The subject of this sketch was a liberally educated, and highly
esteemed clergyman of the Baptist denomination. Unhappily for his own
peace and that of his family, and for the honor of Christianity, he
fell a victim to the pressure of circumstances, and the force of
temptation, and committed three distinct forgeries to a large amount,
on one of which he was sentenced to the prison for seven years.
When he entered the prison he was an emblem of perfect health, and
seemed to have a constitution that might smile at decay, and survive
the ruins of an eternity. For some time no alteration in his
appearance was visible, but the change of condition, from the pulpit
to a dungeon, from respect to scorn, and from comfort to the want of
all things, was more than he could endure, and disease began to
admonish him that he was mortal.
He began now to learn a science that had not been taught him in
college, and on which his divinity instructor had never lectured. He
now for the first time in his life, had a practical demonstration of
the solemn and humbling truth, that there is as much difference
between the _profession_ and the _practice_ of piety, as there is
between pedantry and real science; and that the priest and the Levite
are the same now, as they were in the days of the good Samaritan.
Christians left him to suffer without sympathy. Even the ministers of
that holy religion which sends its votaries to the _sinner_ wherever
he may be found--which espouses the cause of the _prisoner_--and which
says to the _backsliding_, "Return;" treated him with as much severity
as language can convey. One of these, who only a few months before had
taken counsel with him, and walked to the house of God, addressed to
him from the pulpit the very words I am going to record. "Thou
hypocrite!" said he, "dressed in the specious semblance of piety,
while thy heart was filled with all abominations, a just and righteous
retribution has fallen on thy guilty head!" Awful words these for one
poor sinful mortal to use to another. They are the flame of an angry
soul, and ill become the servants of him who, even when he was
reviled, reviled not again. But if this was the spirit of the
_priest_, what might not have been expected of the _people_? Alas!
"like _priest_ like people," for they too passed him in sullen
silence, or with protruded lips.
Is this religion? If it is, away with it from the earth; it is the
infamy and curse of the human race. Away with it and its votaries. It
is worse than the religion of DAGON. If this is religion, I pray God
that infidelity may banish it from the universe, of which it is the
fellest scourge.
But this is _not_ the religion of the _Bible_, though it is that of
too many who are proud to be called christians. Though the prophets of
Baal be four hundred, there is, however, an Elijah and a seven
thousand who have not knelt at the shrine of an idol; but they are
known only to _God_ and his _suffering children_. The religion which
they practice is compassion for the distressed; alms to the needy;
charity for the wandering; and love to all men. Its walk is in
stillness--its spirit is gentleness--and its home is the wayside, the
hut of the poor, and the cell of the sufferer. This is religion, and
none can tell better than the prisoner how much of this is on earth.
Reduced to this condition, Savery found in the conduct of professors
so little of the spirit of their profession, that he frequently
expressed to me his astonishment, and asked me if, with such specimens
of christianity before them, the prisoners had not all become
infidels. I know it will be said, that the prisoners are sinners, and
they ought not to expect much kindness. True, they _are_ sinners, and
experience has taught them that they _need not_ expect much
tenderness; but, Christians, what is _your duty_ to them? Look at
this, think of your conduct, and be dumb!
Savery's sickness was of a few months duration, and he felt that, in a
prison, the sick can find neither proper treatment, nor the least
degree of sympathy. Perfectly convinced that the evils incident to a
sick bed in that place, would be more than he could endure, he
prepared for the worst; and in a short time he gave back his spirit to
God, and left this world of woe. By kind treatment from his keepers,
and christian conduct on the part of his _christian_ acquaintances,
his days might have been lengthened out for usefulness, both to the
church and his family; but he is gone, and his unhappy fate says to
every self-confident professor--"Let him that thinkest he standeth,
take heed lest he fall."