His more public profession of religion was free from ostentation, and without reserve. It was not made to gratify caprice, or cast a reflection on the indecision of others, but in obedience to the authority of the Saviour; and as he had, before his conversion, acquired extensive information on theological subjects, when that great event took place he was enabled to advocate the cause of truth with considerable ability, without requiring the preparatory course of instruction which is in general necessary. He still held in veneration the Established Church, and respected the private character of his parish minister, the Rev. Mr. Cole, though he could not agree with his sentiments; but as he was not edified by his ministrations, he felt it to be his duty to separate himself from his congregation, and join himself to that of the Rev. Mr. Ingleby, whose evangelical preaching was quite in accordance with his own views of revealed truth. This step had been anticipated by his friends, and while some of them commended him, others were much displeased.

On the evening preceding the Sabbath, Mr. Roscoe mentioned the resolution he had formed, when his brother remarked, "I am not surprised at your determination, because I know that it is a very general thing for those who embrace evangelical principles to prefer an evangelical ministry; but will not such a step grieve your old friend, the Rev. Mr. Cole."

Mr. Roscoe.—"Perhaps it may; but ought I, by my presence, to sanction opinions which I believe to be erroneous?"

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Though Mr. Cole differs from you on some points of theology, there are many on which you agree; and I think you may, like some others who have embraced evangelical principles, still attend a ministry which does not belong to this specific denomination, as you retain the right of rejecting what you disapprove."

Mr. Roscoe.—"If the points on which we differ did not involve any essential doctrine of the Christian faith, I should deem it my duty still to attend his ministry; but when I consider that he denies those truths which are, in my opinion, the vital parts of Christianity, and preaches what an apostle would call another gospel, I ought not to give him the sanction of my presence. If I sustained no personal injury under such a ministry, I could not derive any real advantage from it. And, besides, am I not responsible to God and to society for the influence of my example, as well as for my opinions and principles? If so, I am under a sacred obligation to be as cautious what I indirectly sanction, as what I recommend. Can I, without sacrificing the dictates of my conscience, recommend a person to believe that he requires no other regeneration than that which he experienced when he was baptized, and that his good deeds will atone for his evil actions; that he requires no other qualification for heaven than a faithful discharge of his relative duties on earth? Impossible. If, then, I cannot recommend the adoption of these opinions, ought I to sanction them by my presence, when they are enforced by others? I believe that men, before they are renewed in the spirit of their minds, live in a state of alienation from God—under the condemning sentence of his holy law—and are justly exposed to future and endless misery. I believe this on the testimony of the sacred writers, whose testimony is corroborated by the articles of our church; and do not the same authorities teach us to believe that the truth, when preached in a pure and faithful manner, is the ordained means of the conversion and salvation of men? But if the pure truth of the gospel becomes corrupted, are we not taught to believe that the people perish? He who corrupts it, either wilfully or through ignorance, will stand responsible at the last day for the awful consequences of his conduct; but if I give my sanction to a ministry which I believe to be a corruption of the gospel, and the people should perish under it, shall I not be regarded as accessory to their ruin?"

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"But supposing I admit that an anti-evangelical ministry is a corruption of the gospel, and that it does not prove the means of the conversion and salvation of those who hear it, yet you must allow that they hear the truth in its purity from the desk, where the Bible, as well as the prayers are read, which answers the same purpose. Hence I have known some who have imbibed evangelical sentiments, recommend a continuance at their parish church on this account, though the ministry may not exactly accord with their views and taste."

Mr. Roscoe.—"Yes; we have the pure gospel in the desk, even when we have another gospel in the pulpit; but I have never known it produce those moral effects on the people which result from an evangelical ministry. The prayers of our Liturgy may aid the devotional feelings of a renewed Christian, but it is the preaching of the truth that God employs as the means of infusing the devotional spirit; and though some may recommend us to attend where the gospel is confined to the reading-desk, yet can we suppose that Paul would do so if he were on earth? Would he, who pronounced that man or angel accursed who dared to preach any other gospel than that which he and his fellow-apostles preached, urge his friends or his hearers, if he were taking leave of them, to attend a ministry which he believed to be in opposition to the truth? Impossible! Can we suppose that our Lord, who commanded his disciples to take heed what they heard, would, if he were again to appear on earth, recommend us to attend on a ministry which he believed was subversive of the truth, and the means of misleading the people? Impossible! If we cannot believe that they would recommend us to do it, ought we to recommend that others should do so? Would it be wise to act in opposition to such authority? would it be safe? would it be in accordance with the will of the Lord Jesus? and could we calculate on receiving his benediction—Well done, good and faithful servant?"

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"But surely you do not mean that every one who embraces evangelical sentiments ought to leave his parish church if those sentiments are not preached there?"

Mr. Roscoe.—"Most certainly I do."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"Indeed! Suppose one member of a family should embrace evangelical sentiments, while all the rest retain their former belief, would you recommend that one individual to disturb the peace of his family, by straying to some other church to hear his favourite doctrines."

Mr. Roscoe.—"I recommend no one to disturb the peace of a family, and I rather think it will be found, when peace is disturbed, it is in consequence of the resistance which is raised by the opposite party. Here is, for example, a single individual in the midst of a large circle of gay acquaintances, who feels the renewing influence of truth, and makes an open profession of her faith in Christ. She now retires from the follies and vanities of the world, adopts habits which are decidedly religious, and, without infringing on the rights of others, she claims the privilege of attending that place of worship where she can derive the most spiritual improvement. What law, either human or divine, is violated by such a decision? None. But as the profession of faith in Christ, in the midst of a circle of the gay and the fashionable, is a novelty repugnant to their tastes, and considered by many of them so inelegant, and such a near approximation to the habits of the lower orders, she who makes it becomes an object of satire and reproach, and then is accused as being the cause of all the domestic misery which they originate."

Mrs. Roscoe.—"But you know, my dear, that our domestic peace was destroyed as soon as Sophia imbibed her evangelical sentiments; and you know that religion has been the subject of contentious debate between us ever since."

Mr. Roscoe.—"But would it ever have been destroyed if we had not done it? A letter[17] which she addressed to us convinced me, at the time, of the injustice of our accusation; but now I look back on that dark period of our life with more pain than any former one. That letter satisfied me that I ought not to oppose her; and though I then regretted that she had embraced views of truth which were so different from my own, yet I admired the firmness and constancy which she uniformly displayed when they were assailed; and now I do not hesitate to say, that he who opposes or persecutes another on account of his religious principles and habits, is treasuring up to himself wrath against the day of wrath."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"I disapprove of persecution as much as you do: it is both impolitic and cruel; and seems to be one of the crimes which is left for the more savage and waspish part of our nature to commit. But, still, if we do not oppose force against a person who has embraced evangelical principles, we may reason; and as I consider the desertion of a parish church a serious evil, you must permit me to remind you that if you leave yours and go to hear Mr. Ingleby, the stability of your character will be shaken. You have been considered as one of the pillars of the congregation—one of its ornaments—your decision has been admired no less than your benevolence, and all regret that you should fall from your steadfastness, and exchange the religion of your forefathers, which is grown venerable for its antiquity, for a new religion, which has but recently sprung up amongst us."

Mr. Roscoe.—"This was one of the very arguments which the Church of Rome employed against the Reformers, and if they had yielded to its influence, we should still have been in her communion. I recollect having met, some time since, in the course of my reading, with the following judicious reply to a satirical question which a Catholic bishop proposed to a Protestant:—'Where was your religion before the days of Luther?' 'In the Bible, Sir, where yours is not, and never was.' The Bible, as Bishop Stillingfleet very justly observes, is the religion of Protestants. You say that I have exchanged an old for a new religion, but this I deny. I still admire the Liturgy, and I still believe the Articles of the church; I still retain that religion which you say is venerable for its antiquity; but, then, I believe it is not to remain a religion of mere forms and ceremonies, but that it is to operate on my heart, and produce within me the peaceable fruits of righteousness. The new religion, as you and others are pleased to term it, is not a corruption of the old; but it is the old religion of our venerable Reformers, and the good old bishops and pastors of our church, revived in its primitive simplicity, and life, and power. It is the religion of the Bible, which enlightens and renovates the inner man—which brings us into fellowship with the Holy One—which preserves the broad line of distinction between the real and the nominal Christian—and which, by its progressive influence, makes us meet to become partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"But I do not think that you can, consistently with your profession as a Churchman, leave your parish church to attend one in another parish; the rector is the shepherd, whose spiritual jurisdiction extends over the whole parish, and the people are, ecclesiastically considered, his flock. Is it right for one sheep to stray into another fold for pasture?"

Mr. Roscoe.—"Your figure of comparison is more fanciful than just. As we live in a land of freedom, where every man is permitted to exercise his own judgment on every religious question, we may believe what doctrines, practise what ceremonies, and hear what minister we please, without offending against any law, or subjecting ourselves to the interference of others."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"But you are not sure that you will approve of all the doctrines that Mr. Ingleby preaches, and may, after a while, be under the necessity of going elsewhere."

Mr. Roscoe.—"If I should be under the necessity of going elsewhere, I ought to be thankful that I have the right, and also the opportunity of doing so. But as this is an hypothetical case, I feel under no obligation to reply to it, further than to say, that as religion is now become essential to my happiness, and an enlightened ministry[18] essential to my spiritual improvement, I shall go where I can derive most advantage. Places and forms, times and seasons, are the accidental associations of religion, not the integral parts of it. That powerful ascendency which they once retained over my imagination and prejudices is now destroyed, and I am free to hear the truth wherever it is proclaimed, and to offer up my sacrifice of prayer and of praise to God, in any place which he will condescend to visit with his presence."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"But I presume you do not intend to leave the church for any of the Dissenting chapels which are springing up amongst us."

Mr. Roscoe.—"You know that I am attached to the constitution and the prescribed formula of the church, but I have a stronger attachment for the gospel of Christ, which is the power of God to salvation; and if I could not hear it preached within the walls of the Establishment, I should consider it my duty to go where I could hear it. Now, I will put one simple question, and I am perfectly willing to be guided by your reply. Suppose the pure gospel was preached in a Dissenting chapel, and another gospel was preached in the church, to which place would the apostle Paul go to worship, if he were a resident amongst us?"

The Rev. Mr. Roscoe made no reply to this somewhat hampering question; but his wife, who was rather more ingenuous in her disposition, and less anxious about the consequences of any fair concession or admission, said, "I have no doubt but he would go to the Dissenting chapel, and take others with him."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe.—"My dear! do you really think so? you must be more guarded."

Mrs. John Roscoe.—"Yes, I do most certainly think so; and I'll tell you why. He has pronounced a woe against any one who shall dare to preach another gospel than that which he preached; and therefore it is not likely that he would sanction an official service, against which he has recorded his solemn and awful denunciations. It would be exposing himself to the consequences of his own anathema if he were to do so."

Rev. Mr. Roscoe, smiling.—"I bow to the Spirit, that will rule in spite of apostolic prohibition."

Mrs. John Roscoe.—"Yes, when it rules in righteousness, as in this case, rebellion would be treason, no less to logic than to apostolic authority."

On the following Sabbath morning we were delighted to see Mr. Roscoe and his family enter the church, Mrs. John Roscoe accompanying them. As this was the first time they had come to hear Mr. Ingleby, we were very naturally somewhat excited on the occasion. He read the prayers with great solemnity and pathetic earnestness; and it was evident, from the expressive responses of the congregation, that they felt engaged in a devotional exercise, blending, in the name of the glorious Mediator, supplication with thanksgiving. His subject was taken from Revelation iii. 21, "To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne." After a few prefatory remarks, the venerable rector said, "I shall endeavour to prove from these words that the Christian is animated in his course by the hope of attaining the honours which wait him at the end of it." He had, in this sublimely interesting subject, ample scope for the exhibition of some of the most attractive and impressive parts of revealed truth; and such was the ease, energy, and animation with which he spoke, that the audience listened with fixed attention; and though he knew not that Mr. Roscoe's family was present, yet, from the tenor of his remarks, some thought that the sermon was intended solely for them.

After service, when strolling leisurely through the church-yard, Farmer Pickford pressed through the crowd, and rather abruptly gave me his hearty hand-shake, and we walked away together, his modest wife by his side.

"We have had an excellent sermon this morning."

"That's true, Sir, and no mistake. Mr. Ingleby speaks as though he believed and felt what he says. He is wonderfully clever. He knows the Bible from Genesis to Revelation; and methinks he could repeat it without looking at it. And what a smart voice he has—not too loud for them that sit near him, and loud enough to make people hear outside the church if a window happens to be open."

"He is indeed an eloquent man, and mighty in the Scriptures; that is, he has extensive and profound knowledge of them."

"He has more verses of the Bible in one sarmunt than Parson Cole puts in threescore; and I take notice that they are all different, while Parson Cole is always repeating two, which I have learnt by heart. One is, 'Be not righteous overmuch;' and t'other, 'In the last days perilous times shall come.' He has given me a bit of a liking for the Bible. I read one chapter every night to the youngsters before they go to bed, and two on a Sunday."

"I hope you understand and feel what you read, and what you hear from the pulpit?"

"Why, Sir, as for that I can't say much; but I can say this, I like what I hear, and I can make out Mr. Ingleby's meaning a bit better now than I could at first. What he says often comes home here," placing his hand over his heart, "and then I can't help feeling, and at times I feel desperately; but then, worse luck, it all goes off on a Monday."

"I suppose, though, you sometimes think during the week on what you hear at church on the Sabbath?"

"I can't help doing that; but, worse luck, I can't make out his meaning by my own thinkings so cleverly as he does in his sarmunts."

"That's very likely; but I suppose you now reflect at times on the worth of your soul, and the possibility of its being lost?"

"Ay, that I do; more now in one hour than I ever did all my life long before. Parson Cole never made me feel or think, but when he was lashing away at the schesmeatics, as he calls the Methodists, and then I used to feel mightily pleased. I often think we were two fools together—one for lashing the Methodists, who never offended him, and t'other for being pleased with it. I never come from church now without thinking about myself and my sins, and about Jesus Christ who died on the cross, and about heaven and hell. These are now to me great realities. Nothing else, as you said to me when you first talked to me, is of equal importance. But I am very stupid in such matters, worse luck. Wife knows a power more about such things than I do, and she often helps me a bit to mind and understand Mr. Ingleby's sarmunts. We often sit up an hour or so after the youngsters and the sarvunts are gone to bed, to talk over these matters. I like her talk, as I understand it a bit."

"I suppose you understand Mr. Ingleby much better than you used to understand Mr. Cole; and I daresay you would not very willingly go back to your parish church?"

"I have been there, Sir, for the last time, and no mistake. When there, I could sit thinking about my crops and my cattle, but I can't do that at church now. No; Mr. Ingleby takes my heart along with him; and at times he gives such terrible back strokes that he makes me tremble—ay, and cry too; and I a'n't ashamed to confess it to you."

"I am thankful to hear you say what you do say, and I have no doubt but you will, by and by, know spiritual things much better than you do now."

"And so I tell him, Sir; I tell him he is now like the man of whom we read in the Gospel of Mark, who, when the Lord began to open his eyes, saw so confusedly, that men appeared like trees walking; but after a while he saw things as clearly and as distinctly as other people."

"The Lord grant it may be so; then I shall be a power happier than I be now. I sha'n't mind death then."

"I suppose, Mrs. Pickford, things are now more comfortable at home than they used to be?"

"Yes, Sir; I see a blessed change in my husband, and a change in my family. Sunday is now kept as it ought to be, and we all go to church, servants and all, which makes me very thankful to God for working this change in our homestead, and to you, Sir, for the part you have taken in it."

"I have a good wife, Sir, who looked after me when I neglected to look after myself, and who looked after the youngsters when I was for letting them run wild. I used to feel a power of anger against her for her Methodist ways and talk, and at times I refused to let her go to chapel on a Sunday; but I did this in the days of my ignorance. I know a bit better now, thank the Lord. She says she sees a change in all of us, but I hope she will see greater changes yet. I now know that my heart must be changed, and I pray to God to change it. I hope, Sir, you will come again to see us before you leave Fairmount, and give us a bit more prayer. That prayer you gave us at your last visit has never been off my heart since I heard it, and I don't think it will ever go off."

"Yes, Sir, do come again," said Mrs. Pickford, "I will try to make you comfortable, and you may do us some good."

"Why, Sir, I got more good to my soul by your talk when you looked in and tasted our brown loaf and cream cheese, than I got from all the parsons that ever visited us, and we have had a power of them in the shooting season. They would talk about game and dogs, but not a word about the soul and its salvation. I'll tell you what my belief is—one half of them would make better gamekeepers than parsons; and I'll tell you why I think so—a man, to be a right sort of a fellow for his work, should have a liking for it; and he should stick to it, and not gad about, minding other things."

"Very true; the ministers of religion should try to save the souls of their people."

"That, Sir, is my thinking; but no parson ever said anything to me, or to any of us, about my soul and its salvation, though they all knew I was a badish sort of a man, apt to swear a bit, and sometimes get drunk, worse luck."

"Well, Farmer, I hope now you will work out your salvation with fear and trembling, and then you will never again commit such sins."

"I will, Sir, the Lord helping me; and I hope we all shall; we shall then be a power happier, and no mistake."

On their return from church, Mrs. John Roscoe said, "We have heard a very judicious and impressive sermon this morning. I was much pleased with the vigour and occasional elegance of Mr. Ingleby's style; but this was a source of gratification far inferior to the elevating sentiments which he delivered. I could have sat another hour with great pleasure, but not without coveting the feelings of a man who spake of the joys of heaven as one who had passed through all the necessary preparatory trials, and was living in the sweet anticipation of his final happiness."

"I was much struck," said Mrs. Roscoe, "at the size and listening attitude of the congregation. How audibly and impressively they uttered the responses. It was the sound of many voices, yet all in harmony; I saw no one gazing about, as though he were a stranger in a strange place, but every eye seemed fixed on Mr. Ingleby. I have been more pleased than I expected; and if this be a fair specimen of evangelical preaching, I shall feel no reluctance to go again."

This remark overpowered the feelings of Miss Roscoe, whose mind had been filled with anxiety respecting the issue of this first visit of her parents to the church in which she had so often listened with delight to the truths of revelation, and she could not refrain from shedding the tear of joy.

"Yes," said Mr. Roscoe, "the service was indeed interesting and impressive. The preacher displayed a spirit and a manner which became the place he occupied, and the responsibility of the sacred duties devolving on him. His mind was absorbed in his subject; and his principal aim was, by showing us our danger, and the resources of our safety, and by exhibiting before us the honours and felicities of the unseen world, so to awe and animate us, as to secure our devout and permanent attention to the momentous truths which he brought forward. I felt that the revelation of mercy was to him not a mere system of philosophical speculation, which, by exercising the reasoning faculties, improves the intellect without refining the moral sense; but that it was, what it professes to be, a restorative scheme of salvation, which, by renovating the heart, restores man to his long lost purity and bliss—deriving all its efficacy from the grace of Him by whom it was first announced."

"I never retired from a service," said Mrs. John Roscoe, "with such feelings as those that influenced my heart this morning; so dissatisfied with myself, and yet I know not why; I feel that I need something to solace my heart, and yet what that something can be I know not. I am, indeed, dear Sophia, in a state of almost overwhelming perplexity."

"Your observations, dear aunt, remind me of a passage in the history of the apostle Paul, who at one period of his life was in the same state of mental perplexity, which led him to say, 'When the commandment came, sin revived;' that is, when he felt the condemnatory application of the law of God to his conscience, he was in a tumult. Before this application was made, he thought that his heart was very good, but afterwards he felt himself a great sinner, and that he had within him many evil principles, which had been lying in such a dormant state, that he had no suspicion of their existence. The new discoveries which you are now making, and which occasion such painful perplexity, are preparing the way for other discoveries, which will soothe, and yield the sweetest consolation; and you will be led gradually onwards to a clear and comprehensive view of the grand theory of revealed truth; and then, like Paul, you 'will abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.'"

"I hope, my dear, it will be so; for I feel when associated, as I too long have been, with our Tractarian fallacies and delusions, such a craving of soul for some yet unknown spiritual helps and consolations, that I am painfully disquieted, and at times alarmed, lest I should be seized by death in my present state of unpreparedness for that solemn event. I hope, my dear, you and your papa will pray for me, for I now feel the need of the prayers of others. I know not how to pray myself. Forms are now useless to me, especially those I once used and admired, but never felt; I cannot use them now; and yet I know not how to pray to the Almighty without a written form."

"You will soon know, dear aunt."

THE UNHAPPY ONE.

"We were much surprised yesterday," said Mrs. Denham, "by not seeing any of you in your pew. We thought some of you must be very ill. We had a most charming sermon. Mr. Cole took his favourite text—'Be not righteous over much.' He read most excellently. Mr. Denham very much admired the sermon, and so did Sir Henry Wilmot; I heard him say that Mr. Cole surpassed himself. He showed us the folly and the danger of being too religious. We should have called in the evening, only we know that Mr. Roscoe has some scruples now about Sunday visitors."

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Roscoe, "you will be surprised when I tell you that we all went to hear Mr. Ingleby."

"Indeed!"

"And did you really?" said Miss Denham. "I heard him once. Is he not a most solemn preacher? I think if I were to hear him often I should be brought over to his religion, he enforces it with such awful power."

"You know, my dear, our objections to his religion; and I hope you will never think of leaving your own for it."

"Why, mamma, if I speak the candid truth, I must confess that I have no religion to leave."

"Dear Matilda, you shock me. Why, can't you say the Catechism, and the Belief, and the Lord's Prayer; and were you not confirmed by the Bishop of Bath and Wells; and have you not taken the sacrament three times, and thus made yourself a very good Christian?"

"No, ma', only twice. If you recollect, we had a large party last sacrament Sunday."

"Yes, I now recollect it. I suppose (looking at Mrs. Roscoe) you found the church prodigiously full?"

"There was a very large and a very attentive congregation."

"I have heard that before, and I wonder at it. I wonder what charm people can feel in such a gloomy religion, to be so fond of it. They should have the sermon preached to them which Mr. Cole read on Sunday morning. It would soberize them. I am told Mr. Ingleby preaches such awful sermons, and with so much vehemence, that he makes people take up with his religion whether they will or no. Pray, how did Mr. Roscoe like his preaching? He is a sensible man, and one on whose judgment we may place some dependence, notwithstanding his religious eccentricities."

"Mr. Roscoe was very much pleased. He thinks Mr. Ingleby a very intelligent and a very eloquent preacher. Indeed, we were all so much gratified, that it is our intention to hear him again."

"There, mamma," said Miss Denham, "I told you it would be so. Is he not, ma'am, a most beguiling preacher? I have often wished to hear him again; and yet I wonder at it, for he made me feel so awfully. What was the subject of his discourse?" (Mrs. John Roscoe now entered the parlour with Miss Roscoe.)

"He preached about the difficulties which a Christian has to overcome before he can enter heaven."

"I wish," said Mrs. John Roscoe, "you had been with us. I think all your objections against evangelical preaching would have been removed. I never enjoyed a sermon so much. We certainly act a very unwise part in cherishing antipathies against a style of preaching which is so well calculated to direct our attention towards that eternal world to which we are all hastening."

"It is very proper that we should all think about going to heaven; but if we think too much on that subject it will make us low-spirited. Mr. Cole very justly remarked yesterday, in his sermon, that our Saviour never prayed that we should be taken out of the world; and I think it would be wrong if we were to desire it."

"But you know that we must leave it; and as we know not how soon, is it not of importance that we should be prepared?"

"O, certainly; and I doubt not but, when our Maker is pleased to take us unto himself, we shall be quite resigned to our fate; but for my own part (rising as she spoke), I would much rather live than die. We know what this world is, and here we are very well off, but we know nothing about the next."

"I hope," said Mrs. Roscoe, "you and Miss Denham will accompany us on Sunday to hear Mr. Ingleby, as I have no doubt you will be much pleased. No one could have stronger prejudices against that good man than myself; and though he advanced some things which I did not very well understand, yet he preached with so much ease and animation, that I felt more of the importance of religion last Sunday than I ever felt before."

"I have no doubt but Mr. Ingleby is a very good man and a most excellent preacher; but you know that Mr. Denham is so attached to his religion, that he would not like for us to change ours. When, Madam (addressing Mrs. John Roscoe), do you leave?"

"We think of going the early part of next week."

"No, no," said Mrs. Roscoe, "we cannot part with you so soon. You must prolong your visit."

"Yes, dear aunt," said Miss Roscoe; "indeed you must."

"I hope, Madam, you and the Rev. Mr. Roscoe, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Roscoe, will do us the honour of joining a select dinner-party at Brushwood House this day week. Mr. Denham charged me to take no refusal, he is so anxious for the honour of seeing you all at his table."

"I feel obliged by your polite invitation; but I believe my husband has to attend a clerical meeting, which will render it absolutely necessary that we should be at home on Tuesday next. If he can stay, you may expect to see us; and I will let you know immediately after I have seen him."

"You see, my dear," said Mrs. Denham, on her way home, "the propriety of the suggestion which I gave you some time since, to avoid associating with Mrs. Stevens, as it is to her influence we may attribute the entire secession of the Roscoes from our social parties. They are all gone, as you may perceive from our interview with them this morning; and their example will influence others. It is prodigiously affecting to see the progress this evangelical religion is making, and no one can say where it will end."

"But, mamma, one thing is certain—if we judge from observation, they are happier with their religion than we are with ours."

"Yes, my dear, they say they are happy; but what pleasure can there be in religion?"

"I don't know, mamma; but I am sure that Mrs. Stevens and Miss Roscoe have a larger share of happiness than I have. I often feel a gloom come over my mind, which I can neither remove nor account for; and sometimes I feel such a singular depression of spirit, that I am inclined to read my Bible; but I don't know that it would do me any good."

"Why, you know, my dear, you have been confined at home rather more than usual, which has relaxed your nerves too much; but our parties will soon meet, and then the gloom of which you speak will go off. But I must request you to avoid associating with your new friends, especially now you are somewhat depressed in spirits, or they may bring you over to take to their religion, which would be, as I have often told you, a most prodigious affliction to your father and myself."

"I cannot, mamma, efface from my memory the sermon which I once heard Mr. Ingleby preach. It sometimes recurs to my recollection with a force that quite overpowers me; and I have such fearful dreams. I dreamt last night that, just as I was coming out of the theatre, the heavens all at once blazed with fire, and I thought the day of judgment was come. I awoke in such a fright, and just then I heard Hector howl most awfully."

"But, my dear, this was only a dream."

"But is not my dream a presentiment?"

"O, no, my dear! it's only superstitious people who ever have such a thing as a presentiment."

"But, ma', I am unhappy, indeed I am. I can't forget the sermon I heard Mr. Ingleby preach."

"I wish you had never gone to his church. I wished you not to go. You should always follow my advice; I have more knowledge of men and things than you have."

"True, ma'; but I often wish to hear him again. Is he not a good man?"

"My dear Matilda, you alarm me. You wish to hear him again, when his first sermon made you so unhappy! You must not cherish such an idea. Indeed, you must make some effort to raise your spirits, and drive all these gloomy thoughts out of your head, or there is no knowing what may happen."

"But, ma', if I could drive them out of my head, I could not drive them out of my heart. They have penetrated too deeply."

"My dear Matilda, you must rouse yourself. It won't do to give way to your melancholy ideas. Why, if you don't take care, you will become as religious as any of them; and then, as I have told you before, we should never have another happy day."

"My dear ma', I am unhappy, and cannot help it. With everything to make me happy—perfect health, affectionate parents, kind friends, the prospect of a union with the man I love—and yet I am not happy. That fearful question, which impressed me so much when I heard it, is perpetually sounding in my ears."

"What question do you refer to?"

"It is this, which I have repeated to you before—Should you like to pass from the theatre to the judgment-seat of Christ?"

"But that, my dear, was in his sermon, and he could not help reading it. He did not mean you, and I wonder why you should recollect it so. You should forget it."

"But I can't forget it. It is always returning. I hear it now. I hear it in company. I hear it in solitude. And in the dead of the night, when I awake, as I often do, I hear it then."

"Your papa has spoken to me several times lately about you. He says he is sure, from your melancholy looks and absence of mind, that there is something the matter with you. He thought, till I satisfied him to the contrary, that there was likely to be some rupture between you and Mr. Ryder. He is urging me to grant you every indulgence in our power."

"I am strongly tempted to become religious, to see if that would make me happy."

"I am glad, my dear, it is only a temptation. You know our Saviour has taught us to pray, Lead us not into temptation. This accounts for something I saw the other day, which rather distressed me."

"What was that, ma'?"

"I saw a Bible on your toilet."

"O yes, I recollect. I heard a poor woman say that her Bible made her happy, and I thought for the moment it might make me happy. But I could not make out which part I ought to read first, so as to understand it; and, therefore, I didn't read much. I read the history of Joseph, which pleased me a little; and I read some of the gospel stories; but the other parts I cannot understand. It is to me altogether a book of mystery."

"Nor can I understand it. It is a book of mystery to me as well as to you. But, dear, one thing is certain—the Almighty does not require you, now you are so young, the very life and soul of all our parties, to give your mind to such awful subjects as the Bible speaks about."

"Perhaps not, but still I am restless and uneasy. Indeed, I sometimes think of going to consult Mr. Ingleby; he may be able to give me some advice which may do me good."

"Dear Matilda, by no means do such a thing. If he could once get you into the Rectory, he would be sure to convert you to his religion. Keep up your spirits. We will go to Brighton soon; then to the altar. Then the tour, and then the return and the visiting. You will soon be as happy as the day is long."

"I hope God will bless me, and make me happy."

"There's no doubt about that."

"Then, ma', if he will bless me, why does he let me live so unhappy? I have tried to pray to him to make me happy; but it's of no use. What can I do?"

"You must go into company more."

"It is useless. I can't now enjoy what I used to enjoy so much; and I don't know the cause. I feel doomed by fate to unhappiness, and yet I have everything to make me happy."

"I'll speak to Dr. Bailey; he is very likely to give a prescription that may relieve you."

"No physician's prescription will ever soothe the pangs of a wounded spirit."

"My dear Matilda, your case greatly distresses me, and your papa too. Tell us what we can do to comfort you, and we will do it."

"I cannot tell. What a contrast between Miss Roscoe and myself! How cheerful she is! what a sweet smile is always playing on her countenance! how lively and energetic she is, while I am wretched and depressed, weary of life, yet living in the dread of death; more wretched, while in the possession of abundance, than the poor in their poverty."

Some few weeks after this conversation, Miss Denham, on her return from making some morning calls, said to her mamma, "You recollect our meeting Mr. Cole, the last time we were at Mr. Roscoe's?"

"Yes, dear."

"And do you recollect the remark you made on his leaving us?"

"No."

"You said, 'I wonder what is the matter. Mr. Cole looks so much annoyed to-day.'"

"I now recollect it, and I thought of it several times during the week, but I don't cherish such gloomy things as you do."

"Then I can tell you what affected him. I have just heard it. It will astonish you. No one expected such a thing; it is so strange and unlikely."

"What is it?"

"You know Miss Amelia Stubbs has been very ill many weeks and is likely to die."

"Yes, I heard it from Dr. Bailey."

"Her papa, when she was given over by Dr. Bailey and another physician, sent for Mr. Cole, and he talked to her, and gave her the sacrament and absolution, and then assured her that all was done that was necessary to be done to fit her for heaven; and he told her that now she might be resigned to her fate without any fear, as her peace with God was made on the sanctity of the sacrament."

"Very proper, dear. It is not, I believe, quite safe to die without taking the sacrament. I should do that the first thing if I were a-dying."

"Exactly so, ma'. After Amelia had taken it, and when all thought she had made her peace with God, and was quite resigned to die, she sent for Mr. Cole again, and told him that what he had done was of no use, and that she dreaded dying just as much after taking the sacrament and absolution, as she did before she took it. It was this that so much affected him. He had just left her when we met him."

"But why should he care about it, if he did what the church prescribes to be done? He did his duty, and that ought to have satisfied him."

"But, he says, it is such an indirect impeachment of his competency to perform his clerical functions."

"I have no doubt, if the real state of the case were known, that Mrs. Stevens has been with her, and undone what Mr. Cole did. She is always prowling about amongst the sick and the dying, disquieting their minds after the clergy have helped them to make their peace with God."

"No, ma', she had not seen Mrs. Stevens. Her disquietude of soul came of itself."

"How do you know that?"

"I have just seen her, and she told me so. She said, and she spoke emphatically when she said it, 'To give the sacrament and absolution to fit a person for dying, as a sort of a passport to heaven, is a great delusion.'"

"Depend on it, dear, that her fever has affected her brain. She must be in a state of delirium."

"No, ma', she is quite herself—as calm and as collected as when in perfect health. And she talks now so sweetly about Jesus Christ, and about his love for sinners, and about coming to him to be saved, that she really made me weep, though I could not comprehend her meaning. You would not know her if you were to hear her speak now, so different to her former talk. She talks now like a saint just going into heaven. It is quite wonderful. I can't make it out."

"Then I suppose Mr. Ingleby has been with her."

"Yes; her papa, at her request, sent for him; and he talked to her, so she told me, so sweetly about Jesus Christ, about his compassion and his love, and about his being able and willing to save her, and prayed with her so sweetly, that now she says she is quite happy at the thought of dying—that she would rather die than live."

"All this is quite marvellous."

"Exactly so. It has taken the whole circle of her intimacy by surprise. Everybody is talking about it, and nobody can make it out. Only think, a young lady with her bright prospects saying she would rather die than live!"

"Did Mr. Ingleby give her the sacrament and absolution?"

"No, ma', he did nothing but explain the Bible to her, and pray with her."

"Is she dying?"

"She is just now a little revived; but she told me again, she would rather die than live; and there was such a sweet smile on her countenance when she said it."

"Marvellous! But are you quite sure she is not in a state of delirium? This is how delirious people talk, so I have heard."

"She is no more delirious than I am. She told me, that if she should get well again, which she did not expect, she would have nothing more to do with balls, theatres, and card-parties; and she said so many solemn things to me about my soul, and its salvation and another world, and urged me so earnestly and affectionately to prepare for death while time was given me for such preparation, that I am become as low-spirited as ever, and don't know what to do. It is marvellous to hear with what ease, and fluency, and earnestness, she now talks on these awful subjects."

"One strange thing now comes so soon after another, that I get quite bewildered, but I suppose after a while things will settle down, and we shall be as quiet as ever. It is this evangelical religion that is doing all the mischief. What a pity that our Maker does not, somehow or another, put a stop to it."

"But, ma', people can't die in peace without it, though they can live without it. How will you account for this?"

"I don't know, as I never studied the subject; and I wish you would banish it from your mind, and talk about something else."

"I may talk about something else, ma', but to banish it from my mind is more than I am able to do."

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the Rev. Mr. Cole.

"We were just talking about this strange case of Miss Amelia Stubbs. How unpolite in her to tell you that the administration of the sacrament and absolution was a great delusion, when it is the very thing our church prescribes to fit a dying person for heaven!"

"Ay, she is to be pitied. Her mind is affected."

"So I believe, and so I have said. Is she likely to get any better before death?"

"No, Madam; there is no chance of that now, as Mr. Ingleby has her under his care."

"I think," said Miss Denham, "she is scarcely to be pitied. She is as calm and as collected as when in perfect health, and appears so happy when speaking of the bliss she expects to enjoy after death. She says she would rather die than live."

"This, I know, is what the evangelicals say, but I won't believe it."

"I believe it, Sir, for I have seen her, and heard her say so. I wish I was half as happy with the prospect of living as she is with the prospect of dying. Can you account for this wonderful change from a dread of death to a desire to die?"

"It's all effervescent excitement."

"A most pleasant one, just such an excitement as I should like if I were dying."

"My dear, you are overstepping the bounds of reverential propriety, by offering such free remarks to Mr. Cole."

"I hope not, ma'; it is not my intention to do so; but I can't help saying that, while standing beside her death-bed, I envied her her happiness. She told me that the sacrament did not take from her the dread of dying, but the sweet promise of Jesus Christ did."

"What promise of Jesus Christ did she refer to? To one, I suppose, that she heard in a fit of delirium. Delirious people always see imaginary sights, and hear imaginary sounds, and yet they think them real."

"O no, Sir, there's no delirium in her case. It was a promise which Mr. Ingleby read to her out of the Bible, and it was something like this, 'Come to me, and I will give you rest.'"

"I shall have no rest as long as Mr. Ingleby is suffered to invade my ecclesiastical territory, and pervert my parishioners from the sacraments of our church to his evangelical notions. I mean to complain of him to the bishop of our diocese, and have him cited before him."

"I don't like," said Miss Denham, after Mr. Cole left, "this citation reference. I wonder what he will say to the bishop, and I wonder what the bishop will say to him. Will he tell him that he visited a young lady of his parish when she was dying, and gave her the sacrament and absolution, according to the prescribed forms of the church, but they failed in her case in the efficacy of their power, as she dreaded death as much after she had taken the sacrament as she did before it was given to her? Will he then go on to say, that Mr. Ingleby was then invited to see her, and that he, by repeating and explaining to her some promise of Jesus Christ, which he read to her out of the Bible, succeeded in taking from her heart all dread of death, and in inspiring her with a joyful hope of immortality? Do you think he will do this, and then pray his lordship to issue a censure, and an interdiction to prevent his doing such a kind thing to any other person?"

"O no, dear, he won't do anything so highly indecorous. It was a hasty expression."

"I hope so, because the morale of such an application would be this: he would rather his parishioners should die in despair, than they should derive hope and spiritual consolation from the promises of Jesus Christ, repeated to them and explained to them by a brother clergyman of another parish."

"But, dear Matilda, in this case the brother clergyman is an evangelical."

"Admitted; but then he does what Mr. Cole could not do; he gives consolation and hope to a person when dying. This case is causing much excitement; it is bringing the efficacy of the sacraments into disrepute. I shall never, ma', forget my interview with Amelia; her serene look, her composure, the soft yet full intonations of her voice when bidding adieu to what she called this vain world, and hailing the dawn of a blissful immortality. And, ma', she wept many tears when she was urging me to flee from the wrath to come."

"Why, dear, it was very uncharitable in her even to suppose that such a dear innocent as you are is exposed to the wrath to come, but to allude to it was an act of great rudeness. I wonder you did not resent it."

"Really, ma', I felt when she was speaking as though what she said was very applicable and proper. But perhaps we were both labouring under a wrong impression. However, the conclusion which I have come to is this, though I have not mentioned it to any one before, that there is a power in evangelical religion of which we can form no idea. There's a mystery about it I cannot fathom."

"I am glad that dear Amelia is happy in prospect of death; she was always a virtuous girl, with a good heart; and now we will dismiss the subject, to talk about something else. Come, let us go into the drawing-room, and we will have a little music. You dwell on melancholy ideas too much; dismiss them, dear."

"Dismiss them! Why, ma', my thoughts come and go without my control. Some are strange thoughts, such as I never had before, and some are the same as usual. My mind is quite jaded by its own activity; and if I go to rest, and go to sleep, it is just the same then, as it is now. I often wonder what the issue of all this mental turmoil will be."

"Here is Mr. Ryder and his sister coming; they will cheer you up."

"Don't tell them that I am unhappy; it may excite suspicion or jealousy."

THE SCENE CHANGES.