Jesus Christ, could refuse to assist a poor woman in such a time of
need, because she does not attend his church? Then, I suppose, if he
had been passing by Josiah Hargrave's house when the fire broke out,
his first inquiry would have been, Do you attend my church?--and on
finding that he hears Mr. Ingleby, he would have gone on, and left
him to perish."
"No, no; I think he would have knocked you up, and sent you to
assist him, because his argument is, 'Let those who imbibe the same
faith, assist each other.'"
"A similar argument was employed by the priest and Levite, when they
passed by on the opposite side of the road, disdaining to do more
than merely look on the wounded traveller; but the good Samaritan,
whose breast glowed with pure benevolence, 'when he saw him he had
compassion on him, and went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring
in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to
an inn, and took care of him.' And are we not commanded to display
the same comprehensive benevolence, without standing to consider
the character of the sufferer, or presuming to inquire into the
orthodoxy of his faith?"
"I was much pleased with a little anecdote which I heard the other
day, of your friend Stone. A person applied to him on behalf of a
poor man in great distress. He was in a hurry, and had no money
with him. 'I cannot,' he said, 'examine the case now, as I have a
gentleman waiting to see me; but, if the poor man belong to the
household of faith, I will thank you to advance ten shillings for
me; if not, advance five. My maxim is, according to the law of the
Scripture, to do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of
the household of faith.'"
The subscription which was raised by Mr. Stevens and Mr. Roscoe,
with the remittances received from the Rev. Messrs. Ingleby and
Guion, amounted to nearly fifty pounds, and this was given by
Mr. Stevens to Josiah, who was so overcome by this unanticipated
expression of sympathy, that at first he could scarcely speak. He
modestly requested Mr. Stevens to express his grateful thanks, and
those of his wife, to his benevolent friends, assuring them that
they would endeavour, by future conduct, to prove how deeply they
felt this unexpected kindness.
Within the space of three months Hargrave returned to his cottage,
with his family, a richer if not a happier man than before the fire
drove him out; and there he lived for many years, respected and
beloved by all who knew him.
If we say that afflictions spring up by chance, or are brought
about merely by secondary causes, which are not under the guidance
and control of God, we not only reject the authority of the Bible,
but deprive ourselves of the consolation which follows from a firm
belief that the design for which they are sent is merciful and
gracious. If the sufferer should suppose that his afflictions are
of such a peculiar nature that they cannot possibly answer any
good purpose, I would say, Do not impeach the wisdom of God, nor
yet presume to fix limitations to the operations of his power. If
you have never yet repented of your sins, nor sought the salvation
of your soul through the mediation of Jesus Christ, your trials
may be sent to prepare your heart for the reception of the truth,
by which you are to be sanctified and saved. As the gentle rain,
descending from the clouds of heaven, fits the soil for the seed
which it is to nourish for a future harvest, so it pleases God, in
the dispensations of his providence, to allow those painful events
to transpire, which, imperceptibly, predispose the mind, first,
to bow in submission to his authority, and then to seek after the
enjoyment of his favour. There is a native independence in some
minds, which, in relation to man, is a high and noble virtue, but
in relation to God, is a daring sin. When one is made rich, and the
glory of his house is increased, he is sometimes apt to think, if
not to say, "What is the Almighty, that we should serve him? And
what profit should we have if we pray unto him?" What is this but
absolute rebellion against Divine authority, which must be subdued;
and, if it please Him to employ severe and varied afflictions to
subdue it, then "why should a living man complain--a man for the
punishment of his sins?" "Should we not," says an admired writer,
"principally value that which is morally good for us; that which
influences and secures our eternal welfare; that by which the safety
of the soul is least endangered, and the sanctification of the soul
is most promoted!" Upon this principle many have had reason to say,
"It is good for me that I have been afflicted." "Disease," says
one, "commissioned from above, sought me out, found me in a crowd,
detached me from a multitude, led me into a chamber of solitude,
stretched me upon a bed of languishing, and brought before me the
awful realities of an eternal world." "I never prayed before," says
another; "my life was bound up in a beloved relative; I saw my gourd
smitten and beginning to wither; I trembled; I watched the progress
of a disease which doomed all my happiness to the grave. In that
moment of bereavement, the world, which had won my affections, was
suddenly deprived of all its attractions. I broke from the arms of
sympathizing friends, saying, 'Where is God, my Maker, that giveth
songs in the night?' I entered my closet, and said, 'Now, Lord, what
wait I for? My hope is in thee.'"
Misery seems to possess one of the attributes of the Supreme Being,
and is everywhere present, inflicting its anguish in every human
breast. No situation in life, however elevated, is above its reach;
none, however obscure, is beneath its notice. It goes up to the
throne, and disturbs the peace of the monarch; it creeps into the
lonely hut, wringing the heart of poverty; nor can the tears of
penury, nor the moans of distress, move its pity. It fastens on the
babe in the days of infancy; follows him through the various stages
of childhood and of youth; becomes a more intimate associate as he
advances in life, but often reserves its most poignant inflictions
and its bitterest draughts till old age, when the mind is bereft of
its vivacity and strength. It lurks beneath the most fascinating
objects of delight, and springs out at a season when no danger is
expected; sometimes it throws around itself the garb of complacency,
and, under the appearance of the truest friendship and the purest
affection, disarms suspicion, that it may more effectually entangle
its victim.
Where can we find an antidote for human misery? Not in the
speculations of philosophy. Philosophy tells us that we must endure
our sufferings, because we cannot avoid them; and that it would
be visionary to expect an entire exemption from them in a world
in which they everywhere abound. Miserable comforter! I need some
substantial relief, some prop on which I can lean in the days of
adversity. Where shall I find it?--in human friendship? Alas! that
is too often a phantom of the imagination, which plays before the
fancy while prosperity shines on my pathway, but disappears as the
storm arises, and the darkness of the night falls upon me. I need a
more stable source of consolation. Where shall I find it? "In sweet
submission to thy will, O my God!" Here is bliss. Here I find joy
in grief. Here I have the bitter waters of life made sweet, the
heavy burden of care lightened, and my strength becomes equal to my
day.
A SURPRISE.
The indisposition of Mrs. Stevens increased, and became more and
more alarming; she was soon confined to her room, then to her bed;
and her life was considered in imminent danger. The fever rose
so high that she became somewhat delirious, but even then, while
her fancy wandered amidst the wild scenes of her own imaginative
creation, she spoke with rapture of her approaching dissolution.
On one occasion, as I entered her room, she raised herself up, and
sang, with a strong yet softened melody of voice:
"Lord, what are all my suff'rings here,
If thou but make me meet,
With that enraptur'd host t' appear,
And worship at thy feet!"
At length, while we were silently watching the progress of a
disorder which was threatening to take from us one of the most
interesting and amiable of women, it pleased the Father of mercies
to throw her into a deep sleep, which lasted many hours. In the
morning she awoke both revived and composed; and, after asking for
Mr. Stevens, she requested some refreshment. Thus the cloud which
had been hanging over us with such a lowering aspect, now gradually
dispersed; and, in a few days, she was pronounced out of danger. "I
thought at one time," she said, addressing herself to her husband,
"I should have left you. I felt the parting pang; and it was such
a pang as my heart never felt before. I looked into the valley
of death; and though the light of life illumined it, yet nature
recoiled at the prospect of entering. I had no doubt of the issue of
dying, but I dreaded the act of dying. But now I am coming back to
life. Oh! that my life may be more devoted to Him who lived and died
for me!"
Miss Roscoe had left home the morning after the fire at Hargrave's
cottage, to spend a few days with her friend, Miss Holmes, but as
soon as she heard of Mrs. Stevens's illness, she returned. "I am
happy to see you once more," said Mrs. Stevens. "This is a pleasure
which I did not anticipate. How uncertain is life!"
"Life is uncertain," replied Miss Roscoe, "but they who believe in
Christ shall never die. They may, in the progress of their being,
drop their mantle of mortality, as the insect leaves his shell, when
he expands into a more beautiful form of existence; but the soul,
redeemed by the blood, and purified by the Spirit of the Lord Jesus,
'liveth and abideth for ever.' I hope your mind has been kept in
perfect peace during your severe affliction."
"It has been kept in peace, but not in perfect peace. On the second
day, when my disorder assumed a threatening aspect, a horror
of great darkness fell upon me. I was compelled to admit the
possibility of having deceived myself--of having claimed privileges
to which I had no title--of having mistaken the excitement of
feeling for the fervour of spiritual devotion--of having indulged
prospects which I should never realize. But, just as I was beginning
to sink into despair, the light of mercy broke in upon me, and
revived my hope. Never, oh! never had I seen such beauty as I then
perceived in the verses--
'Jesu! lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly,
While the billows near me roll,
While the tempest still is high:
'Hide me, O my Saviour! hide--
Till the storm of life is past;
Safe into the haven guide;
O receive my soul at last.'"
"It is consoling to meet with others who are exercised in a similar
way with ourselves. I thought your faith was too strong ever to
stagger, and your prospect of eternal life too clear ever to be
shaded by dubious uncertainty; but now, I perceive, you can doubt,
which encourages me to hope that my faith may be genuine, though it
is sometimes involved in perplexity, and sinks into depression."
"Have you," Mrs. Stevens asked, "had any recent conversation with
your papa on religious subjects?"
"Not very recently, because he has manifested a more than ordinary
degree of reserve when there has been any allusion to them, and
therefore I have judged it proper to observe great caution while his
prejudices are in such a state."
"But may not this reserve on his part be the solemn musings of a
mind deeply impressed by the truth, which has hitherto been either
misunderstood or rejected?"
"I should be happy if I could put such a favourable construction on
his manner; but I fear not."
"Our favourite poet says:--
'Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread,
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.'
Allow me, my dear friend, to offer you my congratulations. Your
prayers, I hope, are answered; and you may go home, and embrace your
father as a 'fellow-heir of the grace of life.'"
"If I could, the sun of my bliss would never go down; but, alas! I
fear that you congratulate me on what we wish to be true, rather
than on what actually is the case."
"My dear, I speak what I believe."
"Impossible! Has he made any particular communication to you, which
enables you to speak in such a decisive tone?--if so, tell me, my
dear friend, what you know. I am impatient to hear it."
"The evening before Josiah's cottage was consumed, your father
spent some hours with us, and seemed not only willing, but anxious
to converse on religious subjects. At one time, he was affected
almost to tears, when he said, 'My dear Sophia has often told me
that a Divine illumination of mind is the great secret in personal
religion; and on one occasion, when she quoted the words of the
apostle, "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," she made an impression on
my mind which has never left me.' Thus God has not only subdued the
prejudices of your father's heart against the truth, and opened the
eyes of his understanding to see its excellence and importance, but
has employed you as the agent in the accomplishment of this great
work."
After recovering herself from the surprise which this communication
produced, she said, "I feel as if enjoying a most pleasant dream--my
fancy beguiled and deluded by its own visionary conceptions--not
less surprised than delighted to find myself awake--with
you--listening to the most joyful news that could be conveyed to
my soul." She wept. "And is it possible?--Is it true?--What, my
father!--Excuse me; I must go, that I may hear these glad tidings
from his own lips."
On the following Sabbath Mrs. Stevens was so far recovered as to be
able to go to church, where she expected to see the Roscoes; but she
was disappointed. "I fear," she remarked to her husband, as they
were returning home, "that Mr. Roscoe will not become a decided
character; but I hope he will not neutralize our dear Sophia."
"He will proceed, I have no doubt, very cautiously; examine and
re-examine every step he takes; but when the Rubicon is passed,
there will be no fruitless attempts to unite religion and the world,
but an unreserved devotion of soul to God."
In the evening Miss Roscoe was at the chapel, and after service
called at Fairmount to see her friends.
"It is true," she said; "my dear father is at length brought to
know that he is a sinner, and to feel the importance of redemption
through the blood of Christ. I went with him in the morning to hear
the Rev. Mr. Cole, with whose sermon he was not so well pleased as
on some former occasions; and he would have accompanied me this
evening, had it not been for mamma, who most earnestly requested him
not to go."
* * * * *
The evening came when we were to pay our promised visit to the
Roscoes, and just as we were about to set out, the Rev. Mr. Guion
arrived. When he found where we were going, he proposed returning
home; but Mrs. Stevens said, "No, no; you must accompany us. You may
be the means of doing some good; and I think your Master has sent
you for that purpose."
Mr. Roscoe gave us a cordial welcome; but when the name of Guion was
announced, Mrs. Roscoe drew back with a very polite movement, and
became unusually reserved. Conversation flagged, till Mr. Roscoe
mentioned that he had been reading Buchanan's _Christian Researches
in Asia_, and called our attention to some passages, which had much
interested him:--
"I have returned home," says the writer, "from witnessing a scene
which I shall never forget. At twelve o'clock of this day, being
the great day of the feast, the Moloch of Hindoostan was brought
out of his temple, amidst the acclamations of hundreds of thousands
of his worshippers. When the idol was placed on his throne, a shout
was raised by the multitude, such as I had never before heard.
It continued equable for a few minutes, and then gradually died
away. After a short interval of silence, a murmur was heard at a
distance; all eyes were turned towards the place, and behold, a
_grove_ advancing! A body of men, having green branches in their
hands, approached with great celerity. The people opened a way for
them; and when they had come up to the throne, they fell down before
him that sat thereon, and worshipped. And the multitude again sent
forth a voice like the sound of a great thunder. But the voices I
now heard were not those of melody; for there is no harmony in the
praise of Moloch's worshippers.
"The throne of the idol was placed on a car, about sixty feet in
height, resting on wheels which indented the ground deeply, as they
turned slowly under the ponderous machine. Attached to it were
six cables, by which the people drew it along. Upon the car were
the priests and satellites of the idol, surrounding his throne. I
went on in the procession, close by the tower of Moloch, which,
as it was drawn with difficulty, grated on its many wheels harsh
thunder. After a few minutes it stopped; and now the worship of
the god began. A high priest mounted the car in front of the idol,
and pronounced his obscene stanzas in the ears of the people, who
responded at intervals in the same strain. 'These songs,' said he,
'are the delight of the god.' After the car had moved some way, a
pilgrim announced that he was ready to offer himself in sacrifice to
the idol. He laid himself down in the road before the car, as it was
moving along, lying on his face, with his arms stretched forward.
The multitude passed round him, leaving the space clear, and he was
crushed to death by the wheels of the car.
"A horrid tragedy was acted on the 12th of September, 1807, at
a place about three miles from Calcutta. A Brahmin died at the
advanced age of ninety-two. He had twelve wives, and three of
them were burned alive with his dead body. Of these three, one
was a venerable lady, having white locks, who had been long known
in the neighbourhood. Not being able to walk, she was carried in
a palanquin to the place of burning, and was then placed by the
priests on the funeral pile. The two other ladies were younger; one
of them of a very pleasing and interesting countenance. The old lady
was placed on one side of the dead husband, and the two other wives
laid themselves down on the other side; and then an old Brahmin,
the eldest son of the deceased, applied the torch to the pile, with
unaverted face. The pile suddenly blazed, for it was covered with
combustibles; and this human sacrifice was completed amidst the din
of drums and cymbals, and the shouts of the Brahmins."
"What horrid rites!" exclaimed Mr. Roscoe. "I fear they have been
too long practised to be easily destroyed. I think Christianity
ought to be established in India, for the moral benefit of our
countrymen. Many of them go out when young--when their passions are
strong--and when they have but very faint conceptions of the nature
or the importance of religion; and as there are no Sabbaths--no
religious ordinances or instruction--they must be in great spiritual
danger from the contagion of evil by which they are surrounded."
"I was intimately acquainted," said Mr. Guion, "with a very amiable
young man, the son of a pious solicitor, who went to India, where
he remained ten years, and then returned. He called on me some time
ago, and I derived much information from him; but I was grieved
to find, by his own confession, that he had become a deist. I
asked him if his deism was the result of any fair and earnest
investigation; and he very honestly said, 'No, I found my belief in
the Divine origin of Christianity becoming weaker and weaker when
I was separated from its ministry and institutions, till at length
it became extinct; and though I have sometimes made an effort to
recover it, yet I have not been able to do so.'"
"But," said Mr. Roscoe, "though the establishment of Christianity in
India might preserve our countrymen from infidelity, yet I do not
think we can calculate on bringing over the natives to embrace it."
"Why not? Is the conversion of a modern pagan to the faith of Christ
more difficult than the conversion of an ancient one? If Greece and
Rome were subdued by the preaching of the gospel, who can despair of
India?"
"If we had the same miraculous powers as those with which the
apostles were endowed, we might anticipate similar results; but we
have not; and I confess that, though I approve of the motive which
originates and supports missionary institutions, yet I do not think
they will ever prove successful."
"By what means, then, did Paul convert the heathen? Was it by the
exhibition of miracles? Certainly not. A miracle may make some
impressions on the judgment, by demonstrating the power of a
present Deity, and of his direct agency in its production, but it
cannot renew the heart, and inspire the soul with the love of God,
with a hatred of sin, and a hope of glory. The miracles of the first
ages were merely the credentials of the teachers, and were given
as a solemn confirmation, once for all, of the divinity of the
new dispensation, which they were commissioned to establish; but
they were not the ordained means of conversion. The apostle Paul
performed miracles but seldom; and when he did perform them, they
had not always a salutary effect on those that beheld them. When
he wrought a miracle in Lyconia, the people first worshipped him,
and afterwards would have put him to death. What, then, were the
ordained means of conversion? The same that are ordained now--the
preaching of the cross; as the Scripture hath declared, 'Faith
cometh by hearing.'"
"If we admit," said Mr. Roscoe, "the concurrence of a supernatural
power with the agency of man in teaching and in preaching, we ought
not to doubt the possibility of converting the whole population of
India to the belief of Christianity."
"Certainly not; and is not this supernatural concurrence promised
by Jesus Christ, to his ministers of every age? 'Lo! I am with you
alway, even unto the end of the world.'"
"My heart often aches," said Miss Roscoe, "when I reflect on
the degradation and wretchedness of women in India--where, if
they escape an untimely grave in the days of childhood, they are
doomed to a state of perpetual ignorance, excluded from all the
accomplishments of society, treated as the refuse of the human
family, and are often burned along with the body of their deceased
husbands. I think every woman ought to make some effort to raise
her own sex from this most appalling condition; and as nothing
will prove successful but the principles of Christianity, we ought
all to become the advocates and supporters of missionary and Bible
societies."[10]