or rather, that my religious opinions are beginning to produce a
deeper impression in my heart; but my happiness is not increased
by it. Indeed, I cannot account for the singular restlessness and
depression of my mind. I once could pray with ease and pleasure;
but now, if I make the effort, I cannot do it. I once had great
delight in reading the Scriptures, but now I cannot understand them.
The more I read and reflect, the deeper I am involved in mental
perplexity; and such is the perturbed state of my feelings, that
unless it please God to interpose, and give me some relief, I shall
be lost."
As he gave utterance to these expressions, we were no less
astonished than delighted; and the rapid interchange of looks,
seemed to indicate a positive mistrust of our senses. A perfect
silence prevailed among us for some minutes, while each one felt
grateful to _Him_ who was in the act of redeeming a noble spirit
from the bondage of ignorance and self-delusion, by pouring into the
recesses of his soul the light of truth. At length Mr. Stevens said,
with an emphasis which I shall never forget,
"Permit me, my dear Sir, to offer you my congratulations. Your
present depression is to me a source of unutterable joy. Your spirit
is wounded by an unseen hand; but there is balm in Gilead--there is
a Physician there. You are involved in a state of mental perplexity,
which increases in proportion as you labour to extricate yourself;
but the day-star will ere long arise in your heart, and then, under
the light of a clear manifestation of the truth, you will not only
see its beauties, but feel its moral power. You may be tempted to
conclude that your case is singular, and that you shall never be
able to derive any consolation from the promises of the Bible; but
you must guard against receiving such an impression; and remember
that _He_ who, when on earth, opened the eyes of the blind, and
made the dumb to sing, and _He alone_, can give you that spiritual
discernment which constitutes the essential difference between a
real and a nominal Christian."
Mr. Roscoe felt somewhat embarrassed by this powerful appeal; but
recovering himself, and assuming his natural dignity of manner, he
said, in a subdued tone, "I have much to unlearn, and much to learn,
before I can become a real Christian. The following passage, in
one of St. Paul's epistles, has often puzzled me, but now I begin
to understand its meaning: '_Let no man deceive himself. If any
man among you seemeth to be wise in this world, let him become a
fool, that he may be wise_.' I once thought that I could acquire
a knowledge of the theory of revealed truth by the mere effort of
intellectual research and investigation, as we acquire a knowledge
of any human science; and perhaps few men have devoted more time
to the study of it than myself; but I have hitherto neglected to
implore wisdom from above, because I did not think it necessary. And
the result of all my mental application is a painful discovery of
my own ignorance, and even this was not made till I saw my danger.
My dear Sophia has often told me that a Divine illumination of the
mind is the great secret in personal religion; but I could form no
conception of her meaning. Such a sentiment appeared to me not only
_unnecessary_, but absurd; and I often feared, when she has been
speaking on this subject, that her understanding was bewildered
amidst the unintelligible reveries of a mystical theology.
Sometimes, it is true, her arguments would be attended with so much
force and skill that she has compelled me to change the subject of
debate; but on a recent occasion, when she quoted the passage, 'But
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,' it made so deep an impression upon
my heart, that from that hour to the present I have undergone a
perpetual conflict between my prejudices and convictions."
Mr. Roscoe had engaged to return home early in the evening, and now
withdrew, but not without expressing the great pleasure which the
conversation had afforded him, and making us promise that we would
spend an evening at his house in the following week.
Mr. Stevens and I walked with him the greater part of the way home.
It was a lovely evening. The moon was just rising above the top of
a distant hill; and, as we were entering the grove, we lingered to
listen to the songs of the nightingales responding to each other.
"Here is melody," said Mr. Roscoe. "Here is the song of innocence.
Here is sweet contentment. And why is the bird of night more happy
than man? Ah! why?"
"Because," said Mr. Stevens, "man is fallen from that state of
purity and honour in which he was created, and it is wisely ordained
that misery shall be the consequence of sin." We now bade him adieu.
On our return, Mrs. Stevens said, "I should like to send a note to
Miss Roscoe, to tell her the nature of our conversation with her
father. Dear creature, it will make her so glad."
"I think you had better defer doing so till to-morrow; and even then
I would advise you to avoid precipitancy. Her mind has recently been
under very strong excitement, and as such news will necessarily
produce a powerful effect, great prudence is needful on your part in
making this communication. As she has to pass from the deepest
anxiety to the most elevated joy, she ought not to be startled
by a hasty communication; it should be made cautiously, that the
transition of feeling may be gradual, instead of rushing in upon her
with overpowering force."
[Illustration: "IT WAS A LOVELY EVENING. THE MOON WAS JUST RISING AS
WE ENTERED THE GROVE."
Vol. i. page 262.]
"Perhaps, when he sees her, he will make some allusion to the
subject of our conversation, which may lead to an entire disclosure
of the state of his feelings. What a change! How surprising! I seem
as if I were suddenly roused from an enchanting dream."
"Yes, my dear," said Mr. Stevens, "it is surprising that the Lord of
glory should condescend to subdue the enmity of the human heart, and
thus make the child of disobedience an heir of glory; but it ought
not to surprise us. If we look back, we shall remember the time
when to us the theatre possessed more attractions than the house
of God, and the follies of gay life gave us more delight than the
exercises of devotion; 'but God, who is rich in mercy, for his great
love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath
quickened us together with Christ (by grace are we saved), and hath
raised us up together, and made us sit together in heavenly places
in Christ Jesus.'"
"If," said Mrs. Stevens, "Mr. Roscoe should come forth a _decided
character_, it will make a powerful impression on his irreligious
friends. Surely they will not be able to withstand the force of
such a striking evidence in favour of the divine origin of the
Christian faith--why, it is a self-evident demonstration. I begin to
anticipate the happiest results."
"But, my dear, you must not be too sanguine; Mr. Roscoe may not come
forth _so soon, nor so decidedly_, as you anticipate. Though I trust
the great moral change has taken place which distinguishes the real
from the nominal Christian, yet, as his mind is of a very singular
order, we may conclude it will still retain its individuality, and
develope its new qualities with that precision and precaution which
are its distinctive characteristics. We may calculate on decision,
but not rash or hasty decision; on energy, but not much ardent
zeal; and on unbending integrity and unremitting constancy; but
his progression is likely to be that of a man moving onwards with
the dignity of principle, rather than under the impulse of strong
passion."
"But do you not suppose that he will go to Broadhurst, and hear our
dear Mr. Ingleby next Sabbath?"
"Certainly not; you are not to conclude, from the conversation of
this evening, that he yet sees the truth with perfect clearness.
No, he rather resembles the man of whom we read in the gospel, who,
when the mystic power commenced its mighty operation, saw men so
indistinctly that they appeared 'like trees walking.' The film is
but partially removed from the eye of his understanding; and though
he has the power of spiritual discernment, yet not perfectly. And
such is the degree of influence which prejudice, and family, and
social connections may still have over his mind, that probably he
will not very soon break through his long-established habits, and
mingle among us as one of our own people. Indeed, I hardly wish it;
because it will be so extraordinary, that it would be considered as
a religious mania, taken as by some kind of mysterious infection,
rather than the positive result of deep thought, and cool and
deliberate judgment. Oh, no; minds, when under the dominion of
grace, are usually governed according to the settled laws of their
own constitution; and hence the difference of conduct, in relation
to an open profession of religion, which is so apparent among the
heirs of salvation."
"I am sure Mr. Ingleby will be delighted to hear of it. I have
often heard him say, that the conversion of a moral man to the
faith of Christ is a more decisive proof of the efficacy of Divine
truth, than the conversion of an immoral man, and a much more rare
occurrence."
"Yes, my dear, it is more rare, and more difficult, because it is
not so easy to convince of mental sin as of an overt act of impiety;
but I do not wish that there should be even the most distant
allusion made on the subject to any one but Miss Roscoe."
"My dear, you surprise me."
"Perhaps I may, but I think you will be satisfied with my reasons
for wishing silence to be observed. If we hastily proclaim to
our friends that Mr. Roscoe has undergone a great change in his
religious opinions and principles, we may raise expectations which
his cautious habit of mind may disappoint, at least for a season,
and thus bring on ourselves the censures of some, for stating as a
fact what we merely wish to be true. And not only so, but we shall
deprive his decision of that power of impression which I think it
will ultimately possess. For if we are more forward to speak of such
a mental change than he is to profess it, we may be considered as
the originators of it; and in that case his example will not have
such a powerful influence over his irreligious friends, as it will
have if it appear to be the result, as I expect it will, of calm
deliberation. He will move with great caution, and we should speak
with equal caution."
"What effect do you think his conversion will have on Mrs. Roscoe?"
"Why, unless it should please God to interpose, and bring her to
the knowledge of the truth, I have no doubt but it will be regarded
by her as some astounding and destructive visitation, sent by an
unknown hand to destroy her happiness for life. She is but partially
reconciled to the piety of her daughter; and, even now, expresses
not only her surprise, but her deep regret; and if her husband
become pious (as I have no doubt but he will), though she may
endeavour to conform herself to his religious habits, yet it will be
with extreme reluctance. But perhaps by his conversation, and the
dignified consistency of his conduct, he may succeed in process of
time, in answer to his own fervent prayers and the wrestling prayers
of dear Sophia, in winning her to Christ."
"It is possible, nay, very probable, as prayer will be made for her
continually; and the prayer of faith brings to pass moral wonders.
We may live to hail them both as fellow-heirs of the grace of life."
"What a blissful consummation!"
A NIGHT CALAMITY.
Near Fairmount Villa stood a tasteful cottage, which Mr. Stevens had
erected as a means of giving additional security to his premises. It
was occupied by a worthy man, named Josiah Hargrave, who gained his
livelihood as a common carrier. He had commenced life as a labourer;
and, by honest industry and perseverance, had risen to a state of
comparative independence. His cottage was well furnished; he had two
cows, a good horse and cart, a donkey, a large stock of poultry,
some pigs, and hay and straw enough to last him through winter. He
had been married about seven years; and had three children, two sons
and a daughter. Here they lived in peace and contentment, neither
envying their richer, nor despising their poorer neighbours.
I called on them one day; and, when congratulating them on their
prosperity, I was struck with the very sensible remarks which Mrs.
Hargrave made on the uncertain duration of all earthly blessings.
"Our heavenly Father," she observed, "has blessed us indeed; He has
given us more than we deserve, and more than we expected; and He,
who has given us all, can, if He please, take all away."
"Yes, He can; and suppose He should deprive you of your little
possessions, do you think you could bow in submission, and say,
'_Thy will be done_?'"
"Yes, Sir, if He give the disposition; but if not, we should repine."
"Ah! Sir," Josiah remarked, "we are poor sinful creatures. In
prosperity we are ungrateful, and in adversity rebellious, unless it
please the Lord to sanctify to us His dispensations."
"Which state," I asked, "should you prefer, if it were left to your
choice--prosperity or adversity?"
"Why," said Josiah, "I would rather let my heavenly Father choose
for me, than venture to choose for myself, because He cannot err;
but I may. Prosperity, without His blessing, would be a snare;
adversity, with it, would be a comfort."
We were interrupted in our conversation by the sudden entrance of
the eldest boy, a lad about five years of age, who exclaimed, "I
have said my hymn! and,"----before he saw me.
"Come," said the mother, "go and speak to the gentleman."
"Yes," added the father, "and say your hymn to him."
The boy approached with a modest blush, and immediately repeated the
following verses, with ease and propriety:--
"I thank the goodness and the grace,
Which on my birth have smil'd,
And made me, in these Christian days,
A happy English child.
"I was not born, as thousands are,
Where God was never known,
And taught to pray a useless pray'r
To blocks of wood and stone.
"I was not born a little slave,
To labour in the sun,
And wish I were but in the grave,
And all my labour done.
"I was not born without a home,
Or in some broken shed,
A gipsy baby, taught to roam
And steal my daily bread.
"My God, I thank thee, who hast plann'd
A better lot for me;
And placed me in this happy land,
Where I may hear of thee."
He repeated also the third chapter of the Gospel according to John,
without making any mistake.
"And where does your boy go to school?"
"He goes," said Josiah, "to Mrs. Stevens's Sabbath-school; and, for
the last six months, he has been twice in the week up to Squire
Roscoe's; and Miss Roscoe has been so kind as to teach him."
"There was a time," I remarked, "when the rich were either too
proud, or too much devoted to the pleasures of the world, to attend
to the improvement of the lower classes; but now they discover
a disposition to favour almost every institution which pure
benevolence establishes."
"Yes, Sir," said Josiah, "some do; but not all. We have a few in
the parish who are very angry with Mrs. Stevens for setting up her
Sabbath-school; and they have tried to put it down; but, thank
God, they have not been able to do it. We have but little light;
and why should they try to put it out? I went the other day up to
Cleveland Hall, and Sir Harry Wilmot, who was a great enemy to Mrs.
Stevens's Sabbath-school, was pleased to say that my Charles was a
very sharp and well-behaved lad, and did us credit. 'Yes, Sir,' I
replied, 'and we may thank Mrs. Stevens for that; for if she had not
opened her Sunday-school, our boy would be as rude and as ignorant
as other boys.' 'What!' said Sir Harry, 'does your boy go to her
school?' 'Yes, Sir.' He was silent some time, and walked backwards
and forwards his room, and then went to his bureau, and took out a
pound, and said, 'Make my compliments to Mrs. Stevens, and give her
this towards the support of her school; and tell her that as long as
I see such fruits of her labour, I will encourage them.'"
"It is pleasing," I remarked, "to see the prejudices which some of
the more opulent and powerful have cherished against the benevolent
institutions of society, giving way; and I have no doubt but they
will ultimately become the generous supporters of them."
* * * * *
We had protracted our conversation at Fairmount to an unusually
late hour, and were preparing to retire to rest, when we heard the
cry of "Fire!" We immediately rushed out, and, on passing through
the back yard, we saw the flames issuing from Hargrave's cottage.
We hastened to afford assistance; but as the wind blew hard, and we
had no engine, it was impossible to save more than a few articles of
furniture. It was a dismal scene; I shall never forget that awful
night. The mother, with one child in her arms, and another by her
side, with difficulty made their escape; and Josiah, in trying to
remove his poor dumb ass from the shed, which stood close behind the
cottage, was severely scorched; and, though he returned again and
again, he was obliged to abandon her.
At length the fury of the wind abated, the rain came down in
torrents, and the neighbours, flocking to our assistance, we were
able, within the space of about two hours, to extinguish the fire.
We now turned our attention to the poor sufferers, who had taken
refuge in the villa. On entering the kitchen, I beheld Mrs. Hargrave
with her infant in her arms, Charles standing close by her chair,
and her husband reclining against the wall, as the surgeon was
examining his wounds. When they were dressed, and the terror had
somewhat subsided, Josiah said, "The Lord gave, and the Lord has
taken away, but, blessed be his name, he hath not taken away my wife
nor my children."
"There are," said Mr. Stevens, "some circumstances connected with
every affliction which take off their keen edge, and give a stronger
excitement to our gratitude, than to a murmuring disposition."
"But," said Josiah, as he stood gazing on the living wreck of his
possession, "where is Henry? I don't see him."
"Where did you carry him?" said the mother. "You took him up and ran
out with him, when I came out with Charles and Ann."
"I have not seen him," said Josiah.
The mother, on hearing this reply, darted from her seat, exclaiming,
with a look and in a tone of frantic agony, "My Henry is burnt! my
Henry is burnt! O, my Henry! my poor dear Henry! I shall never see
him again!" This subdued the firmness of Josiah; but he could not
weep. He looked like a man bereft of his reason. He fell back in a
chair, and said, "Alas! my poor dear Henry!" This scene of parental
anguish was too much for Mrs. Stevens; and, though she bore up for
a time, and endeavoured, by efforts of kindness, to allay their
sorrow, yet she was obliged at length to retire.
[Illustration: THE LOST CHILD RESTORED.
Vol. i. page 270.]
As the mother was again exclaiming, "O, my poor Henry! I shall never
see him again!" the gardener entered the kitchen with Henry, and
said, "Here he is, safe and sound!" The father sprang up as with
the rapidity of thought; the mother rushed across the room, and
they both seized the child, as though each was afraid to let the
other touch him. But after the first maternal kiss had been given
to little Henry, who knew nothing of what had been passing, she
suffered her husband to take him, as she still held her infant in
her arms, and they both sat down, with their Charles between them,
while the inmates of the villa pressed round to participate in their
joy.
"And is it you, my Henry?" said the mother. "Kiss me, my boy."
"Kiss me, Henry," said Charles.
We now shed tears of gratitude, and after recovering ourselves from
this agitating excitement, I asked the gardener where he found the
child.
"I found him, Sir, asleep between two trusses of hay in Master
Hargrave's stable."
"O, I now recollect!" said Josiah. "I carried him and put him in the
stable when the fire broke out, as I knew he would be safe there,
but I had forgotten it."
Early in the morning I hastened to the ruins, where I found Josiah
and his wife examining the extent of their loss.
"This has been to you a night which will never be forgotten."
"Very true, Sir," said Mrs. Hargrave, "we never had so many mercies
crowded within such a short space of time. What a mercy that we
were not consumed, that none of our children were burnt, and that
the horse and cart are not injured, so that Josiah can go on in his
business; we can sing of mercy as well as of judgment."
"Ah! Sir," said Josiah, "what a mercy that, though we have lost some
of our little property, yet we have not lost any property but what
was our own. The Lord gave it to us, and now He has been pleased to
take it away, but He has not taken all. He has spared more than I
expected, and much more than we deserved."
"It will be a long time before you will be able to repair this loss."
"Yes, it will; but you know, Sir, that it is 'the blessing of the
Lord that maketh rich.' This trial is sent to moderate our desires
after the things that perish, to teach us to walk by faith, and to
derive our happiness from communion with Him who is invisible."
As we were conversing together, Mr. Stevens came up, and taking
Josiah by the hand, said, "Don't be cast down, I will have the
cottage repaired immediately, and till it is finished, you shall
have my other cottage at the grove, which happens to be vacant."
"Thank you, Sir, for your kindness; I hope Mrs. Stevens is well this
morning?"
"She is not well; she has had a bad night."
Several of the more respectable inhabitants of the village now
joined us in their expressions of sympathy; and it was unanimously
resolved that a subscription should be made for the benefit of the
Hargraves. "Gentlemen," said Mr. Roscoe, "I shall be happy to see
you at my house in the evening. In the meantime we shall be able to
ascertain the extent of this good man's loss, and then we can adopt
some effectual measures to repair it."
There is a kind provision made for the children of sorrow in that
sympathy which is implanted in almost every breast. Who can avoid
its excitement when an object of distress is seen, or a tale of woe
narrated? Yet there are some who will weep over misery, but will
make no personal sacrifice to relieve it. They will talk, but they
will not give. They will recommend to others the benevolence which
they never practise; and profess to admire the virtue which they
are not anxious should adorn their own character. "But," says the
apostle, "whoso hath this world's goods, and seeth his brother have
need, and shutteth his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth
the love of God in him?"
The loss which Josiah Hargrave sustained by the fire, amounted
to about thirty pounds; and Mr. Roscoe consented, at the urgent
request of the gentlemen who met at his house, to accompany Mr.
Stevens in soliciting the benevolence of the neighbours towards
repairing it. They commenced their work of mercy on the following
morning, and finished it in the course of the day. The first person
they called on was the Rev. Mr. Cole, the rector of the parish,
and he refused to contribute, because Hargrave chose to attend the
ministry of Mr. Ingleby in preference to his own.
"This refusal," said Mr. Roscoe to his friend, "does not surprise
me, but it grieves me. Mr. Cole is an amiable man, but he is, what I
once was, a religious bigot; and though he is very charitable to the
poor, yet his charity is confined to those who come to his church."
"We may," said Mr. Stevens, "call his charity the charity of
bigotry, not the charity of the gospel."
"I was once taking tea with him, when a poor woman, near the time of
her confinement, applied to him for relief; but when he found that
she attended your chapel, he first reproved her, and then dismissed
her without giving her any assistance."
"But perhaps he thought she was an impostor?"
"No, Sir, she brought with her a note of recommendation from your
friend, Mr. Stone."