The beauty of the morning tempted me to seek the recreation of a solitary rural walk, and that I might not spend a useless day, I made a selection of tracts for distribution. After sauntering through many a pleasant lane and meadow, the freshness of the grass, the beauty of the wild flowers, and the warbling of the birds enlivening the scene, I came near to a mansion belonging to the Marquis of B——, and, availing myself of the privilege which he generously affords the public, I resolved to visit it. Walking leisurely up the long shady avenue, I now and then caught a glimpse of the venerable structure, and at length it came full in view. It was an irregular building, of the Elizabethan period, of considerable extent, and in excellent preservation. As I passed from room to room, examining the articles of taste and of luxury with which they were adorned, I thought within myself, how little can all this splendour do to confer true happiness! The collection of ancient armour interested me, and the portraits of the great ones of former times carried my mind back to events too intimately interwoven with our national history ever to be forgotten. Before I left the library, I deposited between the leaves of some of the books lying on the table a few tracts, which I hoped might arrest the attention of some of the members of the noble family, and having commended these silent messengers of truth to the Divine blessing, I retired, delighted with what I had seen.
I walked on some little distance, when, on making a sudden turn, I descended a winding slope, which led to the front of a neat cottage, partially concealed by the evergreens which surrounded it. An air of finished neatness and scrupulous order was everywhere visible, and its quiet simplicity formed a pleasing contrast to the magnificent mansion I had just left. The barking of a little dog, and the crowing of a cock, satisfied me that it was inhabited, though I saw neither man nor child. Discovering a tasteful seat, formed by the bended branches of an ash and hazel that grew in fellowship, I sat me down to rest myself. I did not long remain in suspense as to the character of the inhabitants, for, while indulging my fancies, I observed, at some distance, a venerable-looking man advancing towards the cottage. As he drew near, I rose and saluted him: he returned the compliment with graceful ease; and his manner at once convinced me that, though in a rustic garb, he had been accustomed to mingle in polite society. His frank and kindly manners at once relieved me from the embarrassment into which his unexpected appearance had thrown me, and it was with feelings of interest and pleasure that I accepted his invitation to step into his cottage and rest myself. The interior of this retreat was as neat as the outer decorations were beautiful; the furniture was simple and inexpensive; the only thing which particularly attracted my attention was a large painting, which, he informed me, was a favourite family-piece. While I was admiring the picture, and carefully examining the group there represented, his wife entered the room, and, after a little general conversation, she pressed me to remain and dine with them. We soon became somewhat familiar; and, throwing off reserve, conversed freely, as two old friends are wont to talk when met together after a long absence. In course of conversation, my venerable host gave me some account of his history. His life had been a chequered one, on which had fallen the lights and shadows of prosperity and adversity. I ascertained that his name was Armstrong, that he had three children—his daughter, who was married to an attorney in Bristol, and his two sons, who resided in London. He had acquired a handsome fortune by industry and frugality, and having disposed of his business, had retired to the country to spend the evening of his days in retirement. But soon the charm and novelty of the country wore away; he was not happy completely isolated from commercial life and intercourse with general society; and resolved again to return to more active pursuits. A favourable opportunity soon occurred, when he disposed of his country residence, and entered into partnership with a banking firm of reputed respectability. But, ere long, he found that he had been deceived; the concern became bankrupt, and in his old age he lost at one sweep the accumulated property of former years. The shock to himself and his wife was at first overpowering, but, when awakening from the stupor into which it had thrown them, they rejoiced that their children were in a very prosperous condition, and they had no doubt but they would prove to them comforters in the hour of their distress. In this they were not mistaken: an arrangement was soon made for the removal of their parents from the scene of their sorrow and misfortunes; the cottage which they now occupied was purchased for them, and to secure them from all anxiety respecting their future support, an annuity was settled upon them for life.
When Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong removed to the cottage, they brought with them an old domestic, who had been in their service for more than thirty years, and she, with a man-servant, made up the whole of their family. As they were strangers in the neighbourhood, and in a manner cut off from intercourse with the world, they lived quite retired, finding, in the gratification of promoting each other's happiness, more satisfaction than they had ever enjoyed in the days of their prosperity.
"Adversity," I remarked, "though dreaded when at a distance, is often met on its near approach with calmness, and not unfrequently it becomes a source of greater happiness than prosperity has ever been able to impart."
"Prosperity," said Mr. Armstrong, "possesses greater attractions than adversity, but it has a more pernicious influence on the mind. The prayer of Agur I admire for its simplicity and suitableness, seeing that wealth and extreme poverty often place our principles in danger:—'Two things have I required of thee; deny me them not before I die; remove far from me vanity and lies; give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me: lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain.'"
"There is no exercise," I observed, "which has such a salutary influence over the human heart, and over the formation of the character, as prayer; for, by associating us with the Author of all excellence, we imperceptibly imbibe a portion of his goodness; it is the hand which lays hold of his strength; and then we enjoy peace, because we feel secure amidst all apparent dangers and positive privations."
"But, Sir," said my host, "how few pray!—how few understand the nature of prayer!—how few engage in this holy exercise from choice, or derive from it that satisfaction and delight which it is calculated to impart!" Looking at me with calm earnestness, he added, "Such is the magic influence which the fleeting events of life have over us, that we remain comparatively indifferent to the realities of an eternal world, till some disaster arises to break the charm. The afflictive dispensation which deprived me of all my property, and left me dependent on my children, though severe, has proved the most beneficial occurrence of my history. It has taught me the vanity as well as the instability of all earthly possessions; it has led me to seek pure and substantial happiness in fellowship with the Father, and his Son, Jesus Christ."
He then informed me that, from his childhood, he had been a regular attendant at his parish church, and endeavoured to practise the relative virtues which he so frequently had heard inculcated. But, during the whole of this time, he had no just conception of the evil of sin, or of the degeneracy of his nature, or of the necessity of that faith in the atonement of Jesus Christ which purifies the heart. He was religious from habit, not from conviction; and he paid respect to the ceremonies of public worship because others did so, rather than from any benefit which he expected to derive from them. The cottage he now occupied was at a considerable distance from the parish church, and on his removal to it he felt quite free from the control of the opinion of others, and usually spent his Sabbaths at home. One day, however, his curiosity was excited by some rumours which reached him respecting the rector, and he resolved to go to hear him. "We all walked together," said he, "and on entering the church we were struck with the size of the congregation, and the unusual seriousness of the clergyman, who was officiating in the desk. But it was when in the pulpit that he displayed the fervid and impassioned eloquence of a holy man of God. There he exhibited the word of life with such clearness, and with such power, that we were delighted; and though he advanced some things that were new to us, and which did not exactly agree with our own opinions, yet we could not refrain from going again on the following Sabbath. Since that day we have never absented ourselves, except when illness has compelled us; and now I can adore the wisdom and the love of Him who broke up my former establishment, in which I lived a useless life, and fixed my residence in this humble retreat, where I have been brought to hear the pure gospel, which has been the means of infusing spiritual life into every member of my household."
"The ways of heaven," I remarked, "are sometimes dark and mysterious; but when their ulterior design is accomplished, the obscurity vanishes, and we are enabled to perceive marks of infinite wisdom and benevolence in the events which, at an early stage, appeared as the precursors of judgment and of woe."
"Yes, Sir, the dispensation by which I lost my property was, indeed, dark and mysterious; it involved me in the depths of trouble, and I had no resources of consolation opened to me, but the sympathy I received from my children. It did not occur to me that a gracious Providence was intending to promote my happiness by smiting the prosperity which I was enjoying. I reproached the agents of fraud, who had deceived me, and I reproached myself for being deceived. I was stung to the quick by the disgrace into which I was plunged; and when I retired to this cottage, I felt more disposed to murmur against the providence of God, than to offer the tribute of a grateful heart."
"It is the influence of religion which induces within us a disposition of mind in accordance with the sovereign will of our heavenly Father, and which teaches and inclines us to derive our purest enjoyments from the manifestations of His favour. Hence, he who possesses the religious principle in full energy, is fitted to meet any trial, however severe, and to reside in any place, however humble, because he believes that all things are working together for his good, and that there is no spot in the universe from whence the God of providence and of grace is excluded."
"In my former country residence, to which I had retired with a large fortune, I soon began to feel out of my element. The decoration of my house, and the laying out of my gardens and pleasure-grounds, kept me employed for a time, but when these were completed, I found that the inactivity of a retired country gentleman was ill suited to my active habits. I became unhappy, and was glad to leave the country to enter again into commercial pursuits. When I came here I dreaded a renewal of the experiment; and though I believed that adversity would assume and retain a powerful influence in reconciling me to my fate, I soon found that adversity alone could not induce submission to the will of heaven, nor produce contentment. The mind cannot derive support from the cause of its depression. This must come from some other source. I have found it, or rather it was given me, when and where I looked not for it. I now can say, what I never could say when in the height of my prosperity, that I am really happy and contented. I have no wish to return again to the busy world."
"Solitude," I remarked, "is most favourable to the spirit of devotion; yet there are many of the virtues of the Christian character which cannot be displayed but before the public eye—such as candour, and benevolence, and zeal; and as we are not to live to ourselves, do you not think, Sir, it is our duty to go forth and let our light shine before others?"
"Most certainly, Sir; and though we are apparently shut out from the world, and have but few of its temptations to allure, and none of its cares to distract us, yet we live quite near enough to its evils to afford us an opportunity of displaying those graces of the Christian character to which you have alluded. Our nearest neighbour is a man of wealth, and of extensive influence in the parish; but he looks down on us with contempt, because we have embraced what he calls this new religion, and he does everything in his power to irritate and mortify us. Just over yonder hill there are several cottages, which are inhabited by coal-miners, who are as ignorant and as depraved as any description of persons I have ever known; and where ignorance and vice abound there is sure to be wretchedness. Hence, though we do not occupy any prominent station in the eye of the public, we are not exempted from the privilege of attempting to do good to others, nor from the honour of suffering persecution for righteousness' sake."
"As you are now in the possession of a larger portion of happiness than you ever previously enjoyed, do you not feel a stronger attachment to life than you ever felt?"
"Yes, Sir, I do; because I now perceive that our life is given for a nobler purpose than I ever conceived before. I used to think that it was given us for the acquisition of wealth and honour, and for the gratification of the taste and feeling; but now I believe that the original design of its bestowment is that we may honour and love God, and, through the mediation of Jesus Christ, be prepared to enjoy His presence in the eternal world. But though I am more attached to life than ever, I have no objection to resign it, when it may please God to call me to do so. At my advanced age, though my health is good, and my constitution unbroken, I cannot expect to live many years; yet I feel the strong pulsation of a life over which neither the first nor the second death have any power. I should like to live on earth, if it were the will of God, till I see my dear children embrace the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ; but if I should be removed before that event takes place, I have no doubt but I shall unite with the ministering angels and the spirits of the redeemed in celebrating it in His presence."
"I am happy to hear you speak with so much confidence on such an important subject, as I have long thought that the fears which Christian parents so often and so long cherish respecting the salvation of their children, are no less dishonourable to God than destructive of their own peace. He has commanded us to use the means for the conveyance of truth to their minds; and he has given us many promises of sure success; and ought we, after all this, to despair? He may withhold the renovating power, to make us more importunate in prayer, and to convince us that human means alone will not prove effectual; but still it is our duty and our privilege to expect that his word shall not return unto him void, but that it shall accomplish that which he pleases, and prosper in the thing whereto he sends it."
I was much interested by the conversation of my host, and my gratification was increased by hearing that he attended the ministry of the Rev. Mr. Guion, of whom he spoke with all the warmth of filial attachment; that he was personally acquainted with my esteemed friend, the Rev. Mr. Ingleby; and had often heard of Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, though he knew them not. I now bade this aged couple farewell, and set out to retrace my steps to Fairmount, highly pleased with the adventures of the day, which I found as conducive to my mental and spiritual improvement, as they had been beneficial to my health.
An occurrence took place in the course of the day which revived the question of the preceding evening. Two funerals passed along the road in front of Mr. Roscoe's mansion. The first was that of a man, who died in the prime of life; and the second was that of an infant, who expired soon after its birth. The man had been a poacher, and, like most who devote themselves to illicit practices, he had lived a dissolute life. He rarely if ever attended church; usually spent his Sabbaths in idleness, or in the indulgence of his vicious propensities; was notorious for the vulgarity and impurity of his manners; and such was his aversion to religion, that when the Rev. Mr. Cole called to see him, only a few days before his death, he bluntly told him that as he had lived without religion, he had made up his mind to die without it.
The infant was the first-born of an interesting couple, who had been married little more than twelve months. They lived in a genteel residence at the farther end of the village, and were celebrated amongst their neighbours no less for their affection for each other, than the sufferings which they endured before their union was consummated. The cupidity of their parents kept them apart for a period nearly as long as Jacob served for his beloved Rachel, when death came, and by leaving them orphans, broke down the barrier which had obstructed their union. But they were both too deeply affected by their loss to evince any symptoms of pleasure; and such was the respect in which they held the memory of their parents, that they permitted one year to pass over their heads before they were married. On the nuptial morning, a large number of the villagers greeted them with their simple benedictions as they left the church; and when they alighted from the carriage to enter their own dwelling, they were surrounded by a group of females dressed in white, who presented them with a garland of flowers—expressing, at the same time, a wish that their joy might prove of a less fading nature.
"It is," said Mr. Roscoe, "by bringing the incidents and facts of real life to bear on the doctrines of our belief, that we are able to test them. The man who has just gone to his grave was the son of the parish clerk, and I well remember when he was baptized. If regeneration takes place when the ceremony of baptism is performed, he was then made a child of God, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven. But what moral good resulted from this supposed change in his state and character? None. He grew up a wild lad—he lived without religion—and without it he died. But the child whose funeral we have just seen pass—this babe, the first-fruits of conjugal bliss, which just made its appearance in this valley of weeping, a branch too tender to thrive in such an uncongenial soil, after languishing for a few seconds, experienced a premature decay. It was a branch from the wild olive, and required the same spiritual grafting to fit it to luxuriate in the garden of the Lord as a more hardy plant. But if this spiritual operation cannot be performed except when the sacrament of baptism is administered, as some assert, then is this tender scion a brier or a thorn, whose end is to be burned, for it withered and died before the waters of healing could be procured. The impure and impious ruffian, who dies in the act of scornfully rejecting the Christian faith, passes at once into the kingdom of heaven, and takes rank with prophets, and apostles, and martyrs; while the little lovely babe, when waking up into a state of consciousness, instead of feeling the tender embraces of a mother, is startled into terror and anguish, by the sight and sound of infernal and lost spirits! Really this baptismal regeneration of the Tractarian churchman is such a monstrous doctrine, that I am at a loss to conceive how any man of common sense and humane feeling can appear as its advocate; it is a libel on the Christian faith, a daring outrage on parental feeling, and altogether a fatal delusion."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"I have been reviewing my opinion on the question of baptismal regeneration since our last discussion, and I find the difficulties in which it is involved too numerous and too formidable to be fairly overcome. I find I must abandon it; but in doing this I am plunged into deep perplexity; for I am utterly incapable of conceiving what regeneration can be, unless I imbibe the notions of the evangelical clergy, which I never can do."
Mr. Roscoe.—"To object to truth, attested by conclusive evidence, merely because it is admitted by a class of men against whom strong antipathies are improperly excited, is a mark, not of wisdom, but of folly; and if you push such a determination to the full extent of its application, you will be reduced to the necessity of giving up your belief in the existence of a God—the Divine mission of Jesus Christ—the doctrine of providence—the resurrection and the final judgment—as they believe these doctrines in common with you."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Very true; but you know that prejudice is more difficult to subdue than reason; and hence it may be termed the forlorn hope of truth, which but few can take. But as the question is one of paramount importance, and we have leisure to discuss it, I wish it to be pursued, and I shall be glad if you will give me your definition of regeneration."
Mr. Roscoe.—"The word regeneration rarely occurs in the New Testament; but there are many other terms employed, which convey the same leading idea; such as, being born again—born of the Spirit—born of God—being made a new creature in Christ Jesus. Hence, when the apostle had exhorted the Ephesians to put off, with respect to their former conversation, 'the old man, which is corrupt, according to the deceitful lusts,' he adds, 'and be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new man, which after God,' or in conformity to His image, 'is created in righteousness and true holiness;' and in his address to the Romans he says, 'and be not conformed to this world; but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God.' These passages decidedly prove, at least in my opinion, the necessity of some moral change in the principles, and dispositions, and tempers of our mind; and I am not aware that I can give you a better definition of it than you will find in the preface to a volume of discourses which I have in my library:—'By regeneration is meant, a prevailing disposition of the mind to universal holiness, produced and cherished by the influence of the Divine Spirit operating in a manner suitable to the constitution of our nature, as rational and accountable creatures.'"
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"The passages which you have quoted unquestionably imply the necessity of some moral change; and I can conceive a propriety in their application to the Jews, or to pagan Gentiles of ancient times; but they cannot, with any show of reason, be applied to us, who are born Christians, and educated in the belief of Christianity."
Mr. Roscoe.—"No, we are not born Christians. We are born in a country where Christianity is professed, and of parents who bear the Christian name, and we have been educated in a belief of Christianity; yet no one is a Christian until he is renewed in the spirit of his mind, and is in some measure conformed to the image of Jesus Christ, who was holy and undefiled. To prove the correctness of this statement, I will refer you to our old friend, Mr. Trotter. His father, you know, was a good man; but he himself, with all his excellencies, was an avowed sceptic; and his brother was no less dissolute in his habits than he was corrupt in his principles. You will admit, I presume, that some moral change is necessary in relation to such men."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Certainly; if a man be a sceptic, his opinions must be changed before he can become a believer; and if his habits are depraved, they must be changed before he can become a Christian. But the majority are virtuous, and to these I suppose you do not intend to apply the doctrine."
Mr. Roscoe.—"You may know many whose characters are adorned with the various traits of excellence, but have you ever known a perfect man?—a man in whose temper there is no flaw—in whose disposition there is no perversity—in whose principles there is no obliquity—one who uniformly, and on all occasions, displays the most entire and irreproachable goodness?"
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"No, I must confess that I do not know such a one. I quite admit that the most perfect and the most amiable men I have ever known, have, on close acquaintance, disclosed some imperfections of character, more or less."
Mr. Roscoe.—"And may not a person acquire a high degree of virtue even while he is destitute of every religious principle? Our friend, Mr. Frowd, as you may well remember, was a most excellent and virtuous man, and even a zealous Churchman; but you know that he rejected the Divine origin of Christianity, and supported the church as a mere human establishment, which served to give stability to the government, by operating on the prejudices and passions of the masses of the people through the medium of her clergy. Hence we must not confound morality and religion, as though they were essentially the same thing, seeing that the most moral may be as sceptical in their opinions as the most impure, and are often even more unwilling than they, to receive the humiliating doctrines and self-denying precepts of the gospel."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"I admit the correctness of your statement, and I assure you that this view of the matter has often excited my astonishment. I have in my parish a gentleman, who is very humane and benevolent—a faithful friend—beloved by all who know him; but he has not been to church for nearly twenty years, except when he came to receive the sacrament, on his being elected sheriff of the county. I have sometimes spoken to him on the subject of religion, but he shrewdly gets away from my arguments by saying, 'Sir, you are to be commended for doing your duty.'"
Mr. Roscoe.—"And will not these facts convince you that the moral disorder of our nature lies in the heart, which may be deceitful and desperately wicked in the sight of God, even while some of the virtues adorn the character. Have you yet to learn, my brother, that pride, which disdains vulgar vice—that a love of fame and that self-interest may generate many social and domestic virtues, even while the inner man is enmity against God, neither recognizing the authority of his law, nor embracing the truths of the gospel? On this subject I can speak with strong personal feeling; and if I may refer to a passage in my own history, it is not to gratify vanity, but to illustrate the distinction which the Scriptures preserve between morality and personal religion. I lived for many years a virtuous life, attached to the church, and devoting much of my time to the study of the Scriptures, reverencing God as a great and good being, and believing in the Divine mission of Jesus Christ; but during the whole of this time I was ignorant of the alienation of my affections from God—of the actual depravity of my heart—of the essential evil of sin; nor could I understand how we are to be saved by grace, through faith, until it pleased God to enlighten my understanding; then all obscurity vanished, and now, I trust, I know the mysteries of truth more perfectly."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"You who embrace what are termed evangelical sentiments, always employ a mystical phraseology of speech, which no one can understand but the initiated; and this is one principal cause of the prejudice which prevails against them amongst the more intelligent and less enthusiastic part of society."
Mr. Roscoe.—"But our mystical phraseology of speech, as you are pleased to term it, is the very language of Scripture; and the inspired writers who have employed it, would doubtless use it now, if they were speaking to us. You, then, ought to transfer your objections from us to them; but in doing so, you would be encountering an authority which you profess to venerate. But, after all, the objection is less against the phraseology of Scripture, than against the truth of which it is the appointed vehicle of communication. Pride, under some peculiar modification, is the epidemic disease of our nature; but none are more under its dominion than men of intelligence, of taste, and of virtue; and it is against this passion that the gospel of Jesus Christ directs the thunder of its power. How mortifying to a man of intellectual fame, whose superior genius feels equal to the comprehension of whole systems of truth, by a single exertion of its power, to be told that 'whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, shall not enter therein!' How mortifying to a man, whose amiable temper, whose social habits, whose fascinating manners, whose constitutional virtues have combined to raise him far above his fellows, to be told that he must come down from his vantage-ground, to kneel at the same throne of grace with publicans and harlots, and implore forgiveness in language equally humiliating with that which they employ!"
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"I have always thought that the cultivation of the virtues predisposed the mind to receive the truths of Christianity; but if your statement be correct, a virtuous man may be no more fit for the kingdom of heaven than a profane one."
Mr. Roscoe.—"Nor can he be, unless he is born again. He may, like the Pharisee in the gospel, trust in the merit of his virtues for salvation, instead of trusting in the redemption made by Jesus Christ; but having no just perceptions of the degeneracy of his nature, he repudiates with disdain the doctrine of regeneration, which Jesus Christ asserts to be universally necessary."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Then you believe that all men are depraved, though not equally corrupt; and that all, notwithstanding their various shades of excellence, stand in equal need of the moral change which you think regeneration denotes?"
Mr. Roscoe.—"We should remember that Christianity is essentially a restorative dispensation; it bears a continual respect to a state from which man is fallen, and is a provision for repairing that ruin which the introduction of moral evil has brought upon him. Exposed to the displeasure of God, and the curse of his law, he stands in need of a Redeemer; disordered in his powers, and criminally averse to his duty, he equally needs a Sanctifier. And it is to men of every age and of every clime, as guilty and depraved sinners, without paying any respect to the lighter degrees of their depravity and guilt, that the gospel of Jesus Christ brings the glad tidings of complete redemption; but if any reject it, through a false conception that they do not require its renovating power or its cleansing virtue, they are, in the language of the Scriptures, emphatically denominated unbelievers, on whom the wrath of God abideth continually."
The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the ladies, who informed us that they had made a call at Fairmount, where they had been highly gratified.—"Indeed," said Mrs. John Roscoe, "I must confess that I was most agreeably disappointed. Mrs. Stevens is no less accomplished than intelligent; and I was delighted with her frank and cheerful disposition, and the elegant ease of her manners. Instead of a demure lady, disgusted with the world, and absorbed in the anticipations of a future state, she talked pleasantly of men and things, as a contented and a happy resident amongst them. I could perceive that religion was her favourite theme; yet there was no gloom with it, nor overweening self-conceit. She appeared almost like an angel pleading the cause of heaven, and that in such language and with such feeling as I never before heard or witnessed. She disengaged the religious principle from all its connections and associations with human forms and ceremonials, and presented it in its own native simplicity and purity; I could see that it was to her no less a source of felicity than a subject of contemplation and discussion. She must be, indeed, a happy woman."
"It is generally supposed," said Miss Roscoe, "that the religious principle, when it takes possession of the mind, pervading all its powers, and regulating all its movements, necessarily becomes the source of perpetual dejection and sorrow; but a more false notion never obtained currency. True religion is not a source of misery, but a perennial spring of contentment; the day-star of hope, the rising and setting sun of human happiness."
"But you know, my dear," said Mrs. Roscoe, "that your religion prohibits you from participating in many sources of amusement in which you once took great delight; and as they are so innocent and so agreeable, I cannot but think that in this respect it must be painful to you to make the sacrifices which your religion requires you to make."
"If, mamma, I looked back on my former sources of gratification with a lingering eye, and still longed to participate in them, I certainly should feel the restraining power to be painful; but the grace of God, by renewing my mind, has entirely changed my taste; and now the theatre, the ball, or the card-party, would be to me as much a source of actual pain as they once were of ephemeral joy. While sojourning in this vale of life, the enjoyment of fellowship with my heavenly Father is more than a recompense for the loss of those pleasures which I have abandoned."
On which Mr. Roscoe remarked: "If the revelation of mercy was intended to promote our happiness, it certainly would fail in accomplishing its design if it proved a source of misery."
"But," said Mrs. John Roscoe, "I have never yet conceived of religion as being a source of mental bliss. I have felt it a duty to be religious, but never a pleasure. I have read over my prayers, but they never came from my heart. I have practised some of the self-denying virtues of religion, but it has been more from a sense of duty than from actual preference. I have sometimes thought of going to heaven, but I have never derived any gratification from anticipating it."
"O no," said Mrs. Roscoe, interrupting her, "neither have I."
"But," replied Mrs. John Roscoe, "one thing is certain, there is some essential difference in the origin and the character of that religion which is a source of real pleasure, and that which is embraced from a mere sense of duty."
"Yes," said Mr. Roscoe, "the religion which is embraced from a mere sense of duty, is the religion of forms and ceremonies; while the religion which is the source of mental bliss, is the religion of principle and of feeling. The one may be assumed or laid aside as fancy or as convenience may dictate; but the other, taking up its abode in the heart, liveth and abideth for ever. All false religions take man as he is; they accommodate themselves to his errors and his passions; they leave him essentially the same as they found him; they follow the man, they are formed after his likeness: whereas in genuine religion the man changes—he is modelled after the image of Jesus Christ. The gospel, instead of flattering, tells him that in his present state he is incapable of performing its duties or of relishing its joys; that he must be transformed, or he cannot enter into the kingdom of God; and what it requires it produces; hence all is order and harmony. For everything in the dispensation of the gospel and the constitution of the Christian church is new; we have 'a new covenant;' we 'approach God by a new and living way;' we 'sing a new song;' we are called by a new name; according to his promise we look for 'new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness.' 'He that sitteth upon the throne saith, Behold I create all things new.' Can we wonder then that we are required to 'put off the old man with his deeds, and to put on the new man;' 'to walk in newness of life;' 'to serve him in the newness of the spirit, and not in the oldness of the letter?' that we are assured 'that neither circumcision availeth anything, nor uncircumcision, but a new creature;' 'that if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature; old things are passed away, behold, all things are become new?'"
"I feel," said Mrs. John Roscoe, "under the impulse of strong excitement. Some strange emotions—conflicting emotions—which I know not how to embody in distinct and appropriate forms of expression. I have been religious—scrupulously religious—and yet my religious ideas have been vague and indefinite; my religion has never engaged my affections. I felt charmed while listening to the chaste eloquence of Mrs. Stevens, when speaking of the practical influence of the love and grace of Christ on her soul; and your correct distinctions between the religion of mere form and the religion of principle, confound and subdue me; but I want two things, which you, Sir, and Mrs. Stevens seem to possess—I want a spirit to discern the distinction, and a heart to feel it. Yes, there must be a mental change in me before I can see as you see, and feel as you feel."
Her husband, interrupting her, exclaimed, "My dear, you must put a curb on your imagination, or before you leave for the sober quietude of home, you will become an evangelical enthusiast."
"To be candid; I am awe-struck by the new discoveries I am making, or rather by the new visions of religious truth which are rising before me. Indeed, I must have the religion of principle; that of mere form has no life, no power; it throws out no attractions; it touches not the heart to excite its affections; it does not bring me into contact with a living Saviour; nor does it inspire me with a hope full of immortality."
"My dear," said her husband, "you surprise me."
"You cannot feel more surprised than I feel myself. I feel on the eve of some great crisis in my moral history, and yet I see nothing distinctly, except the utter worthlessness of a religion of mere form without a living principle."
We were all too much astonished by this sudden outburst of impassioned feeling, to make any observations; at length Miss Roscoe broke through the silence, which was felt to be painfully oppressive, by saying, "I hope, my dear aunt, the Divine Spirit is gently leading you into the way of peace and the paths of righteousness, for his name's sake. What is now obscure will soon become clear; wait patiently on the Lord until the day of explanation dawn, and then the day-star of hope will arise in your heart."
On returning from a walk in the garden, the Rev. Mr. Roscoe said to his brother, "I have just been having a talk with your gardener, and I think you have got one of the most industrious and intelligent workmen I have ever met with; he both understands how to cultivate his garden and how to cultivate his mind."
Mr. Roscoe.—"Yes, Robert is a very good and a very clever servant; he respects the apostolic injunction, and renders obedience, not with eye-service, as a man-pleaser, but as a servant of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart. He is conscientious and intelligent; and I believe that he would neither waste my time by indolence, nor my property by negligence or extravagance."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"A good servant is very valuable; but, like most other valuable things, he is very rare. Your gardener seems much attached to you, and says he hopes to die in your service. From the style of his conversation, and the extent of his general information, I should suppose he has had a superior education, and that he must have seen better days."
Mr. Roscoe.—"No; he never occupied a higher rank in life than he does at present. His father, who is still living in one of my cottages in the village, is a very worthy man, who has brought up a large family, and he often boasts of having done it without receiving any assistance from the parish. He is a fine specimen of the true English character in its primitive state. About three years since he was very ill; and as we knew that his resources were scanty, we voted him twenty shillings at a vestry meeting, which the overseer was requested to give to him. But when the money was presented he said, 'I am much obliged to you, Sir, and to the other gentlemen, for your kindness, but I will never eat bread that's bought with parish money; no, Sir, I won't disgrace my family in my old age.'"
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"That is a noble spirit! If such a spirit were generally diffused among our labouring population, there would be more virtue and more happiness in the country. I am not surprised that you have such a servant, now I find that he has such a father. Is the old man evangelical in his principles?"
Mr. Roscoe.—"Yes, and in his practice; but he was not able to infuse his principles into his son, who for many years evinced strong antipathies against his father's piety. He inherited his honesty, and industry, and high independent spirit; but he was very profane, which was a source of great distress to the good old man."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"But I should hope that he is not so now, for I was led to infer, from some expressions which he used, that he was a very virtuous man."
Mr. Roscoe.—"Yes, he is virtuous, and more than virtuous—he is now decidedly pious. He is a living witness of the doctrine of regeneration; and if you go and ask him what it is, he will tell you that it is an internal change in the dispositions and propensities of the mind, produced, not by the application of water in baptism, but by the renewing power of the Divine Spirit."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"I did not think that talking of the old man and his son would lead us to the subject of our late discussion; but as it has come up again, let me ask you one question—If regeneration do not take place at the time of our baptism, when does it take place, and how will it be possible for us to decide whether we have been regenerated or not?"
Mr. Roscoe.—"If it invariably take place at the time of baptism, according to the popular construction of our prayer-book, and the current belief of the Tractarian members of our church, nothing more would be necessary to convince us that we are the children of God than an attested copy of our baptismal register, which I presume, on reflection, you will deem too preposterous and too hazardous to be admitted."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"But admitting, for the sake of the argument, that baptism is regeneration, where would be the hazard of letting our assurance of it depend on an attested copy of our parish register?"
Mr. Roscoe.—"Why, suppose such an attested copy could not be obtained, then we could have no substantial proof of our regeneration. We may be the children of God, and we may be inheritors of the kingdom of heaven; but if the officiating minister neglect to record the fact of our baptism, or if the register-book should be lost or burnt, it will be impossible for us to prove it, even though the Spirit itself bear witness with our spirit that we are the children of God. To what a dilemma, then, may a son of God be reduced! He may be in the possession of every moral evidence of his filial relation to his heavenly Father—he may love him, fear him, and glorify him; he may have put off the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts; and may have put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness: but not being able to establish the fact of his baptism by the production of a genuine copy of its insertion in the parish register, he is not able to prove the fact of his regeneration. 'A situation this of doubt, suspense, and anxiety, with regard to our eternal welfare, to which it is reasonable to believe that, with such a revelation of his will as Christianity professes to be, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort would not expose his humble creatures.'"[13]
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"I am satisfied that it does not invariably nor necessarily take place at baptism; but then, when does it take place?"
Mr. Roscoe.—"It does not uniformly take place at any particular age, but precisely at that period in the life of man which the Spirit of God determines. Some, I have no doubt, are regenerated by the Holy Spirit in the days of infancy, and grow up into life under the influence of the holy principles which were implanted in their soul when they had no consciousness of it. I have a book at hand, from which I will read you a passage that is quite to the point:—'God has wisely given to the female sex a peculiar tenderness of address, and an easy and insinuating manner, which is admirably adapted to the great end for which he intended it, that of conveying knowledge to children, and making tender impressions on their minds; and there is hardly any view in which the importance of the sex more evidently appears.'
"It seems to me that children may early come to have some apprehensions of what is most important in religion. They may have a reverence for God, and a love for him, as that great Father who made them, and that kind friend who gives them everything that they have; and they may have a fear of doing anything that would displease him. And though it is not so easy for them to understand the doctrines peculiar to a Redeemer, yet when they hear of Christ as the Son of God, who came down from heaven to teach men and children the way thither, and who died to deliver them from death and hell, their little hearts may well be impressed with such thoughts as these, and they may find a growing desire to be instructed in what Christ is and what he taught and did, and also to do what shall appear to be his will. And wherever this is the prevailing disposition, it seems to me that the seeds of holiness are sown in that soul, though but small proficiency may be made in knowledge, and though the capacities for service may be very low. But the tendency to that which is evil and the aversion to that which is good, which children generally discover, is a decisive proof that very few are renewed at this early period. They often outgrow their religious impressions, yield to the force of temptations, and allow themselves to be drawn aside from the path of duty by the attractive charms which a deceitful world holds out to allure and destroy. But, while glowing with health and devoting themselves to the pleasures and amusements of this life, it often pleases God to arrest them in their career of folly as they are entering on the age of manhood, or during the first few years of it, and then they yield themselves unto God as those that are alive from the dead.
"'Some,' to quote from the same author, 'are wrought upon by Divine grace in the advance and even in the decline of life. There are but few who arrive at what may be called old age, and of them but very few who, at that period, feel the great change; nor shall we be much surprised at this if we consider the inveterate nature of bad habits, which renders it almost as hard for them that are accustomed to do evil to learn to do good, as it is for the Ethiopian to change his skin, or the leopard his spots.'"
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"But one should imagine that the more our reason is improved, and the nearer we get to another world, the more solemnly and deeply the heart would be affected by the great and awful truths of religion. You never thought so much nor so deeply on religious subjects when you were young as you do now; and, therefore, I wonder you agree with your author in supposing this to be a very unfavourable period to be regenerated."
Mr. Roscoe.—"Very true; but I cannot see one of my own age in the whole circle of my acquaintance, who has been impressed in a similar manner to myself. 'It is in vain to reason against facts,' says a judicious writer, 'and experience proves that it is an uncommon thing for persons to be awakened and reformed in old age; especially if they have been educated in the principles of religion. Nevertheless, to prove the infinite energy and sovereignty of Divine grace, God is sometimes pleased to renew even such: He touches the rock which has stood for ages unmoved, and the waters flow forth; He says to the dry bones—live, and they are animated with life; and then, with the vigour of a renewed youth, they devote themselves to God.'"
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Then you think that this great change in the human heart may take place at any period of life, though you think that the season of youth or early manhood is the most favourable."
Mr. Roscoe.—"I do."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Will you now tell me by what sort of evidence a person who is actually regenerated acquires a satisfactory knowledge of the fact?"
Mr. Roscoe.—"The apostle says, 'Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.' When an immoral man undergoes this internal renovation, there will be such a change in his habits and in his conversation that it will be conspicuous to all who know him. The swearer will fear an oath—the drunkard will put from him the intoxicating cup—the Sabbath-breaker will keep holy the day of rest—the impure, who have been as a walking pestilence in the social world, will become chaste—and those who have displayed the more malignant and ferocious passions, will distinguish themselves by their meekness, gentleness, and humility."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"But may not this reformation take place in the character of the more dissolute, without any change being effected in the dispositions and propensities of their hearts?"
Mr. Rosco.—"Yes; the influence of persuasion, of example, of self-interest, and of mortified pride—the decay of the vigour of the animal passions, and a fearful apprehension of future judgment, will sometimes operate a most surprising reformation in some of the more licentious; but when it proceeds from any of these causes, if they do not relapse into their former course of evil, they become satisfied with a mere scantling of exterior morality—evincing, at the same time, the utmost degree of aversion to the things of the Spirit of God. But when this reformation in the character proceeds from the renovation of the heart, it resembles the shining light, which shines clearer and brighter until the perfect day; those who undergo it become decidedly pious, and usually engage in the holy exercises of religion with a high degree of animation and delight. They will speak in the most exalted terms of the Redeemer—of the greatness of his love, and of the sovereignty of his grace; they will discover the most intense concern for the spiritual welfare of others in whom sin is reigning unto death; and while they will often look back with astonishment on the scenes of danger from which they have been delivered, they will boldly and cheerfully devote themselves to the service of Christ, notwithstanding the opposition or the persecution they may have to encounter. I remember, when my gardener, Robert, felt the great change, he became all at once so anxious to go and hear Mr. Ingleby preach, so much attached to his Bible, so zealous for the conversion of his fellow-servants, and so fond of conversing on the essential doctrines of the gospel, that I thought at the time he would lose his senses; but now I can easily account for it all; and though some lighter shades of imperfection still rest on his character, yet he holds fast his integrity, and is a living witness of the efficacy of the gospel, which is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"If I mistake not, you have asserted that this renovation of the heart is as necessary for a moral person, whose character is adorned with many social virtues, as for one who is openly profane. Now, if we admit this to be correct, what perceptible change can take place in his conduct when he is renewed, and by what evidences can he be convinced of it?"
Mr. Roscoe.—"There will not be that visible transition, in his case, from a state of depravity to a state of purity; but the moral man, when regenerated, will become a pious man. He will discover the same anxiety on the question of his personal salvation—the same attachment to the Bible—the same zeal for the conversion of others—the same disposition to converse on the essential doctrines of the gospel, as the regenerated immoral man; and he will ascribe this change to the same supernatural cause; and, by the avowal of his sentiments and by his decision, he will provoke the same expression of scorn and contempt from the men of the world. There will be a striking similarity between his character and his religious habits after his regeneration, and the character and religious habits of one who was previously an immoral man, but who has been renewed in the spirit of his mind; and they will both be in possession of more satisfactory evidences of their regeneration than any exterior change which their character and their life may supply."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"What are those other evidences of regeneration to which you now refer?"
Mrs. John Roscoe now became much excited. "Yes," she said, "that's the important question I want explained. I have been living many years under a most fatal delusion, for though baptized, I am not regenerated; nor do I as yet know what regeneration is. Be very simple and plain in your explanation." She now sat looking and listening with a fixed intensity of anxious earnestness, reminding me of the appearance of a defendant whom I once watched in a crowded court, during the prolonged consultation of the jury, whose verdict was to secure to him the possession of his rich inheritance, or reduce him to comparative pauperism.
Mr. Roscoe.—"A person who is regenerated will be introduced as into a new world; the transition from his former to his new moral condition, whether it takes place suddenly, or by a gradual process, will be so clear to his mind that he cannot doubt it; he will form new and more accurate perceptions of the character of God—of his own character—of the visible and invisible world—and of the official character of Jesus Christ; he will feel the force of obligations pressing upon him, of which he had previously formed no conception, and he will discover sources of enjoyment of a new and a more refined order."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"I fear you are now taking me into an imaginary region, where we shall be both lost amidst the obscurities of a fanatical and enthusiastic belief."
Mr. Roscoe.—"I am as great an enemy to fanaticism as yourself; but you will permit me to say that this term is often affixed as a stigma on personal piety. I am now merely stating facts, which are attested by the evidence of experience. Do we not read in the Bible that the renewed man has the eye of his understanding enlightened? Does not this expression imply that before his renovation his understanding was darkened, through the ignorance that was within him? And can we suppose that he discovers no fresh objects of contemplation and delight when this new power of spiritual vision is imparted? He has new apprehensions of the spirituality and omnipresence of God—of his majesty and purity—of his power and patience—of his goodness—and especially of his condescension in hearing and answering prayer. And when he turns his eye in upon himself, he discovers his guilt, his depravity, and his unworthiness; and exclaims, Woe is me, for I am unclean! He is no less astonished at the Divine forbearance towards him than he is at his own insensibility and ingratitude; and while he offers up the tribute of praise to the God of his mercies, he abhors himself, and repents in dust and in ashes. But his chief attention is fixed on the person of the Redeemer—on the efficacy of his death—on the prevalence of his intercession—on his amazing and boundless love for sinners—even the chief. On these grand and important themes he dwells with the most enraptured delight. They now appear before him invested with a charm all their own; and he is no less astonished when he remembers his former indifference to them, than he is at that death-like insensibility which the great majority around him discover. The pleasures and the pursuits of the world, which once engrossed so large a portion of his attention, and so powerfully interested his passions, now sink into insignificance when compared with the realities of the invisible state; and though he feels no disposition to neglect his present duties, yet he often anticipates, with intense emotions of delight, the glory which is to be revealed on entering the kingdom of heaven. Having been redeemed by the precious blood of Christ, and sanctified in part by the eternal Spirit, he now feels the powerful obligations of gratitude and love constraining him to yield himself to God, to serve and glorify him. He can now without regret leave his sinful pleasure, and from meditation, prayer, and listening to the gospel's joyous sound, he can derive real and substantial happiness.
"But one of the most satisfactory evidences of regeneration is an aversion to sin, and an ardent desire for an entire conformity to the purity of the Divine nature, which every renewed man feels—an aversion which is not directed exclusively against open immoralities, but which extends to the principles of evil which lie concealed in the recesses of the heart. Hence, his prayer will be—Cleanse thou me from secret faults; keep back thy servant from presumptuous sin; let no iniquity have dominion over me; lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from all evil. But the renewed man is not more anxious to be preserved from the dominion of sinful passions and principles, than he is to become holy, even as God is holy. And as he knows that this assimilation can be produced only by immediate intercourse with God, he walks in a state of habitual communion with him; and though he is not always conscious of his presence, nor always favoured with the sensible manifestations of it, yet he cleaves to him in the purposes of his heart. Now, I appeal to you, if such a change in the character, in the views, and in the tastes of a man, is not a powerful evidence of his having undergone that internal renovation or regeneration which the Scriptures represent to be indispensably necessary to fit us for the kingdom of heaven."
Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Why, I must confess that such a change is a more rational evidence of regeneration than the simple fact that the baptismal ceremony has been performed; but how few of those who have been baptized possess any such evidence of their being the children of God, and the inheritors of the kingdom of heaven."
Mr. Roscoe.—"This is too true; and, alas! what an appalling truth!"
Mrs. John Roscoe, who listened with profound attention to the whole of this discussion, on rising with her niece to take a stroll in the garden, said, "What a burlesque on the sanctity of our pure and sublime faith, to see an immoral man, when reproved for his vices, and warned to flee from the wrath, deliberately appeal to the fact of his having been baptized, to prove that he is a child of God, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven! Can we conceive of anything more puerile, or more calculated to encourage persons to riot in sin, fearless of the fearful consequences? It is quite time this fatal heresy was driven out of our church, and torn out of our prayer-book."
"I think so too, aunt; but what commotion would be excited amongst our church-going people if any legal attempt were made to substitute the simple and significant baptism of the New Testament for this delusive papal ceremony of baptismal regeneration. Why, many would rather have their Bibles mutilated than their prayer-book. The Bishop of Oxford calls it a Churchman's blessed inheritance, which ought to be preserved entire; no change in a book which is so perfect."