told me that she dreaded death after she had taken the sacrament as
much as she did before it was given to her; she told me that giving
the sacrament and absolution to fit a person for dying is a great
delusion. I now feel, ma', that I have been living under the spell
of a fatal delusion; but I cannot consent to die under it. Will you
send for Mr. Ingleby?"
"Mr. Ingleby!" said the astonished mother.
"Yes, ma'; he spoke words of comfort to Amelia Stubbs when she was
dying, and he may bring some words of comfort to my troubled soul.
Send for him immediately. I have not long to live, and I wish now to
turn the current of my thoughts towards the other world."
"I hope," said the weeping father, on Mrs. Denham's entrance into
the parlour, "our dear Matilda feels her soul happy."
"O no! she is not happy. Her soul is in trouble. She says that she
is not fit to appear before the judgment-seat of Christ."
"What makes her think this?"
"It is the remembrance of some question she once heard Mr. Ingleby
put when he was reading his sermon."
"Did she ever tell it you?"
"Yes; many times of late."
"Do you recollect it?"
"Yes; it was this--'Should you like to go from the theatre to the
judgment-seat of Christ?'"
"And who would? Perhaps that question was the Almighty's warning
voice speaking to her soul."
"She wishes to see the Rev. Mr. Ingleby, and requests that he may be
sent for immediately."
"Yes, I'll send for him at once, since she desires to see him. He
is a good man, and has made many happy in their last hours, and I
hope he will bring words of peace to the troubled spirit of our dear
dying child."
As the news of Miss Denham's approaching dissolution spread through
the parish, many wept, and many sent to inquire after her; but
none were more deeply affected than the Stevenses and the Roscoes.
Though they had often sent, and often called, yet they had not been
permitted to see her more than once, and then she was flushed with
the high expectation of a speedy recovery.
Mr. Denham at once sent a note to the Rev. Mr. Ingleby, informing
him of the dangerous illness of his daughter, and of her desire to
see him at his earliest convenience.
Mr. Ingleby was very soon with her; he found her seated in an
arm-chair beside the fire, with a Bible open on the table before
her; but she was too much excited to do more than extend her hand,
sitting for some time nearly motionless, in pensive silence.
There was a melancholy cast on her countenance, which formed a
strong contrast to the brilliancy of her eye, and the beautiful
though fatal hectic which flushed her cheeks. Her parents, after
making some delicate allusions to her illness, and the depression
of her spirits, withdrew, as she had requested to be left alone
with Mr. Ingleby; and after they had left the room, she very
frankly told him that she had sent for him to give her the benefit
of his instructions and his prayers. "I have lived, Sir, a gay
and a thoughtless life, but not a happy one. I have often felt
dissatisfied with the sources of my gratification, and envious of
the happiness of our friends at Fairmount; but never had resolution
enough to abandon the objects of my pursuit, nor to seek theirs. It
has now pleased the Almighty to put a stop to my career of folly and
gaiety, and I know that in a few weeks, if not days, I shall die,
and go into the eternal world; and I am not prepared for such an
awful event."
"But what convinces you that you are not prepared to go into the
eternal world; and how long have you entertained such a belief?"
"Ever since I heard you preach a sermon on the loss of the soul.
Since then I have been unhappy, and often in terror."
"Do you remember any particular passage in the sermon which
impressed and affected you?"
"O yes, Sir; one, which is fixed on my memory. It was this: '_Should
you like to go from the theatre to the judgment-seat of Christ?_'"
"To pass abruptly from such a scene of gay amusement into the
eternal world would indeed be awful, but God in mercy has interposed
to prevent it; and your present anxiety on the subject may be
regarded as a favourable sign that he is dealing graciously with
you. But as many are alarmed in the immediate prospect of death,
and pray for mercy when they cannot continue longer in a course of
folly and of sin, you will permit me to warn you against grasping
at a premature hope, which may prove more fatal, because more
deceptive, than the keenest feelings of anguish."
"O, Sir, I have no hope. My soul is deeply depressed; I cannot look
back on the scenes of my past life without being amazed at my folly.
Had I taken the warning which Amelia Stubbs gave me when she was
dying, I had not gone to the theatre or the ball-room again; and
then I had not been dying now."
"You knew her?"
"Yes, Sir; and I saw her when she was dying; and she told me she
would rather die than live. And she besought me with tears, and in
the sweetest tones of solicitude, to flee from the wrath to come.
But I was infatuated, and I saw not my danger, nor did I understand
the full import of her warning as I do now. I continued to follow
the multitude, because custom led the way, and now I must die alone.
But I am not fit to die."
"Why do you suppose that you are not fit to die?"
"Because I am a sinner; I always thought I was, when I ever thought
on the subject, but now I _feel_ that I am."
"And how long have you felt yourself a sinner?"
"O, Sir," and she wept as she spoke, "not till after I was informed
of my danger; and this aggravates my misery, because I fear that it
is a dread of punishment which disquiets my soul, rather than a true
sorrow for my sins."
"Had you ever any convictions during your gay career that you were
acting an unwise and a dangerous part?"
"O yes, often, Sir, very often; conviction would sometimes flash
over my mind, with the vividness of lightning; but then it would
soon go off again; and though I could not forget the impressions
which it produced, yet I soon ceased to feel them."
"You informed me just now that while you were sometimes dissatisfied
at your own pursuits, you often envied the superior happiness of
our pious friends at Fairmount; but why did you envy them their
happiness, when you could form no just conception of the nature of
it?"
"It is true, Sir, I could form no conception of the nature of
their happiness, but I knew they were happy--more happy without
our fantastic sources of amusement than we were with them. I never
retired from their society without being convinced that there was a
Divine reality in true religion; and yet I could not imagine what it
could be. The only idea I could form of it was going frequently to
church, reading the Bible, praying, and living a virtuous life."
"Yes, my dear, there is a Divine reality in true religion, which, I
hope, you will live to feel?"
"I cannot live, Sir, and I am not fit to die. My case is hopeless."
"No, my dear, it is not hopeless. I can repeat to you words which
have comforted thousands, and I hope they will comfort you--'_God so
loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever
believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life_.'"
"But, Sir, after living such a vain life, may I venture to rely on
his death for salvation, with a hope of obtaining it?"
"Yes, most certainly. Jesus Christ came into the world to save
sinners--those who _feel_ they are sinners--and as soon as we _feel_
our _guilt_ and our _degeneracy_, we are not only fitted to come
unto him for peace, and acceptance, and eternal life, but _invited_
in the most tender and endearing terms. Hence he says, 'Come unto
me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you
rest.'"
"O, Sir," she suddenly exclaimed, and her eye sparkled with delight,
"these are the very words which gave comfort to dear Amelia Stubbs
when she was dying, so she told me."
"And I hope they will give comfort to your soul. They are the words
which Jesus Christ uttered when he was on earth, and addressed to
sinners like you."
"But he does not speak them to me; if he did, then I should have
comfort, because then I should have hope."
"He has had them inserted in the New Testament, and there you may
read them; and as they are placed there for the comfort of sinners
of all future times, you are authorized, when reading them, or
hearing them repeated, to believe that he IS _speaking_ to YOU, and
as really as though you could hear him giving utterance to them."
"Then I will hope in his mercy and in his power; and yet I am almost
afraid to hope. Had I felt some years, or even some months since
what I now feel, I should have been preserved from the ensnaring
influence of those fascinations which have opened for me a premature
grave, and might, in the society of my esteemed friends, Mrs.
Stevens and Miss Roscoe, have enjoyed a large share of happiness on
earth."
"But you ought to be thankful to the God of all consolation that
you have felt, in the eleventh hour, that degree of guilt, and that
clear apprehension of danger, which has induced you to run for
refuge to Jesus Christ to save you."
"Very true, Sir; and I do feel the emotion of gratitude to him
springing up in my heart. It is a new emotion, and it is a very
sweet one."
"You have often heard, when attending the services of the church,
that Jesus Christ died on the cross to save sinners from perishing;
did it never make any impression on your heart?"
"Yes, Sir, I heard it, but it did not impress my thoughtless mind.
But now I see it and feel it. O, how wonderful, that the Son of God
should bleed and die for such a guilty and worthless sinner as I now
feel myself to be! And may I hope, dear Sir, without being guilty
of presumption, that _he will save me_ from perishing, and admit me
into heaven?"
"You may; indeed, not to do so would be a sin, as it would be an
impeachment of his integrity."
"Then I will hope, and will bless and praise his name with all my
soul. I have been living under a fatal delusion, but I feel that I
am under no delusion now."
"No, my dear, you are now brought into connection with
realities,--sublime realities--realities which connect the two
worlds, and which explain the mysteries of time, and open a free
and a safe passage for the guilty and the worthless into eternity."
"May I now urge my last request, which is this--that ere you leave
this house, you will try to impress on the mind of my dear parents
the important truths which you have with such clearness made known
to me."
The venerable man having given her his pledge that he would attempt
to do so, then knelt down and prayed with her, and bade her
farewell, yet intending to see her again. Immediately after Mr.
Ingleby's departure she retired to rest, and slept the greater part
of the night. In the morning, when her father drew near her bedside,
and asked her if her soul was happy, she replied, "I am composed,
but not perfectly happy. I have a hope that I shall not perish, and
that I shall be saved; and this is as much as I can expect, and
far more than I deserve. I shall now soon leave you, dear father;
but before I go I have two requests to make, which I hope you will
comply with. The one is this, that you and my dear mother will go
and hear that holy man of God preach, who has brought words of
comfort to my troubled soul. He understands what religion is, and
will explain it to you more clearly and more perfectly than Mr. Cole
can do. I once, in common with others, ridiculed his evangelical
views of Divine truth, and turned the edge of satire against those
who seek happiness in the consolations of the gospel; but now I am
driven for peace and for hope to that very source. My other request
is, that you will send my affectionate regards to Mrs. Stevens and
Miss Roscoe, and say that I wish to see them as soon as they can
conveniently come."
Mr. John Ryder, who had been unremitting in his attentions during
her illness, and who was nearly frantic with grief in the prospect
of parting with her, was waiting below; and when she was asked
if he might see her once more, she replied, "I think not, it may
disturb me; I am too near an eternal world to suffer my feelings to
intermingle again with those objects on which they have been too
strongly placed." But after a long pause she added, "Yes, let him
come up. The parting scene, though painful, may be profitable."
He entered the room, pale and dejected; and though his spirit
could brave death in the high places of danger, yet now he was
appalled--seeing her preparing for the tomb, instead of the altar.
On approaching her bedside she extended her hand, and with a mild
look and softened tone, she said, "We now part, but I hope not
for ever. Death, which is now removing me, may soon call for you,
and then I hope you will find that consolation in the death of a
despised Saviour, which it has pleased God, very unexpectedly and
undeservedly, to give to me." And then, after a mutual embrace, she
drew back her hand, and concealed her face, as though her eyes were
for ever closed on things visible and temporal.
The interview with her endeared friends, Mrs. Stevens and Miss
Roscoe, gave a fresh excitement to her feelings; but it was one
of pure and unmingled satisfaction. They conversed together with
intense interest on the love of Christ, and the freeness of his
salvation; but when any reference was made to the joys of the
heavenly state, she merely expressed a hope that she might be
permitted to join the innumerable throng, though doomed to remain
unnoticed amongst them. As Mrs. Denham and the nurse were exhausted
by excessive fatigue, having had no rest for several nights,
Mrs. Stevens's and Miss Roscoe's kind offer to stay with her was
accepted. It was evident to all that she could not continue long;
for though there had been some favourable symptoms of recruited
strength, yet for the last few days the disease had made very rapid
progress, and when the physician took his leave, he said, "Be not
surprised if a sudden change should take place." She slept through
the first part of the night very composedly, but about three in the
morning she became restless, and on being raised up in the arms
of Miss Roscoe, she swooned for a few seconds, when she gradually
revived, and expressed a wish to see her parents once more. She
first kissed her mother, and bade her adieu, and then her father,
and then her two female friends, and, last of all, her old nurse;
and after a long pause she said, "I am dying, but not without hope
of obtaining eternal life, through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ."
She then gently reclined her head on the bosom of Mrs. Stevens, and
breathed her last.
Thus died the once gay and thoughtless Miss Denham, bearing a
testimony against the vanities of the world, which had ensnared
her, and to the importance and excellence of the faith in Christ,
which she had often made the theme of her ridicule. Had she felt
the transforming power of the truth which on one occasion she heard
fall from the lips of Mr. Ingleby, or had she given heed to the
warnings which Amelia Stubbs, when dying, addressed to her, she
might have lived, a comfort to her parents in their old age, and
an ornament to society; and, at a distant period, she might have
descended to the grave laden with the fruits of righteousness, and
rich in the anticipations of hope. But as she chose to disregard
them, and devote herself to the follies and amusements of gay life,
she was called to taste the bitterness of death in the spring-time
of her years; yet mercy spared her till she sought the redemption
of her soul, through faith in the death of the Redeemer, while
many are left in their last hours on earth to seek for enjoyment
amidst scenes of folly, and then, when death comes, they pass into
the eternal world, for which they have made no preparation. What
consternation and horror will then seize them! A ceaseless storm of
agony, which never abates, and from which there is no escape. O,
reader,
"Be wise to-day, 'tis madness to defer."
THE TRACTARIAN AT FAULT.
Soon after the Rev. Mr. Roscoe and his lady returned home, Miss
Roscoe received the following letter from her aunt:--
"MY DEAR SOPHIA,--We are again at home, and in good health; but
before I say anything about home, I will give you a short account
of the adventures of our journey. We had, for nearly half the
distance, two gentlemen for our fellow-travellers--one a Roman
Catholic, the other a Protestant--whom I shall call Mr. O'Brian and
Mr. Robertson. Mr. O'Brian was a very demure-looking man, with a
large head, overhanging brows, and strongly marked with a severe yet
self-complacent expression. On taking his seat, he at once opened a
newspaper and commenced reading. At length, having wearied himself
by the intensity of his reading, or having exhausted the subject
matter of his paper, he folded it up, put it on his knee, took off
his spectacles, and then placing them cautiously in an elegant
silver case, he slightly changed his position, and appeared equally
intent in looking at the varied beauties of nature.
"Mr. Robertson requested that he would favour him with the use of
the paper. The favour was granted in silence, and with a somewhat
haughty bow.
"Mr. Robertson, who sat opposite me, was an interesting and
intelligent-looking man, with a bold, yet rather facetious-looking
countenance; while reading, I was much struck with his appearance,
his features underwent such frequent and rapid changes of
expression. It seemed to me that he had met with something which
alternately amused his fancy and roused his ire. The paper, I should
tell you, was from the Roman Catholic press, and contained some
marvellous tales, the description of some gorgeous ecclesiastical
ceremonies, and a Jesuitical defence of the Catholic clergy, on whom
the editor lavished many praises, for their active benevolence and
their earnestness in the grand work of saving the people.
"On returning the paper, Mr. Robertson said, 'I greatly dislike
these marvellous tales, because I think them legendary inventions;
and I greatly dislike these pompous ceremonies, because they do not
harmonize with the beautiful simplicity of the religion of the New
Testament; and though I have no doubt but some of your priests are
men of active benevolence, yet I do not think they have any more
power to save the people than any other men.'
[Illustration: DISCUSSION IN THE STAGE COACH.
Vol. i. page 422.]
"'Perhaps, Sir,' said Mr. O'Brian, 'you are what in common parlance
we call an unbeliever.'
"'No, Sir, I am not; I believe in the plenary inspiration and
absolute authority of the Bible; but I have no faith in the
infallibility or divinely delegated power of any order of
priesthood; pure sham pretensions, Sir.'
"'But, Sir, our priests are the regular successors of the apostles.'
"'They may be, but what then? Do you mean to imply, in this category
of their descent, that they are endowed with the same power and
authority as the apostles?'
"'Most certainly I do.'
"'Indeed! that is claiming a good deal of what is superhuman. The
apostles had power to work miracles; but do these priests of yours
ever do such a thing as open the eyes of a blind man, or raise a
dead man to life.'
"'No, Sir, they do not pretend to do such things. The power and
authority which is delegated to them is spiritual; to act not on
matter but on mind; to remit or retain its sins.'
"'The apostles never possessed this spiritual power, or if they did,
they never exercised it.'
"'I beg your pardon, Sir, but you are mistaken.'
"'To the law and the testimony; specify one case in which any one of
the apostles ever ventured on forgiving any man his sins.'
"'I have not my New Testament with me, or I could prove the truth of
what I say.'
"'I know all the facts of the New Testament, and if you will only
refer to any one case, I will give it to you with all its details.'
"No reply.
"'No, Sir; the apostles always directed the attention of the guilty,
for the remission of their sins, to God, seated on a throne of
grace; or directly to Jesus Christ, as a Saviour mighty to save. I
certainly will give your priests the credit of acting a very cunning
part in one particular, relating to the possession of apostolic
powers.'
"'A very cunning part, Sir! in what particular?'
"'Why, the apostles proved that they had power to work visible
miracles; but this power your priests lay no claim to, because,
if they did, they would be challenged to the proof; but they
claim an authority to forgive sins (after certain cash payments
are made), which authority the apostles never exercised; and when
they are asked for a proof that they possess it, they have none to
offer except their own fallible testimony. However, their deluded
devotees very meekly hand over the cash, which the priest very
gravely pockets, reminding me of the Ephesian jugglers, who said, in
justification of their zeal for the great goddess Diana, "_Sirs, ye
know that by this craft we have our living_." This, Sir, is worse
than mere sham; it is a daring usurpation of the Divine prerogative,
which is no less than an act of blasphemy; _for who can forgive sins
but God only?_'
"No reply.
"When Mr. O'Brian left us, his place was filled up by an elderly
man, the most profane person I ever travelled with. I watched the
changing countenance of Mr. Robertson, the rapid contraction and
distention of his brow, his intent and eager look of indignation.
Availing himself of a short pause, he said, with a very stern look,
and in an authoritative tone, 'If, Sir, you have no reverence for
God, I hope you will pay some respect to a lady, and leave off such
profane, disgusting utterances.'
"'I suppose, Sir, you are a believer in the Bible?'
"'I am, Sir.'
"'I am not. I don't believe that God takes any notice of what we say
or do.'
"'It is very possible, Sir, you may feel the full force of your
belief at some future period of your history.'
"'You speak ambiguously; will you explain your meaning?'
"'Why, Sir, it is possible you may feel, when dying, what the
generality of your profane fraternity feel--intense remorse and some
awful forebodings--and may, as they have often done, cry aloud for
mercy; and then you may be made to feel that God takes no notice of
what you say or do.'
"'I don't believe in a futurity; I no more expect to live after
death comes, than I expect my dead dog to live again, or that a
rotten cabbage-stalk will spring up into vegetable life again.'
"'Well, Sir, if you choose to die like a dog, or rot like a cabbage
stump, you will permit me to say that I don't admire your taste.'
"'I defy you to prove that I shall live after I am dead.'
"'You need not defy me to do that, for I assure you I have no wish
to do so; and really the sooner such profane beings go out of
existence the better; if not for their own sakes, yet certainly for
the sake of others.'
"This last stroke of caustic severity struck the evil spirit dumb,
and he left us very soon after.