disturb the faith of such believers? Why not let each one go daily,
in the quietness of his spirit, to draw the waters of healing,
of refreshment, and invigoration from this perennial well, which
he has found in the wilderness? Why attempt to throw a dark and
impenetrable veil over the enchanting scenes which the opening
heavens partially disclose, and on which he gazes in joyous hope
and in ecstasy of longing? Why not let him remain, under what you
call the spell of his delusion, when it entails on you no loss
or suffering, but which imparts to him such holy and sublime
enjoyments? Suppose it be--what you tell him it is--all a delusion;
yet if he die under its power he will never know it; why not, then,
let him die in peace? surely his peaceful death can occasion you
no bitter regret. Why try to rouse him out of his elysian reverie,
simply to let him know that death is coming to deprive him of all
his sublime anticipations, and slip him out of existence? What
gratification can success in such a species of destructive labour
afford you? You are not the daring highway robber, who plunders
another to enrich himself; you are the wanton or the malignant
incendiary, who devastates that you may revel in the irreparable
losses which you inflict on others, with no prospect of personal
advantage. But suppose that what you reject as fanciful and
fabulous, _should turn out at last to be a reality_, then your doom
is certain and truly awful; you will pass into the eternal world
alone, a lost spirit, to perish, yet retaining your consciousness
for ever. And you cannot know that it is not a reality, unless you
can acquire all knowledge, and this you cannot do while you live.
You must die to know that there is no hereafter; and if you survive
your own death, and live on in some intermediate state, you must
visit every nook and corner of the vast universe before you can know
that there is no heaven and no hell. Why, then, proudly arrogate
to yourself the possession of knowledge which you know that it is
impossible for you to acquire? and why, while unable to decide
against the reality of what we believe, are you not in terror lest
you should be labouring under a criminal self-deception? If there be
another world, which you cannot disprove, with what horror will your
spirit, when disembodied, enter it, to meet her fearful and merited
doom, to dwell for ever amongst the devil and his angels?
"'The efforts which you are now making to induce others to reject
the Christian faith as an imposition on human credulity, will
receive AT LAST a recompense; and what will that be?--their
bitterest curses, which will be an aggravation to your misery, far
beyond the capability of human conception. There, in the eternal
world, you will be a lost spirit, assailed by other lost spirits,
reproaching you as the prime agent in effecting their ruin for
ever; and with emotions of deadly hatred, and in terms of malignant
accusation, corresponding with the awful intensity of their mental
suffering. Regret then, on their account or on your own, will be
useless; for could you shed as many tears of sorrow, as there have
been dew-drops since the birth of creation; could you heave as many
sighs and groans, as there have been pulsations of pain since the
first child of sorrow felt the bitterness of grief; and could you
offer as many petitions for mercy, as there have been lamentations
of woe since Esau endured the anguish of unavailing repentance, it
would be of no use. Once lost, by dying in your sins, there is no
possibility of recovery or escape. When, then, the final issue is
so tremendously awful, the preparatory anxiety and caution to avoid
it cannot be too scrupulous or guarded; but to advert to it with a
spirit of levity, or to deem it too insignificant and unimportant to
demand the most solemn attention, is to give decisive evidence that
you have prematurely fitted yourselves for destruction, and are ripe
for hell, before the reaper is in readiness to put in the sickle of
death to cut you down.'"
_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--"This, Sir, must have been a most impressive
sermon. What effect did it appear to produce?"
_Mr. Roscoe._--"The congregation listened to it with profound
attention; and some were subdued; they quailed under it."
_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--"If, Sir, a few years since, you had seen and
heard in some night vision, what you have now seen and heard under
the broad daylight of positive reality, you would have thought,
when awakening out of your sleep, that you had witnessed something
of what God could do, but you could not have anticipated its actual
occurrence."
_Mr. Roscoe._--"That's very true, Sir; I wish you would go, and see
and judge for yourself."
_Miss Roscoe._--"Yes, do, Sir; and, if you will permit me, I will
accompany you. It is the Lord's doing, and it is a very choice
specimen of the Divine workmanship."
_Rev. Mr. Ingleby._--"I should like to go, but my age and
infirmities forbid it. I must be contented to look at the
descriptive sketching of this sublime manifestation of the power and
the grace of God; it is the triumph of evangelical truth over the
lifeless formalism of Tractarian arrogance and delusion."
"Our prayers," said Miss Roscoe, "are answered; my dear uncle and
aunt are right at last."
THE QUAKERESS.
On returning from my protracted visit to Fairmount, and resuming my
pastoral labours, I was gratified by the eager welcome I received
from the people of my charge. During my absence the pulpit had
been regularly supplied by a succession of ministers of various
religious denominations--men who had never subscribed to an act
of uniformity imposed by human legislation, but yet, in all their
public ministrations, they closely adhered to _the unity of the
faith_, because they received the Bible as the rule of their
religious belief and practice. On looking around my congregation, I
missed a venerable elder and several others, who had gone the way
of all flesh; also, a few individuals and families, who had removed
to other localities. Yet I was pleased to find that there was no
perceptible decrease in numbers, and to learn that the harmony of my
flock had not been in any way disturbed by strife and contention.
Amongst the various causes which lead to the peace and prosperity of
a Christian church, the example and influence of females deserves
a prominent place; it operates silently, yet powerfully, both to
repress what is evil and to stimulate to what is good. Woman was
first in the transgression, but in every age she has laboured to
repair the evil which that direful calamity has entailed on the
human race; and, though less conspicuous in her sphere of action
than man, she has often equalled him in earnest devotedness,
and has sometimes surpassed him in self-denying sacrifices and
heroic sufferings. The apostle makes honourable mention of those
women who laboured with him in the gospel; and it was my privilege
and happiness to have some as co-workers, of great, if not of
equal importance and worth. One of the most useful of these was
Miss Chester, a diffident and unobtrusive woman, yet ever active
in labours of love--doing everything with so much prudence and
amiability that she neither provoked censure nor awakened jealousy
or envy. She had acquired great aptitude in gaining the confidence
of the females in the congregation, whose hearts the Lord appeared
to be opening to receive the truth; she could go where the habits
of social life forbade me to enter, and could gain information on
the delicate question of personal piety, which would have been
withheld even from my solicitations. In this way she acted as a
pioneer, and often brought me information regarding individuals
of whose religious awakening I might otherwise never have heard.
The first time she called on me after my return, she had a great
deal to tell me of what had taken place among my people during my
absence; but the most gratifying intelligence of all was, that she
thought her esteemed friend, Miss Osbourne, had become decidedly
pious, though she had not yet openly avowed herself. Miss Osbourne
was not one of my own people, but had been brought up in the Society
of Friends, and had, to all human appearance, been a consistent
adherent of that community. On making some inquiries as to this
unexpected transformation of character and habit, I learned that
it took its rise from a sermon she heard from Matt. vi. 5--"_that
they may be seen of men_." While listening to the preacher, and when
reflecting on what he said, she was convinced that it was contrary
to the spirit of the New Testament for a disciple of Jesus Christ to
assume any distinctive denominational sign, either in dress or style
of speech--as it is holding out a secular mark to attract human
attention; or if this be not the motive, she perceived that such was
the result. From that time forth she exchanged the dress and speech
of Quakerism for that which is in current usage in genteel life,
believing that the best evidence of a living faith is to add to
"faith virtue; and to virtue knowledge; and to knowledge temperance;
and to temperance patience; and to patience godliness; and to
godliness brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness charity" (2
Pet. i. 5-7). On leaving me Miss Chester said--"The history of her
religious experience will, I have no doubt, interest and gratify
you. I have promised to spend an evening with her soon, and I hope
you will accompany me; I am quite sure she will be very glad to see
you."
Miss Chester having made an appointment with Miss Osbourne, the
evening soon came round that we were to pay her a visit at her quiet
residence, and Miss Chester having called on me for the purpose,
we set out on our mission together. Just prior to this my first
interview with Miss Osbourne, I had lent my chapel to the Friends
to hold a public meeting, when I had the pleasure of hearing Mr.
Joseph Gurney and another address a large and an attentive audience.
To this meeting Miss Osbourne very naturally referred, thanking me
at the same time, for this mark of respect for the body; adding,
"I am no advocate of the _esprit du corps_. We may cherish our
preferences, yet I like to see all true believers living together in
friendly intercourse."
"It is, Madam, by coming into close contact we rub off the angular
parts of our denominational character, and then, as a necessary
consequence, we can develope the more sterling attributes of our
renewed nature, as one in Christ."
"I think Friends have isolated themselves too much. They live in a
little Goshen of their own, and cherish rather too fondly the idea
that they, and they only, have a purely spiritual faith. They look
on others as devotees of carnal ordinances."
"We receive the ordinances which are delivered to us in the New
Testament, and observe them as tests of our subjection to the
authority of Jesus Christ; but, in our judgment, they do not possess
any inherent power to work in us the fruits of righteousness. We
look through them to the great truths they symbolize. Baptism
symbolizes the washing of regeneration and renewing of the Holy
Ghost; and the Lord's Supper symbolizes the shedding of blood for
the remission of sins. And this Friends might have known long since
if they had consulted our best writers; but this they neglect doing,
and hence they do not know us _perfectly_. Indeed, they cherish many
wrong notions and impressions about us."
"Yes; they move in a circle of their own, which is rather a confined
and peculiar one. They do not like to cross the line which keeps
them distinct from others. This I have long considered an evil,
and I may say I have felt it to be one. Thus, when the controversy
sprang up in America about the divinity of Jesus Christ, and which
led to the secession of so many from the Society of Friends, I
was in a most bewildered state; I had no previous information to
help me to form a correct judgment on the questions in dispute and
discussion."
"The tenacity with which the Friends adhere to the '_inward light_,'
which they imagine is given to every one, very naturally renders
any laborious effort, on their part to understand the facts and the
truths of the Bible a mere work of supererogation. They hand down,
from one generation to another, a few distinctive opinions, which,
combined with other causes, keep them a compact body and peculiar
people; but I apprehend there is among them too great a lack of a
diligent searching of the Scriptures, to ascertain how far these
opinions are supported by Divine authority."
"I myself _was_ very fond of this '_inward light_' theory. It was
to me, what the all-sufficiency of reason is to the rationalist.
I was my own guide and my own authority. I could not stoop to
receive instruction from prophets or apostles. But my faith in its
infallible guidance has long since been shaken--I may now say, quite
destroyed. I find it is not powerful enough to keep the Society of
Friends from a gradual decay. They are dying off towards extinction,
while other denominations are increasing in their numbers."
"I know some of the rising generation who have withdrawn from the
Society of Friends and gone over to the Established Church. There
was, I believe, a large secession at Manchester some few years ago?"
"Yes; but nothing shook the body so violently as the American
controversy on the divinity of Jesus Christ. The shock was felt
here, and Friends were not prepared for it. It led many to imbibe
the Socinian heresy, and some became avowed sceptics."
"In relation to all controversies knowledge is power, but ignorance
is weakness. If we are trained by a regular course of proper
teaching to understand the distinct yet united truths of the
Bible--the evidences by which they are supported, and the arguments
by which objections to them are refuted--we are then prepared
to withstand the shocks of heresy without being startled into
scepticism by the imposing dogmatism or subtle plausibilities of its
advocates."
"Very true; but Friends have not the advantage of such training; and
therefore, when a controversial spirit does spring up amongst them,
it becomes as a wolf in the sheepfold."
"But though controversy may do some evil, yet it may do some good;
for in the spiritual world, no less than in the physical, stagnation
is often more perilous and fatal than the most violent tempest."
"Very true. I know that the American controversy has done some good
in England. It has awakened the dormant mind of Friends to a calm
and close investigation of the subjects of discussion; and the
result is, that the belief of many now rests on logical evidence,
rather than traditionary testimony. Till it took place, and excited
the attention of Friends, I always looked on Jesus Christ merely as
an amiable and intelligent philanthropist--a model for us to copy
after."
"But as there is an immense disparity between humanity and
divinity--between a perfect man, and God manifest in the flesh--what
effect did the first announcement of the divinity of Jesus Christ
produce on your mind? Did it not startle you?"
"I felt an instinctive revolting against it. I felt more disposed to
treat it as a legend, than look upon it as a fact."
"But why?"
"Because I thought it was not likely that God would manifest
himself in the flesh, when he could so easily accomplish any
beneficent purpose without stooping to such an act of humiliation
and meanness. Indeed, for a very long time the more I thought of it
the more I revolted against it. I loathed it, it was offensive to my
taste; and I did not like to hear the question argued."
"But did it never strike you, when reading the gospels, that
Jesus Christ attempted to make the Jews believe that he was a
Divine incarnation? I suppose you must have read the following
passage--'The Jews answered him, saying, For a good work we stone
thee not; but for blasphemy; and because that thou, being a man,
makest thyself God' (John x. 33)?"
"Why, yes; but I thought their accusation against him on this point,
was a wilful perversion of his meaning--an excess on their part of
malignant feeling."
"But did you never receive an impression, from the facility with
which he performed many stupendous works, and his entire avoidance
of all pomp and display, that he was a wonderful Being, something
more than man?"
"Why, no. The truth is, I never felt sufficient interest in the
question to pursue the investigation of it with attention. I
revolted from it."
"But when you were forced to attend to it, in some measure, by the
frequency of its discussion amongst Friends, did any other reason
present itself to your mind as a constraint, or an inducement to
reject it as a mere legend?"
"Yes; the absolute impossibility that two such dissimilar natures,
as the Divine and human, could be united in one person."
"But did you never advert to the conjunction of the immaterial and
material--two very dissimilar natures--in your own person?"
"I recollect hearing one Friend, who was arguing the question with
another, advance that fact in confirmation of the proposition that
natures very dissimilar to each other can be conjoined in one
identity; but at the time I thought it more fanciful than correct.
Indeed, I revolted against any evidence that was brought forward
by any one in support of what I considered a legend, rather than a
reality."
"But did it never strike you that his relative character, as the
Saviour of sinners, involves in it the necessity of his being
something more than a mere man, it being an absurdity to suppose
that one man can save others?"
"I never adverted to his relative character at this period; I had no
definite conception of it, nor did I wish to have. I did not feel
that I needed a Saviour; I thought his being called one was a mere
conventionalism--a mark of respect."
"At the time when the divinity of Jesus Christ became a popular
subject of discussion amongst Friends, the question of his atonement
was also agitated; what were your sentiments respecting it?"
"I repudiated it, as derogatory to the Deity."
"In what respect did you consider it derogatory to the character of
God?"
"I thought it an impeachment of his benevolence to suppose that he
would not exercise his clemency unless he was induced to do so by
the shedding of blood. And I also thought it was an impeachment of
his equity to require innocence to suffer and die in behalf of the
guilty. All my feelings were opposed to it."
"But Friends in general have professed their belief in the reality
and necessity of the atonement; and Joseph Gurney, who is an
authority amongst them, has written in defence and support of it.
Did you ever read his treatise?"
"It was put into my hands by one of our elders, who knew that I
entertained some doubts on the subject. I looked into it, but as
soon as I found that he attempted to support his views of the
atonement by citations from the Bible, I felt that I could much
easier reject the Bible as a revelation from heaven, than I could
admit a dogma so utterly opposed to my reason. Indeed, I had become
a confirmed sceptic, though I did not like to avow it, as I knew it
would give pain to many for whom I had great esteem; and, besides, I
did not like the idea of making myself the subject of public notice
and remark."
"Did you, at this period, feel at ease--quite satisfied with
yourself and your condition?"
"No; not quite. I sometimes felt an impression, and it was a very
painful one, that I was not acting honourably nor honestly by
standing identified with a body of Christians, after I had virtually
renounced my belief in the articles of their faith. This greatly
perplexed me. I knew not what to do."
"I suppose if you had openly avowed, what you had virtually done,
they would have excluded you from their fellowship?"
"It is probable that a sentence of disownment would have been passed
against me. This I should not have liked. It would have given so
much pain to my parents."
"There is now, I believe, a change in your views of Divine truth?"
"Yes; and a great change, not only in my views of Divine truth, but
in my appreciation of its importance."
"Will you tell me what was the means of leading you to receive the
faith you once repudiated?"
"In the first instance, the reading of Dr. Chalmers' _Astronomical
Discourses_ weakened, in some measure, one very strong objection
which I had long cherished against the truth of Christianity, and
which I then considered invincible."
"I presume you refer to the objection which some philosophic
sceptics have advanced against the Divine origin of Christianity,
that it is monstrous to suppose the Deity would lavish on so
insignificant a world as ours such peculiar and distinguishing
attention as are ascribed to him in the Bible?"
"Yes. To suppose that he would make such costly sacrifices as the
Bible says he did make, to recover such a puny race of beings from
their degradation and misery, when, if they were swept out of
existence, they would hardly be missed from the great field of the
creation--was an objection which struck me with great force; and I
long cherished it. It appeared quite insurmountable. But though the
eloquent doctor, by weakening the force of a long-cherished opinion,
cowed in some degree my sceptical spirit, it was not subdued--I
felt more disturbed than gratified. Indeed, I felt so much annoyed,
that I resolved I would read no more speculations relative to
Christianity. I was determined to banish religion from my thoughts."
"Did you remain for any length of time in this state of mental
isolation from all contact with the facts and truths of the Bible?"
"No; I really found it impossible to isolate my mind from them.
The more I tried to do so, the closer did they cleave to me. I
felt painfully annoyed by the ceaseless action of my thoughts and
reflections. They disturbed me in my sleep, my dreams were often
painfully exciting, and I often awoke in a tumult of mental emotion."
"Did this severe mental conflict subdue you to the obedience of the
Christian faith?"
"No, no: quite the reverse. I felt, if possible, a more haughty
indignation against the truths by which I was so painfully
annoyed--they followed me as my own shadow. At length, I went so far
as to resolve that I would rather avow my scepticism, than keep my
rank as a believer."
"Then what led you to embrace the faith which you repudiated with
such indignant feelings?"
"A most humiliating sacrifice of my integrity. It came about in this
way. Joseph Gurney and a few other Friends met at my father's house
to spend the evening; and as I expected there would be a religious
service, I feigned indisposition as an excuse for not being present.
I withdrew to my own room, and resumed reading Macaulay's Essay
on Milton, but could not proceed with it. I took up another book,
but soon closed it. I felt painfully restless--vexed that I was by
myself, and mortified at what I had done. That night was a restless
night to me. I had never before deviated from absolute truth. I was
now sunk in my own esteem, and I felt that if my friends knew what
I had done, and why I did it, I should sink in their esteem also. I
retired to rest; but sleep was gone from me. When musing on what I
had done, and what I must do in the morning, to carry on this work
of deception, the idea rushed into my mind with terrific force--but
God knows _what I have done_, and what I am now meditating to do to
conceal my shame! Then I felt the pang of remorse. I had never felt
it before. It was a strange sensation. I felt that I had fallen from
my steadfastness."
Miss Chester had hitherto taken no part in the conversation, but
on seeing her friend painfully excited, she remarked, "that the
first convictions and impressions of conscious guilt have often a
very singular effect on the mind. Some degree of perplexity is felt
to account for them; but the most perplexing question is, How can
relief be obtained?"
"Mine that night," said Miss Osbourne, "were very acute and
depressing--almost overwhelming. However, I indulged a vague hope
that I should sleep away my disquietudes, and be myself again in the
morning, and feel as in former times. I resolved I would never again
violate the sanctity of absolute truth."
"And did the morning bring relief?"
"No, Sir. It brought a rapid succession of strange and very painful
emotions. I could neither banish nor repress them. I knew not what
to do. I remained in my own room, for I was too excited to mix with
the family. I spent a lonely and very unhappy day."
"Did you not attempt to pray for mercy to pardon the act of
deception you had committed?"
"The idea occurred to me more than once. I had heard a Friend, some
weeks before at a public meeting, discourse about the publican in
the temple. His simple prayer came very vividly to my recollection;
but my spirit was too haughty to adopt it. My convictions of
conscious guilt had merely disturbed my quietude. They had not gone
deep enough to awaken any alarm for my soul's safety. They inflicted
torture, but excited no genuine penitence and contrition. I felt
bewildered and unhappy. I knew not what to do."
"Did you long remain in this bewildered and unhappy state?"
"For several months, I was a living martyr to mental disquietude and
restlessness."
"Did you search the Scriptures to see if you could find anything in
them to minister relief to your disconsolate heart?"
"Such an idea never struck me. If it had been suggested to me, I
think I should have scorned it as a fanatical idea. I had always
looked upon the Bible as a compilation of strange writings, without
unity, order, or authority. I had no more notion of deriving
relief from them, than from reading any other book of history or
ecclesiastic ceremonies."
"A melancholy proof, Madam, of the great defect in your religious
training!"
"That I now feel and deplore. The Bible I now revere as the
inaudible voice of the Lord speaking to the conscience and the
heart."
"And how did you come to change your views as to the Bible?"