevens, "to see the progress which the
truth is making. It is true we cannot boast of numbers, when we
compare the righteous with the irreligious, yet our number is on the
increase. The poor in general hear and receive the gospel; and the
God of all grace is calling some in the higher ranks of society to
be the living witnesses to its truth and excellence."
"But how few the number! We may quote the language of the apostle
as descriptive of the present state of the higher orders: 'Not many
wise, not many mighty, not many noble are called.' Alas! no. The
wise disdain to receive instruction from the fishermen of Galilee;
the mighty are too proud to yield subjection to the authority of
the son of the carpenter; and the noble contemn the ignominy and
reproach of the cross. They support the dignity of the church, while
they debase the character of its Founder; venerate its ministers,
while they despise and reject the authority of their Master; observe
its sacraments and its ceremonies, while they repudiate the design
for which they were instituted; and move onward towards the unknown
world of spirits, without ever agitating the great question, _What
must I do to be saved?_ Alas! they are self-doomed to endless woe.
"We should pity and pray for them."
"Their talents, their rank, and their wealth, often excite our envy;
but if we knew all the moral disadvantages which are attendant on
their great possessions, such a passion would never glow in our
breast. They are exempted from many of the evils which press on
the lower and middle classes of society, but they are not exempted
from the pangs of sorrow, nor the visitations of death. A late
senator,[9] whose knowledge of human life and manners was as
comprehensive as his eloquence was brilliant and fascinating, has
somewhere said, 'that to the great the consolations of religion are
as necessary as its instructions. They, too, are among the unhappy.
They feel personal pain and domestic sorrow. In these they have
no privilege, but are subject to pay their full contingent to the
contributions levied on mortality.'"
[9] Burke.
"From the intercourse which I have held with the higher circles,
I am of opinion that there is a much smaller proportion of real
happiness among them than is generally imagined; and when I reflect
on the temptations and dangers to which they are necessarily
exposed, I feel no disposition to envy them. But what rank of life
is free from danger? Who, of all the human family, would ever
seek redemption through the blood of Christ, unless impelled by
an invisible force? What heart would ever glow with love to God,
unless that passion be enkindled as with a live coal from off his
own hallowed altar? And where this passion does glow, what force can
extinguish it? And if we have been made to differ from others, ought
we not to distinguish ourselves both by the purity of our life, and
the ardour of our zeal for the honour of the Lord Jesus?"
"Where much is given, much is required. Our responsibility rises
in proportion to the elevation of our rank and the extent of our
influence. When I see a professing Christian, possessed of wealth
and of leisure, freed from the incumbrances of the world, yet living
a supine and comparatively inactive life--while he makes no effort
to form plans for the moral welfare of society, or to lend his aid
to those already established--I feel the force of the apostolic
question, How dwelleth the love of God in him?"
"There is, in my opinion, a grand peculiarity in the religion of
Jesus Christ, which cannot be expressed in more emphatic language
than that of Paul:--'For the love of Christ constraineth us; because
we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all dead: and
that he died for all, that they which live should not henceforth
live unto themselves, but unto him which died for them and rose
again.'"
THE FAMILY OF THE LAWSONS.
One evening I received an invitation to dinner from Mr. Lawson, a
retired tradesman in easy circumstances, who within the last three
years had settled in his native village. Mr. Lawson was a man of
no education, but possessed of an active mind; his manners were
unpolished yet agreeable; and though he had been busily engaged in
the trading world for more than twenty years, he had quite acquired
the habits of a country gentleman. His garden was his favourite
amusement; there he toiled early and late, displaying great taste in
its cultivation, and often availing himself of the gratification of
sending a portion of its fruits to some of his old city friends.
He married early in life, and made what was thought a prudent
choice; he had no fortune with his wife, but soon found he had a
fortune _in_ her; for what he gained by industry, she preserved by
rigid economy. He used often to repeat with satisfaction one of
her choice maxims--_those tradesmen who begin life as gentlefolks,
often end life as paupers_. Mrs. Lawson's early habits of economy
in process of time degenerated into extreme parsimony; and though
she would often talk of charity, yet she usually excused herself
from the practice of this virtue by quoting the common adage--_we
must be just before we are generous_. Though a rigid economy was the
order of the house, Mrs. Lawson was more anxious for the education
of her children than her husband. He often used to say, "Where is
the necessity of spending so much money in education, when we got on
well enough without it?" To which she would aptly reply, "The times
are changed, and if we wish our children to move with respectability
in that rank of life to which their fortunes will elevate them, we
must train them up for it."