"The intelligence," said Mrs. Stevens, "is most painful, but it does not greatly surprise me; I had something like a presentiment of it in the mental visions of the past night; I saw her leaning on the top of her staff, standing near the brink of a river, whose waters divided of themselves, as a radiant brightness gilded the whole horizon; and while listening for some moments to the sounds of sweetest harmony, I awoke, and found it was a dream. Thus my senses were locked up in the chambers of slumber, that my spirit might go and commune with my dear sister before she leaves us."

A carriage was immediately sent for, and we set off from Fairmount about eight o'clock. It was a cloudy moonlight night. We rolled on in silence, being too much absorbed in painful thought and expectation to break the quiet which grief requires for the solace of her own feelings. At length Mr. Stevens, alluding to Mrs. Lewellin's illness, said, "With what different emotions do the inhabitants of the visible and invisible world contemplate the same event! While we are anticipating her departure with deep sorrow, the glorified spirits of her deceased husband, and child, and father, are attuning their harps of joy, to celebrate her entrance among them."

"Very true," Mrs. Stevens replied; "our loss is their gain; but it is as natural for us to deplore our loss, as it is natural for them to exult in their gain."

"I admit, my dear, that we cannot, while encompassed by human infirmities, avoid feeling the pang of sorrow on such an occasion as this, though we may moderate its intensity by reflecting on our own dissolution, which will introduce us into the society of those who obtain the prize of immortality before us."

We had no difficulty in procuring a change of horses at each succeeding stage; nothing worthy of remark occurred during the journey, and on the following morning we arrived at Mrs. Lewellin's cottage.[11] The same jessamine, and honey-suckles, and rose trees adorned its tasteful front; the same hawthorn hedge inclosed its well-cultivated garden; the little wicket-gate still swung on its hinges, as when I paid my first visit six years before; but they had lost their attractions, or I had lost my power of enjoyment.

On seeing Mr. Lewellin, Mrs. Stevens said, "Is your mother still living, my dear George, or has she left us?"

"O no, aunt, she has not left us; she has made many inquiries about you, and longs to see you. She says that when she has seen you she shall depart in peace."

"When was she first taken ill, and what is the nature of her disorder?"

"She has not been well for some weeks, but her indisposition created no alarm. On Sabbath morning she felt better, and went to chapel, where she commemorated the death of the Redeemer, with her Christian brethren. As she was returning home she was exposed to a heavy shower, and though she took every precaution to prevent any evil consequences, yet, early in the evening, an inflammation of the bowels came on, which has raged with unabating violence; and her medical attendant says that he does not expect that she can live through the day. Her pains have been excruciating, but she has borne them with the fortitude and resignation of a Christian, and now she seems to be enjoying that fatal ease which is the immediate forerunner of dissolution."

On entering her room she received us with composure, and calmly said to her sister, "Weep not for me, the days of my widowed mourning are drawing to a close. I have long lived secluded from the world, and I can leave it without a sigh."

"Then," I said, "you have no fear?"

"Fear! why should I fear? I know I am in the valley, but it is illumined with the light of life. I have often dreaded this hour, yet it is the happiest hour I have ever known."

"To us, my dear sister, it is a most painful hour."

On seeing her sister and her son in tears, she said, "I hope you will compose yourselves, that we may enjoy each other's society on this side Jordan, which I am soon to pass.... My dear George, receive once more, and for the last time, the congratulations of your mother on the honour which the God of all grace has conferred on you, in adopting you as his son. I now solemnly charge you, before Him and the pious friends now with you, always to act worthy of your high vocation. Maintain the dignity of your Christian character by the integrity of your principles, your decision, and your zeal for the honour of the Lord of life and glory. As much of your future happiness and respectability will depend on the choice which you may make when you settle in life, let me beseech you to marry only in the Lord—prefer piety to beauty, good sense to a large fortune, and remember that a meek and quiet spirit is the most beautiful ornament in the home of a righteous man."

She then turned towards Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, and said, "I thank you for all your kindness to me and mine in the days of our adversity. The Lord reward you a thousand fold. I have only one legacy to leave, and I leave it to you. I bequeath to you my dear boy; take care of him for my sake."

The pious rector of the parish made an early call. Mrs. Lewellin received him with a sweet smile, and motioned him to be seated. After inquiring for her welfare, he thus accosted her: "What would you now do without a Saviour?"

"I should perish! But I have a Saviour whose blood cleanseth from all sin."

"His blood," he said, "is of more value than a thousand worlds."

She replied, "It is inestimable! It is inestimable!"

We all knelt down, and this man of God devoutly prayed that she might have "an entrance ministered unto her abundantly into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."

As the cottage was not large enough for our accommodation, the pious rector invited us to his hospitable home, but Mrs. Stevens resolved not to leave her sister. There was grief over the whole village as the rumour spread that she was dying. Her benevolence had added lustre to her piety, and such was the veneration and attachment in which her character was held, that many a hand knocked softly at the door of her cottage, and many a low voice inquired how God was dealing with her. About noon she fell into a sweet sleep, and slept for several hours; she awoke refreshed, animated; a heavenly serenity beamed on her countenance, as she exclaimed, "Oh! the bliss of dying!"

"You are happy, mother, in the prospect of death."

"Happy, my child, yes, my joy is unspeakable."

Her voice suddenly faltered, yet she gently whispered "Farewell" as her son caught her in his arms, and with her eyes fixed on him, after one strong convulsive struggle, she expired.

Mrs. Lewellin had generally attended the village church in the morning of the Sabbath, and in the evening she usually heard an excellent minister of Christ who preached in a Dissenting chapel, and when reproached for her liberality by the more bigoted, she used to say, "I have no objection to go where I can hold communion with the Saviour." Adjoining the chapel there was a burying-ground, to which she had long been accustomed to resort, as favourable to meditation, and on returning from an evening walk with the pious rector, we passed near it, and were induced to visit the spot which she had selected as the place of her burial; it was overshadowed by a large oak tree, and partially inclosed with some evergreens, which she had transplanted from her own garden.

Upon the day appointed for her burial almost every inhabitant of the village attended, to pay the tribute of respect to her memory. The corpse was taken into the chapel, and after the minister had read the 15th chapter of 1st Corinthians, and delivered a very simple impressive address, and offered up a solemn prayer to "the God of the spirits of all flesh," it was interred amidst the sighs and tears of a large concourse of spectators. Some were attired in full mourning, many were in half mourning, but the majority had merely put on their Sabbath dress, being too poor to purchase clothes for the occasion. There was one female of the group, about the age of thirty, with an infant in her arms, whose appearance and manners indicated the most poignant grief. During the time the minister was conducting the service, the tear fell silently on her cheek, but when the body was lowered into the grave she wept no more, but appeared convulsed, and then advanced to the brink of the grave, and after looking with intense eagerness for some seconds, she exclaimed, "Lover and friend hast thou taken from me," and fell senseless on the ground. On inquiry, I found that she was the widow of a poor woodman, who was killed by the falling of a tree, and who was left with three children, and had another born three months after his father's decease. She lived about a quarter of a mile from the cottage, and as Mrs. Lewellin used to pass by her residence when taking her morning walks, she often called to see her. On one occasion (the poor woman told me the next day), after giving her weekly donation, she gave her a tract, and requested her to read it. "I did read it," said the weeping widow, "but I could not understand it. When she called the next time she asked me if I had read it, and when I told her I could not understand it, she said, 'Read it again, but before you read it the second time, pray to God for wisdom to enable you to understand it. He can give it, and he will give it if you ask him.' I did so. The Lord has answered my prayer, and made me, I trust, wise unto salvation. But he has taken from me my guide, my counsellor, and my friend. The death of my husband, which threw me on the charity of the parish, and deprived my dear babes of a father, was a great trial, but it did not pierce my heart like this. I sometimes think my heart will break, then I go and pray to the Lord for submission to his holy will, and I find myself better; but it will be a long time indeed before I shall be able to get over it."

I mentioned this incident at the rectory, and then learned that the poor widow was a regular attendant at the church, and was considered decidedly pious. Mrs. Stevens, having ascertained the amount of her departed sister's weekly donation, engaged the rector to become her almoner, and the usual payment was continued. Mr. Lewellin was so affected by this testimony to the memory of his mother, that he increased the sum; and before he left Stanmoor he called to see the bereaved sufferer, and gave her several articles of furniture, which once adorned the lonely cottage of her whose remains we had committed to the tomb.

The evening before our departure, I retraced the steps I had trodden on my former visit to this village; and fixing on the same hour for my ramble into the vale, I anticipated another interview with the pious shepherd. As I walked on I heard the bleating of the sheep, and saw them at a distance ascending the steep path which led up to their fold in a neighbouring field. I heard also the barking of the dog; and soon afterwards the shepherd made his appearance, but I knew him not.

"Is the old man dead," I asked, "who kept his flock here about six years ago?"

"Yes, Sir; he died about Christmas."

"Did you know him?"

"He was my father; and a better father never lived."

"He was a religious man; was he not?"

"Yes, Sir; and he died in the faith of Christ."

"I hope you are following in his steps."

"It is, Sir, my wish and my prayer to be a follower of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises."

On the Sabbath morning after our return to Fairmount, the Rev. Mr. Ingleby preached from Acts xxi. 16, "An old disciple." We were much pleased with his sermon, particularly with the following passage: "When we see an old disciple moving amidst the activities and amenities of life, we see a living monument of the faithfulness and loving-kindness of God; and when we follow him to his grave, though we may sorrow over his departure from amongst us, yet our sorrow is not to be without hope; he still lives, and lives in a new form, amidst new scenes of beauty and of grandeur, and with new associates; he is with Christ, assimilated to his likeness, beholding his glory, and enjoying sweetest intercourse with him. His gain by his death, should reconcile us to our loss."

"The loss of my dear sister," said Mrs. Stevens, "is the most afflictive trial I have ever been called to endure. Memory carries me back to the days of childhood, to the riper years of age, and to the associations with which my dear departed sister is inseparably entwined. But the pleasing charm soon vanishes, for she is gone."

"But, my dear," replied Mr. Stevens, "though this affliction be grievous, yet you might have been visited by one much more severe."

"Yes, I know it. I might have lost you. That would have been a more overwhelming one. I wish to be resigned—it is my constant prayer—and I hope that I do not cherish any murmuring disposition, but I cannot help feeling; yet I fear lest I should indulge my mourning to an excess."

"Excess of grief, my dear, is to be guarded against, as it unhinges the mind, induces a melancholy cast of temper, and dispossesses comforts which are still preserved, of their power to interest and delight. Mourn you may, but you must not mourn as one 'who has no hope.' For hope, even the sweetest hope that can lodge in the human heart, is yours. Death has merely separated you for a season, he has not destroyed your union. You now live apart, but no impassable gulf lies between you—only a narrow grave. Let your mourning, therefore, be moderate and submissive."

"Yes," Mrs. Stevens replied, as her countenance began to assume its former cheerfulness, which had vanished from the moment the first intelligence of her sister's illness was received, "my sister lives—she lives a purer and a happier life than I ever expect to live, till I cease to breathe this vital air—she now sees the King in his beauty—she now unites with all the redeemed in singing, 'Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood.' She is, and ever will be with the Lord. These words comfort me."

"Then let me hear the words which comfort you," said Mr. Lewellin, who caught this latter sentence as he entered the parlour, "as they may serve to comfort me. My heart never throbbed as it has done since I lost my mother—a loss I have been anticipating for years, but I now find that it is more desolating than I ever anticipated."

"It is an event," said Mr. Stevens, "which has brought along with it many alleviating circumstances. She died in peace. No dubious uncertainty distracted her, no dread forebodings appalled her, no torturing anxieties for those she loved agitated her breast. Hers was an enviable death."

"Yes," said Mr. Lewellin, "her sun did not go down till the evening; and even then it was light. She told me that for several days before her last illness she suffered great mental perplexity and horror, that she not only doubted her personal piety, but the truth of revelation. She was driven almost to a state of despair; and on the Sabbath morning, when she left her cottage for the house of prayer, she resolved not to receive the memorials of the Saviour's death. The text from which the Rev. Mr. Bates preached, was taken from Judges viii. 4, 'Faint, yet pursuing.' There was one paragraph in the sermon which gave her sweet relief. It was to this effect: 'The most favoured servants of the Lord are liable to momentary seasons of suspicion and depression; and some have been left for days, and some for months, not only without consolation, but even without hope. But shall we say that as soon as they lose their enjoyments they make a shipwreck of their faith? Shall we say that the design of God—the practical efficacy of the atonement—the continual indwelling of the Holy Spirit—depend on the ever fluctuating and ever varying temperament and feelings of the mind, which is sometimes so perplexed and distracted by unknown causes, as to be incapable of believing its own faith, or deriving felicity from its own sources of blessedness? Oh! no. There are periods in the mysterious life of an heir of salvation when he is left without comfort, if not without hope, and then comes on the hour and the power of darkness; but this singular dispensation does not disinherit him, or leave him an orphan, in a state of privation and abandonment; neither does it destroy the vitality of his religious principles, but it is intended to let him feel a portion of that misery which he deserves, but from which he is delivered through the blood of the Lamb.'"

"Had my sister left us under this mental gloom, I should have had no doubt," said Mrs. Stevens, "of her present happiness; but it would have been an additional cause of grief."

"Sometimes," I observed, "it pleases God to leave his most eminent servants without any strong consolation in their last hours; and sometimes he elevates them to a participation of the felicity of heaven, before he permits them to enter. Hence there is no undeviating uniformity in his procedure; but yet he keeps our practical good in view by all the dispensations of his will. When I see a holy man overwhelmed with sorrow on the eve of his departure, I am convinced there is no absolute, no meritorious connection between an exemplary life and a triumphant death. This conviction, coming through such a medium, destroys all self-complacency, and impels me to place all my dependence for salvation on Jesus Christ. But when I see a sinner of like passions and infirmities with myself—one who has wept over defects and transgressions similar to my own—rising above fear, eagerly and yet submissively anticipating his own dissolution, giving utterance to thoughts and feelings more nearly allied to the glory and purity of the heavenly state than to the dark obscurity of the present, I feel a degree of gratitude to the Saviour for making manifest life and immortality, which, for its full expression, I must wait till I see him as he is, and am made like unto him."

"The death of our friends," said Mr. Stevens, "is always an afflictive event, but it is sometimes a salutary one. It reminds us of our mortality, and brings before our imagination the unseen realities of an eternal world. It teaches us what shadows we are, and what shadows we are pursuing:—

"To repine," I observed, "under any of the dispensations of Providence, would be to display a temper which no Christian should cherish; but to repine at the grave of a pious friend, discovers not only a spirit of hostility to the Divine will, but an unsubdued selfishness, which would deprive another of happiness, merely to augment our own."

"Resignation is our duty, and this brings with it its own reward; yet it is a disposition which does not spring up spontaneously in the heart. It is one of those good gifts which cometh from above; but, like every other disposition which claims the same origin, it must be exercised before it can become perfect; and when perfected, or when approaching near perfection, it can rejoice in tribulations also."

INTEMPERATE ZEAL.

Their arrival at their brother's mansion had been expected for several days, and every preparation was made to render their visit pleasant and profitable. At length they came; and though the Rev. Mr. Roscoe was a reformed man, yet he discovered no signs of being a spiritual one. He was become more moral in his habits, but less tolerant in spirit; and soon convinced his brother and his niece that "the things which are seen and temporal" had a more powerful ascendency over him than those "which are unseen and eternal." He declined the invitation of the Rev. Mr. Cole, to preach on the following Sabbath, as he was too much fatigued by his journey to do duty; but consented to accompany the family to church. It was a beautiful morning, still and serene; no sound was heard but the melody of the birds, and the "church-going bell." Mr. Cole read the Liturgy in his usual heavy, monotonous tone, which was no less offensive to the ear, than a certain air of carelessness which hung over his manner was repulsive of devotional feeling. He announced his text in an elevated pitch of voice, which immediately arrested the attention of his congregation. "The subject," he remarked, "which I shall submit to you this morning, is taken from the tenth chapter of St. Paul the apostle's Epistle to the Romans, and the second verse:—'For I bear them record that they have a zeal of God, but not according to knowledge.'"

He began by declaiming against the spirit and the conduct of the ancient Pharisees, who were, he asserted, the troublers of the church in a former age; and then expressed his deep regret that the sect was not yet become extinct, but was even at this moment augmenting its numbers, and threatening, by its untempered zeal, and its invincible ignorance, to tarnish the lustre and destroy the foundation of the church which is fostering them in her bosom. "If," said he, "we run a comparison between the modern Calvinists, who unhappily stand connected with our venerable Establishment—the admiration and envy of the world—and the ancient Pharisees, we shall find that they bear a close resemblance to each other; and though a good man will pause before he gathers on his lips the denunciations of inspired writ, yet a high sense of duty compels me to say that the woes which our Saviour uttered against the latter, stand directly pointed against the former. The ancient Pharisees set aside the weightier matters of the law to attend to the ceremonials of religion; they prescribed no bounds to their proselyting spirit, for they would encompass sea and land to gain even one proselyte; and when they had gained him, our Saviour says that they made him twofold more a child of hell than themselves, though they made bolder and higher pretensions to religion than any other sect. And who, when looking at this picture of the ancient Pharisees, does not recognize the portrait of our modern Calvinists?—'For I bear them record that they have a zeal of God, but not according to knowledge.' But the modern Calvinists conduct themselves with less reverence for the authority of our church, than the Pharisees discovered for the authority of theirs; for they will dare to reject some of our established doctrines, and explain away the import of some of our long-settled rites and sacraments."

He then went on to prove, by quotations from the fathers and the Book of Common Prayer, that baptismal regeneration is the only regeneration which is necessary or possible; and positively asserted that the conversion of persons who are already members of the apostolic Church of England, is a mere fiction of modern fanaticism.

"These Calvinistic clergy," he added, "declaim against good works, and exalt a dogmatic belief in certain crude opinions, as the only necessary condition on which sinners can obtain the forgiveness of Almighty God." Then he attempted to prove that the people must necessarily become corrupt, among whom salvation is proclaimed, without requiring, on their part, good works as the essential condition of its bestowment.

"Look, my hearers," he exclaimed, "on the destructive tendency of their style of preaching. As soon as the officiating priest opens his lips and gives utterance to his sentiments, there is an instantaneous commotion in his congregation. Those who lived in peace are split into divisions, and the family or the village which held the unity of the faith, as propounded by our pure apostolic church, suddenly becomes the arena of religious disputations and wrangling, and the temple of peace and unity becomes a Babel of confusion and discord.

"Indeed, in some instances, children will rise up in rebellion against the authority of their parents, till the parents, wearied by their obstinacy, or subdued by their importunity, imbibe the same fatal opinions, that they may regain their domestic peace.

"These priests are zealous, and they pretend that they have a zeal of God; but it is the fire and the smoke, whose effect is to darken and to desolate, rather than that clear and radiant light which warms while it illumines, and gives a verdant bloom to every springing blade and opening bud, while it directs the passenger onwards on his journey. In a word, the labours of these men, wherever they are successful (and such is the fatality attending them that they are always successful), tend to give a retrograde movement to our social habits and enjoyments, and to carry us back to the gloomy times of the Commonwealth, when the Puritanical devotee was seen weeping between the porch and the altar, but never indulging himself in the innocent recreations of life.

"In fine, I feel myself compelled once more to warn you against their doctrines, as contrary to the doctrines of our incomparable prayer-book; to warn you against associating with them, or hearing them preach, as you may be entangled by their sophistry before you are aware, and while you will deplore, in common with myself and others, their existence within the pale of our pure apostolic church, you will endeavour, by your influence and your example, to check the progress of the moral contagion which they have introduced among us. That the common people, who know not the Scriptures, and who despise the authority of their authorized teachers, should embrace the Calvinistic doctrines, is not surprising, because they give them a complete indemnity against every species of crime, but that any of the well-educated and intelligent members of society—any who have not sacrificed their virtue nor lost their taste—should feel a predilection for them, is one of those moral mysteries which can be accounted for only from one of two causes—a partial derangement of intellect, or the magic charm of enthusiasm.

"To conclude: Are they zealous in propagating their doctrines? be you zealous in opposing them; are they zealous in gaining proselytes? be you zealous in reclaiming them; are they zealous in putting an end to all the innocent enjoyments of social life? do you display a superior degree of zeal in preventing such a fatal evil, that we may enjoy life as we have been accustomed to enjoy it in our social circles, and thus prove to a sceptical and a fanatical age, that we can be religious without being melancholy or morose, and fit ourselves for the happiness of a future world without sacrificing the pleasures of the present."

When the service was concluded, the Roscoes walked home together, but no one made any reference to the sermon, as all felt convinced that it was directed against Mr. Roscoe, who appeared, during the whole of the afternoon, unusually reserved. This reserve was regarded by some of the family as a decisive evidence that the sermon had produced its intended effect; and the polite and friendly manner in which he received the Rev. Mr. Cole, who called in the evening, seemed to confirm this opinion. Next morning, as they sat at breakfast, the Rev. Mr. Roscoe said that he had anticipated great pleasure from his visit, but, he added, "I certainly did not anticipate the feast of delight which I enjoyed yesterday. Mr. Cole surpassed himself. I think he gave us a correct portraiture of modern Calvinism. O, it is a gloomy system of religion! just suited for fanatics or enthusiasts. Don't you think Mr. Cole a very clever and a very intelligent man?"

"Yes," replied Mr. Roscoe, "I think him clever and intelligent, and a man of rather extensive reading. We have often passed many pleasant evenings together in discussing literary and scientific questions, and I have uniformly admired his dexterity in reasoning, and the aptness of his illustrations; but, in my opinion, something more than learning and intelligence is necessary to enable a person to understand the scheme of salvation which is contained in the Scriptures."

"But I presume you do not intend, like our modern fanatics, to depreciate learning and intelligence?"

"No; I think a Christian minister cannot be too learned nor too intelligent, but learned men do not always understand the things of the Spirit of God, and some of the most intelligent have been known to imbibe the most erroneous opinions. This, I suppose, you will not deny; does it not then necessarily follow that something more than learning and intelligence is requisite to enable a person to understand the Scriptures?"

"O! I see you have imbibed one of the notions of our modern fanatics. And is it possible that you can give up your understanding to the dominion of fanaticism, which avows sentiments not less derogatory to the dignity of man, than its unintelligible jargon is offensive to pure taste? They say that no one can understand the gospel unless he is taught by the Spirit of God. They think we must be inspired to enable us to understand the Scriptures, which were given by Divine inspiration, and which are able of themselves to make us wise unto salvation."

"You have made several allusions to modern fanatics, and, from your mode of expression, I conclude that you hold them in contempt."

"In sovereign contempt. They are the troublers of the church, and I wish it were in my power to expel them."

"But if you were to expel all from the church who believe in the necessity of a Divine illumination to enable us to understand the Scriptures, you would retain none but those who disbelieve her doctrines. In the homily on reading the Holy Scriptures you will find the following passage: 'And in reading of God's Word he not always most profiteth that is most ready in the turning of the book, or in saying of it without the book, but he that is most turned into it, that is, the most inspired with the Holy Ghost.' And is there not, through the whole of the public service of our church, a constant reference to the Holy Spirit as the agent by whom the ignorant are instructed, the impure cleansed, and the morally wretched consoled and made happy? Read the collect for Whitsunday: 'God, who as at this time didst teach the hearts of thy faithful people by the sending to them the light of thy Holy Spirit, grant us, by the same Spirit, to have a right judgment in all things, and evermore to rejoice in his holy comfort, through the merits of Christ Jesus our Saviour.' And if you turn to the service which was read when you entered into priest's orders, you will find the following verse, which breathes a language no less fervent than scriptural:—

Can language more clearly or more forcibly express the necessity of a Divine influence to aid us to understand the meaning of the Word of God? And ought those to be stigmatized as fanatics, and expelled from the church, who actually believe their own recorded faith? That would be an act of injustice no less flagrant than if a ruler were to banish the faithful and loyal subject, while the convicted traitor is permitted to enjoy the protection of the law and the emoluments of office."

"But you will admit that there are fanatics in the church, who hold some strange opinions, which do essential injury to society?"

"I admit that there are men who are called fanatics by those who do not understand the doctrines of their own church. I once regarded every zealous, and spiritual, and useful clergyman as a fanatic; but, like others, I affixed no definite meaning to the epithet which I employed. I found the word already coined, and I used it; but I have since discovered its spurious qualities, and, as far as my influence extends, I will prevent its circulation. We ought not to stigmatize those who differ from us. If we think them wrong, we ought to try to reclaim them, but in doing so we should make no sacrifice of the spirit of the Christian, or the courtesy of the gentleman."

"Then I presume you did not approve of the sermon which you heard yesterday?"

"I did not approve of the temper which Mr. Cole displayed. The pulpit is a sacred place, and he who occupies it should always bear a near resemblance in spirit, if he cannot in manner, to the Prince of Peace. The weapons of the Christian minister never do any execution except they are spiritual, and then they become mighty, through God, to the pulling down of the strongholds of error, and destroying the barriers which prejudice has raised against the reception of the truth, and then the mind willingly submits to its authority."

"I must confess that he was rather severe, perhaps too much so for the sanctity of the pulpit; but the severity of his spirit did not weaken the force of his arguments."

"But a bad spirit will often induce a wavering hearer to suspect that the arguments are defective. An affectionate manner insinuates itself into the heart, renders it soft and pliable, and disposes it to imbibe the sentiments and follow the impulse of the speaker. Whoever has attended to the effect of addresses from the pulpit, must have perceived how much of their impression depends upon this quality. But, instead of being cool and dispassionate in his reasoning, and leading on the congregation from one stage of conviction to another, by a regular process of proof, treating his erring opponent as a fond parent treats a disobedient child, with affection, even while a paramount regard for his welfare urges to correction, Mr. Cole advanced with impetuosity into the heat of the debate, dogmatized when he ought to have argued, instituted invidious comparisons when he ought to have made an effort to conciliate prejudices, denounced when he ought to have entreated, and certainly left an impression on my mind that the display I witnessed yesterday had little of the loving temper of pure Christianity."

"But," said Mrs. Roscoe, "I really thought, from the friendly manner in which you received Mr. Cole last evening, that his discourse in the morning had given you as much pleasure as it gave us. Indeed, I do not think that his spirit was bad; he spoke certainly with more warmth than usual, but then he was anxious to convince you, I have no doubt, of the errors which you have recently imbibed, and to warn you of their dangerous tendency."

"If Mr. Cole displayed an antichristian temper in the pulpit, that is no reason why I should behave unlike a gentleman in the parlour. I shall always be glad to see him, and will treat him with the respect which is due to his character and his office. If he thinks I have imbibed any erroneous opinions, I shall have no objection to give him an opportunity of correcting them; but if he calculated on disturbing my belief in the doctrines of the Scriptures and of our church, which I have recently embraced, he, by his mode of attack yesterday, supplied a fresh proof of the adage, that intolerance defeats its own purpose, as I am, if possible, more deeply convinced of their truth and importance than I was before I heard his sermon."

"I had heard," said Mrs. John Roscoe, "a great deal about Mr. Cole before I left home, of his learning, and of his eloquence, and I went to church yesterday with very high expectations; but I was sadly disappointed. I listened to his sermon with great attention, but I did not like either the sentiments, or the spirit, or the design of the sermon. He was, when in the pulpit, more like a gladiator aiming a deadly thrust at some living opponent, than a minister of Jesus Christ preaching the truth in love. It certainly, but no thanks to him, has put some new thoughts into my heart, which I feel to be weighty and important, but which at present exist there in a very wild and incoherent state."

"I am happy to hear you say so, dear aunt," said Miss Roscoe, "as the incipient thoughts of a spirit, on entering and passing through the great renovating process of Divine grace, are usually wild and incoherent; but, in a short time, they are always reduced to obvious and intelligible order."

"I don't quite understand you, my dear."

"But you will soon, dear aunt. The roll of Divine truth opens gradually, and what at first is obscure and indistinct, becomes, in the progressive unfolding, clear, intelligible, and perceptibly harmonious; and then the comprehension of the wondrous scheme of human redemption and salvation, against which we had yesterday morning such a tirade of misrepresentation and abuse, is an easy, and, I may add, a necessary action of the mind. The prophet Hosea, speaking under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, says to the now thinking inquirer, 'Then shall you know, if you follow on to know the Lord.'"

BAPTISMAL REGENERATION A FICTION.

The priests of the Romish Church lay claim to infallibility; but this extraordinary endowment is withheld from the laity, who are commanded to receive, most implicitly, everything which they advance, however repugnant to reason, or contrary to the Scriptures. But this prostration of the understanding before the majesty of the priesthood, and this tame submission to all the doctrines and precepts which they may enforce, is an act which no intelligent Protestant can perform.

If, then, we refuse to surrender the government of our reason to the absolute authority of the ministers of one church, which arrogates to itself the attribute of infallibility, shall we do it to those of another, which makes no such lofty pretensions? We ought unquestionably to hold in high estimation those who administer to us the word of life; but as they are men encompassed with infirmities, often differing from each other on the most essential articles of the Christian faith, and liable to err in common with ourselves, it is no less our duty than our privilege to compare what they advance from the pulpit or from the press with the testimony of the Bible. Did not Jesus Christ urge his hearers to search the Scriptures? and when the apostle Paul wrote to the church at Corinth, he employed these words:—"I speak as to wise men; judge ye what I say."

There is too much reason to fear, that while we boast of our freedom from the spiritual dominion under which our forefathers groaned before the Reformation, we are getting back into a state of bondage, by voluntarily and pertinaciously adhering to ancient opinions on religious subjects without investigating them; and hence, so few among us are capable of distinguishing truth from error. Indeed, so unpopular is the calm investigation of religious truth become among a certain class of Christians, that it is deprecated as one of the early symptoms of fanaticism. They will go to church, utter their solemn responses, and listen to the sermon; but to compare the sentiments of the sermon with the language of the Scripture, to see if there be a strict accordance between what they hear and what they read, or ought to read, is a practice which many would condemn, and which comparatively few will adopt. Is it then surprising that we meet with so many who are as ignorant of the Scriptures and of the articles of their own church as they are of the Koran of Mahomet or the Shasters of the Hindoos? Nor is this charge directed exclusively against the lower orders of society, for it is equally applicable to those who occupy high places in the intellectual, social, and literary world.

In the evening, as the ladies of the family were attending to their needle-work, the Rev. Mr. Roscoe made an allusion to the sermon which Mr. Cole delivered on the preceding Sabbath, and said, that though the spirit which he displayed might be objected to, and some of his arguments might be deemed inconclusive, yet he decidedly agreed with him on the subject of baptismal regeneration. He went on to say—"I know that the evangelical clergy maintain that every person, even the most moral and virtuous, must undergo an internal change before they can be fitted for the kingdom of heaven; but, as Mr. Cole very judiciously observed, this is one of the wild notions which spring out of the luxuriance of an enthusiastic imagination, rather than out of the soil of a matured judgment."

Mr. Roscoe.—"But do you not believe in the necessity of regeneration?"

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Yes, but I believe that no other than baptismal regeneration is either necessary, or even possible in this world. We are born[12] anew in baptism, and in baptism exclusively. As you are fond of appealing to the authority of our church on the disputable points of religion, you will allow me the same privilege. When the child is baptized, the priest is taught to say, 'Seeing now, dearly beloved brethren, that this child is regenerate, and grafted into the body of Christ's church, let us give thanks to Almighty God for these benefits, and with one accord make our prayers unto him, that this child may lead the rest of his life according to this beginning.' Then follows this solemn form of thanksgiving and prayer, which the priest is required to offer to Almighty God: 'We yield Thee hearty thanks, most merciful Father, that it hath pleased Thee to regenerate this infant with thy Holy Spirit, to receive him for thine own child by adoption, and to incorporate him into thy holy church; and humbly we beseech Thee to grant that he, being dead unto sin, and living unto righteousness, and being buried with Christ in his death, may crucify the old man, and utterly abolish the whole body of sin; and that as he is made partaker of the death of thy Son, he may also be partaker of his resurrection: so that finally, with the residue of the holy church, he may be an inheritor of thine everlasting kingdom, through Christ Jesus our Lord.' And does not the catechism of our church teach the child to say, in answer to the question, 'Who gave you this name?' 'My godfathers and godmothers in my baptism, wherein I was made a member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven?' What language can more plainly or unequivocally prove that baptism is regeneration; and that the child who is thus regenerated by baptism is made a partaker of the death of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven? And as regeneration can take place only once, and does take place in baptism, those who imbibe the modern notions on this subject are convicted of error by the authority of the church to whose decision they so often appeal."

Mr. Roscoe.—"I grant that the popular construction of the passages which you have quoted supports your opinion, and if a similar phraseology of speech were employed by the writers of the New Testament, I should not hesitate to agree with you; but I do not find such language in any part of the New Testament. I think that the Liturgy and Articles are to be brought to the test of the Scriptures, and not the Scriptures to that of the Liturgy. The latter, though the first of human compositions, is nevertheless of human authority; the former is given by the inspiration of God."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"I admit that the Liturgy and the Articles of our church are human compositions, and that they possess no weight of authority unless they are in strict accordance with holy writ: but do not the sacred writers in the most positive terms assert that baptism is regeneration? Is not the following passage conclusive: 'But after that the kindness and love of God our Saviour toward man appeared, not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy he saved us, by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost; which he shed on us abundantly through Jesus Christ our Saviour; that being justified by his grace, we should be made heirs according to the hope of eternal life'" (Titus iii. 4-7).

Mr. Roscoe.—"This passage most certainly associates baptism and regeneration together; but it does not say that we are regenerated by baptism. The washing of regeneration, or baptism, is the mere external sign of that moral purity which is the effect of the renewing of the Holy Ghost. And that this is the meaning of the passage, I appeal to your good sense; for, if we are regenerated by baptism, where is the necessity of the renewing of the Holy Ghost?"

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"I do not mean that baptism itself regenerates us, but that the Holy Spirit regenerates us when we are receiving the sacrament."

Mr. Roscoe.—"Simon Magus was one of the first converts to Christianity; he was baptized by Philip, but he was not regenerated by the Holy Spirit. He had been baptized, but he still remained unholy, and 'in the gall of bitterness, and in the bond of iniquity.' This simple fact proves that baptism is not regeneration, unless you are prepared to admit that a regenerate person may be 'in the gall of bitterness, and bond of iniquity;' and if so, what spiritual advantage does he derive from his regeneration? If by baptism Simon Magus was made a child of God, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven, it is evident that he required some moral change after this, as we are expressly informed that his heart was not right in the sight of God, and that he had no part nor lot in any of the gifts of the Holy Spirit."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"I candidly confess that this case of Simon Magus seems to militate against the doctrine of baptismal regeneration; or, at any rate, it clogs it with difficulties which are not easily overcome."

Mrs. John Roscoe.—"So I think, and so I should imagine every person of common sense would think. In my opinion, it settles the question."

Mr. Roscoe.—"But there are other difficulties which press upon the doctrine, which seem to me insuperable. If baptismal regeneration be the only regeneration possible in this world, and no one can enter into the kingdom of heaven except he be regenerated by water, what will become of those children who die unbaptized? Shall we consign all the offspring of the Friends and of the Baptists to a state of future misery, and nearly all the children of Scotland, and of those of our own church, who die before the ceremony can be performed; shall we plunge them, in fact, into hell, with the devil and his angels, when we know they have committed no actual sin? What is this but representing the mothers of earth bringing forth children to people the infernal regions. Most horrible! Indeed, rather than embrace a doctrine that entails after it such fearful consequences, I could consent to close my Bible, as a revelation of wrath rather than of mercy."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"But I do not see that this consequence necessarily follows; because Almighty God may of his goodness take these children to heaven, though they may not have been baptized."

Mr. Roscoe.—"What! if baptism be regeneration. Are not children conceived in sin, and shapen in iniquity? Do they not partake of our impurity, and can we suppose that they will carry a depraved nature with them into heaven? If so, evil abounds there no less than here; and all the anticipations which we indulge of attaining a state of unsullied purity and bliss after the close of life, must be regarded as the illusions of the fancy:—No, their moral nature must be changed; and if they are not baptized, it must be changed by the renewing of the Holy Spirit, without the external ceremony, which proves that regeneration is essentially different and distinct from baptism. I will give you a quotation from the pen of an elegant writer, which will, I think, decide the question:—'But that baptism is not regeneration, is placed beyond all reasonable debate by the following declarations of St. Paul: "I thank God that I baptized none of you but Crispus and Gaius. For Christ sent me not to baptize, but to preach the gospel: not with wisdom of words, lest the cross of Christ should be made of none effect" (1 Cor. i. 14, 17). Nothing is more certain than that, if baptism insures or proves regeneration, Paul, who so ardently desired the salvation of mankind, and wished to become, as extensively as possible, the instrument of their salvation, could not thank God that he baptized none of the Corinthians but Gaius, Crispus, and the household of Stephanus. To him it would comparatively have been a matter of indifference whether they accused him of baptizing in his own name or not. Of what consequence could the clamour, the disputes, or the divisions be, which might arise about this subject, compared, on the one hand, with the salvation, and on the other with the perdition of the Corinthians? Instead of thanking God in this manner, he would have baptized every Corinthian who would have permitted him; and, like a Romish missionary, have compelled crowds and hosts to the streams and to the rivers in the neighbourhood, that they might receive the ordinance at his hands. With still less propriety could he say, if baptism were the means of regeneration, especially if it insured or proved it, that Christ sent him not to baptize, but to preach the gospel. Christ, as He himself hath told us, sent St. Paul to the Gentiles and to the Corinthians, as well as other Gentiles, to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God. In other words, Christ sent St. Paul to the Gentiles to accomplish their regeneration. But if baptism be the means of regeneration, or be accompanied by it, then Christ actually sent him to baptize, in direct contradiction to the passage just now quoted. From both these passages it is evident that baptism neither insures nor proves regeneration, unless we believe that the gratitude of the most zealous apostle rose in intensity in proportion as he failed in accomplishing the design of his mission.'"

Mrs. John Roscoe (addressing her husband).—"I think you must now give up the point; for who can fairly stand against such plain and powerful arguments?"

Mr. Roscoe.—"But the doctrine is no less dangerous than anti-scriptural; and when we reflect on the tendency which the human mind discovers to derive consolation from any source of relief, however vague or imaginary, we cannot evince too much ardour in exploding the fatal delusion. In this country there are multitudes of baptized persons who discover, at no period of their life, any other proofs that they have been regenerated than what the parish register supplies. If these persons, who have grown up in a state of ignorance of Christianity, corrupt in morals and in manners, are told by their clergyman that when they were baptized they were made inheritors of the kingdom of heaven, will they not easily lull the disquietude of their consciences to sleep, and flatter themselves with the hope of final salvation, even while they continue the servants, if not the slaves of sin? Will they, if warned to flee from the wrath to come, apprehend any danger, seeing they are taught to believe that they are already the children of God? O fatal delusion! a delusion no less dangerous to the morals than it is to the final happiness of man, because it leads him to ascribe the origin of his religious character to a ceremonial act performed on him at a period when he knew it not, rather than to his repentance towards God and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; and teaches him that he may become a glorified spirit in another world, even though he lives and he is a sceptic or a blasphemer. Thus a little cold water taken from a font, and falling from the holy hands of a regularly ordained priest, imparts such a mysterious sanctity to the subject whom it touches, as to render any moral or spiritual meetness for the inheritance of the saints in light quite unnecessary. How wonderful!"

It was amusing to watch the movements of Mrs. John Roscoe during these discussions, and gratifying to hear her occasional observations. She would sit sometimes as patient as a judge when listening to the evidence on some grave charge against a prisoner at the bar, and at other times she was as restless and fidgety as a juryman anxious to deliver the verdict, that he might get home to his dinner as quickly as possible. In general, she held a very tight rein over her excursive spirit, out of respect to the two principal disputants; but occasionally it would drop from her grasp, and then she was off at a tangent.

"I think," said she, "a man's bump of credulity must be larger than his head who would tell me, with decorous gravity, that he really has faith to believe such an ecclesiastical dogma."

This remark somewhat disconcerted, though it did not displease her husband, who rather liked to see her display her cleverness, but he soon recovered himself, and addressing his brother, he said:—

"But these are the consequences which you deduce from the doctrine, rather than consequences which necessarily follow from its admission. When the child is baptized we pray that he may lead the rest of his life according to this beginning; which presupposes the possibility that he may not. If he do not, he forfeits his baptismal rights, and relapses into a state of condemnation and guilt."

Mr. Roscoe.—"Then I presume that, by his relapse into a state of condemnation and guilt, he places himself in a moral condition similar to the condition in which he would have stood if he had never been baptized?"

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Exactly so."

Mr. Roscoe.—"As a state of guilt and condemnation implies, on the part of man, depravity and alienation from God, must he not undergo some moral change in his disposition, his principles, and his taste, before he can loathe himself on account of his impurities, or be fitted to dwell in the immediate presence of a holy God; as we read that 'without holiness no man shall see the Lord?'"

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Certainly; he must be made good and virtuous before he can be admitted into heaven."

Mr. Roscoe.—"But if he were regenerated when he was baptized, and there is no other regeneration possible in this world, you see the dilemma in which you place a man who by transgression forfeits his baptismal rights."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"What dilemma?"

Mr. Roscoe.—"Why, in despair. You say he needs a moral change to fit him for heaven; but as that change cannot be produced without baptism—and he has undergone the ceremony, which cannot be repeated—you place him under the ban of reprobation, unless you adopt the only alternative which remains for you, that of admitting him to heaven in his depraved state. Mr. Cole, in his sermon, was very severe on the evangelical clergy for two things; he asserted that, by their awful strain of preaching, they generally destroy the peace of society; and by holding out the hope of salvation to the most guilty, they destroy its virtue. These were certainly heavy charges; but do you not perceive that they are charges which may be brought with strict logical accuracy against the advocates of baptismal regeneration? For, if they follow out their doctrine to its legitimate consequences, they are compelled either to admit a man into heaven in an unregenerated state, who by a relapse into sin forfeits his baptismal rights, or, after his forfeiture, to tell him that he cannot be regenerated, by which he is systematically and inevitably consigned over to despair."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Well, I confess that the doctrine appears involved in more oppressive difficulties than I ever conceived; and yet, from the quotations which Mr. Cole gave us on Sunday from the Fathers, it appears to have been a doctrine which was received into the church very early and very generally."

Mr. Roscoe.—"Yes, to quote the language of an eloquent writer, 'it is well known that, from a very early period, the most extravagant notions prevailed in the church with respect to the efficacy of baptism, and its absolute necessity in order to attain salvation. The descent of the human mind from the spirit to the letter—from what is vital and intellectual to what is ritual and external in religion—is the true source of idolatry and superstition in all the multifarious forms they have assumed; and as it began early to corrupt the patriarchal religion, so it soon obscured the lustre and destroyed the simplicity of the Christian institute. In proportion as genuine devotion declined, the love of pomp and ceremony increased; the few and simple rites of Christianity were extolled beyond all reasonable bounds; new ones were invented, to which mysterious meanings were attached, till the religion of the New Testament became, in process of time, as insupportable a yoke as the Mosaic law. The first effects of this spirit are discernible in the ideas entertained of the ordinance of baptism. From an erroneous interpretation of the figurative language of a few passages in Scripture, in which the sign is identified with the thing signified, it was universally supposed that baptism was invariably accompanied with a supernatural effect, which totally changed the state and character of the candidate, and constituted him a child of God, and an heir of the kingdom of heaven. Hence it was almost constantly denoted by the terms illumination, regeneration, and others expressive of the highest operations of the Spirit; and as it was believed to obtain the plenary remission of all past sins, it was often, in order to insure that benefit, purposely deferred to the latest period of life. Thus Eusebius informs us that the Emperor Constantine, finding his end fast approaching, judged it a fit season for purifying himself from his offences, and cleansing his soul from that guilt which, in common with other mortals, he had contracted, which he believed was to be effected by the power of mysterious words and the saving laver. "This," said he, addressing the surrounding bishops, "is the period I have so long hoped and prayed for, the period of obtaining the salvation of God." And no sooner was the rite of baptism administered, than he arrayed himself in white garments, and laid aside the imperial purple, in token of his bidding adieu to all secular concerns.' We have here a fair specimen of the sentiments which were generally adopted upon this subject in early times; but if the Articles and Liturgy of our own church are to be submitted to the test of the Scriptures, must not the opinions of the ancients pass through the same ordeal? I would therefore say of all the authorities quoted by Mr. Cole, 'To the law and to the testimony; if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them.' But you will permit me to add, that if there be such mysterious efficacy accompanying the rite of baptism, and such danger incurred by a relapse into sin after the candidate has submitted to it, I think the ancients discovered more wisdom in having it deferred till the period of their approaching dissolution, than we do in submitting to it while surrounded by all the fascinations of sense and the temptations to evil."

Mrs. John Roscoe.—"I was never a zealous advocate for baptismal regeneration, but now I repudiate it as an ecclesiastical fiction. But then comes a very grave question, What is regeneration?"

Miss Roscoe.—"Yes, aunt, one of the gravest and one of the most important questions that can engage our attention."

Mrs. John Roscoe.—"And I must have the question satisfactorily solved. Indeed, I begin to apprehend personal danger, for, though baptized, I may not be regenerated."