Mr. Roscoe.—"I was more than gratified; I was both astonished and delighted. There is a marvellous change in him, in his spirit and habits, as well as in his theological opinions and style of preaching. He stands in the centre of a large circle of his clerical brethren, a living monument to the honour of the enlightening and renewing grace of God."

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"All such changes are both marvellous and natural. The unrenewed part of the community, both the clergy and the laity, look at them with some degree of amazement, regarding them as strange and mystical phenomena; but we know that they are the moral workmanship of the Spirit of God. They are also living evidences of the Divine origin of Christianity, bearing the same relation to it now, as the miracles of healing did on its first promulgation. Their production requires a power which is extra-human; but, notwithstanding this self-evident fact, different persons will attribute them to very different causes, as they did the undisputed miracles wrought by Jesus Christ. Some of the Pharisees asserted that he performed them by a power derived from the devil; others said, can a devil open the eyes of the blind? thus implying the absolute impossibility of his doing such a benevolent action. The same difference of opinion prevails amongst men, when they try to account for these moral miracles. Some refer them to an undefined fanaticism, or to a love of singularity, or to the power of persuasion, or to the imbecility or partial derangement of the intellectual faculty; and others ascribe them to the direct agency of the Spirit of God, which, certainly, is assigning an adequate cause, and the ONLY adequate cause for their existence."

Mr. Roscoe.—"Surely no one who knew my brother before his conversion, will accuse him of fanaticism, for a more doggedly stern advocate in behalf of Tractarianism never undertook its defence and support; and no one, I think, will venture to say that his intellect has passed under an eclipse since his conversion. No, Sir; such references would entail discredit on any one who would make them. All must admit that he himself is competent to give evidence on the fact and the cause of it; and he uniformly says, By the grace of God I am what I am."

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"As you refer to his style of preaching, I presume he has resumed his pulpit labours?"

Mr. Roscoe.—"Yes, Sir, he has; and if my eyes had been closed, and I had not known that he was in the pulpit, I should have thought that I was listening to a preacher I had never heard before. Formerly he was rather heavy, and there was a harsh monotonous tone in his delivery—but now he speaks with great ease and fluency, and with a pathetic earnestness which at times is thrilling. I have seen some of his hearers affected to tears, who used to sit as unmoved as stones. I was present when he delivered his first sermon, after several months' absence from the pulpit; and as he had given notice that he should assign the reasons which induced him to renounce the Tractarian heresy and adopt the Evangelical faith, there was an overflowing congregation. His text was a very appropriate one; it was taken from 2 Tim. iii. 5: 'Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof; from such turn away.' From these words of Paul he raised the following proposition, which he argued with great accuracy and telling force:—'We should hold no Christian fellowship with any order of ministers who unduly magnify the form and ceremonies of Christianity, and who, either actually or virtually, depreciate its doctrines and its precepts.'

"He concluded his discourse as follows:—'My dearly beloved brethren, I have been labouring amongst you many years, but I now publicly confess, with shame and confusion of face, that I have been misleading you on the great question of your personal salvation, simply because I have been living under the power of self-delusion—advocating the form of godliness, while denying its power. Like the priests of Rome, and like too many, alas! of our own church, I have been teaching you to look for peace of mind and for the hope of salvation to the efficacy of your baptism, to the eucharist, and to priestly absolution; but, thanks to the Divine Spirit, I now perceive that these are refuges of lies—the inventions of a crafty and self-deluded priesthood—the fatal quicksand of superstition, on which the people are perishing in their sins, and are lost for ever. I now renounce these Christ-dishonouring heresies, as opposed to the spirit and the letter of the Bible, and embrace the truth which is embodied in the simple and concise reply which the apostle Peter made to the members of the Jewish council: "Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved" (Acts iv. 12). In future, both by myself and my excellent curate, the regenerating power of the Spirit of God will be substituted for the regenerating power of water-baptism, and your faith will be directed to the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, rather than to the officiating priest when exercising his absolving power.

"'I fear that many of my parishioners have passed into the eternal world under the influence of self-delusion, during the long period in which I have been self-deceived; and this is to me a source of bitter and agonizing sorrow. But, brethren, I have now resolved, in the strength of the Lord, that none of the living shall perish from the same cause, as, from this time forth, it is my intention to preach the unsearchable riches of Christ—proclaiming him, in all my ministrations, as an ever-living Saviour, able and willing to save even the chief of sinners.

"'Christianity has been designated an experimental science, that is, a science which may be submitted to the test of experience; and to the truthfulness of this designation I can now bear my testimony. The change which has taken place in my belief has been preceded by a change of heart. While living under the fatal delusions of Tractarianism, the Bible was to me a book of mysteries, but now it is intelligible—it is the book of the heart. I now know what it is to be born of the Spirit, to believe and trust in Christ, to love and adore him, and also what it is to have joy and peace in believing; and it is my earnest prayer that you, my beloved brethren, may be made partakers of like precious faith, that we may live and rejoice together in hope of the glory to be revealed in us when our spiritual warfare is accomplished, and we are for ever at rest. In conclusion, I would make the same request of you, which the apostle made of the church of the Thessalonians: "Finally, brethren, pray for us, that the word of the Lord may have free course, and be glorified, even as it is with you" (2 Thess. iii. 1).'"

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"How do the people appear to like this new style of preaching?"

Mr. Roscoe.—"Some are violently opposed to it, others express no decided opinion, but I think the majority are pleased with it. The Curate informed me that he has conversed with a few who have recently felt the gospel to be the power of God to their salvation; and, to aid their spiritual progress, a weekly prayer-meeting is established, where I heard two laymen pray with great simplicity and earnestness; and after the devotional part of the service was concluded, the Curate delivered a short and an appropriate address, which appeared to make a deep impression on this select audience. He and my brother are very active, labouring in season and out of season; they go from house to house, distributing tracts amongst the people, conversing and praying with them; and, in addition to this, they are training a lay agency to pay domiciliary visits to the farm-houses and cottages that are scattered over the hamlet."

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"That's one of the most useful plans which a clergyman can adopt to extend his usefulness amongst the more ignorant and debased of his parishioners, who will not come to church unless some influence be employed to induce them. I recollect a decent woman, the wife of a very rude and profane forester, was persuaded, by one of my pious members, to come to church, soon after I was inducted to the living; and it pleased God to convert her, which so greatly enraged her husband, that he threatened to kill her if she did not leave off coming; but she braved all his menaces, and has been ever since one of my most constant hearers. Happening one day to be near his cottage, I ventured to make a call; he was eating his dinner; and as I passed him to take a seat in the chimney-corner, he cast a sullen look at me, but spoke not a word. After a few common-place observations, I referred in terms of commendation to a fine plantation of fir and beech trees which I had been admiring, and to the neatness of the quickset hedge which encircled it, which so much gratified him that his dogged sternness of look and manner relaxed into free and easy good humour, and he became quite chatty, and asked me if I would take a glass of ale. I thanked him for his hospitality, but said I preferred water to any other beverage. He rose, took a jug from the dresser, and stepped out as nimbly as he would step to wait on his master; his wife expressing her astonishment at what she heard and saw. 'There, and please your reverence, is a glass of pure spring water, as clear as crystal, and about as cold as ice.' I sat some time longer, and having accomplished my object by talking him into a good humour, I arose to depart, shook hands with him, and left him, and I had the pleasure of seeing him at church on the following Sabbath morning; he is now one of the most pious, and, I may add, one of the most polite members of my spiritual cure. We should imitate the example of Jesus Christ, who came to seek, as well as to save them that are lost."

Miss Roscoe.—"I know him quite well. When riding by his cottage last autumn, my horse plunged, and threw me, but providentially there was no accident beyond the bursting of the girths of my saddle, which he repaired with the dexterity of a proficient. Had I been a duchess, and had he been a young nobleman, I am sure more promptness and delicate kindness could not have been shown me; and his wife was equally attentive and obliging. This occurrence has led to a little intimacy, and I have since spent some happy moments in his cottage; and I have seen the big tear fall on his sun-burned face when we have been talking of the love of Christ. He is more like the gentle lamb than the savage bear. He is fond of reading; and, in addition to some historical works, and books on horticulture, he has a copy of Henry's Commentary on the Bible, Bunyan's Pilgrim, Scott's Force of Truth, Andrew Fuller's Gospel its own Witness, and John Newton's Works. I don't think any infidel would venture an attack on his faith."

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"I suppose, Sir, you heard the Curate preach?"

Mr. Roscoe.—"Yes, several times. He has a sonorous and clear voice, and his action when in the pulpit is good, because natural; he excels most ministers I have heard in the ease and facility of his style of address; he narrates an anecdote with great skill and force of impression; his appeals to the conscience are very close and searching; he dwells much on the love and compassion of Jesus Christ for sinners ready to perish, and on his ability and willingness to save them; but it is when he is warning them to flee from the wrath to come—and sketching the dying of an impenitent sinner, and his passing alone into the eternal world, to endure the anguish and self-reproach which are consequent on being lost and doomed for ever—that he evinces the most feeling, and discovers the extent of his mental resources to supply him with novel imagery of illustration, and terms of alarm and vivid description. Then it is that the eyes of all the people are fastened on him; and at times they seem to be awe-struck."

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"The introduction of the gospel of the grace of God into a parish, which has been long sitting in spiritual darkness, is an event of immense importance; it is the beginning of a new epoch in its history; it is the depositing of the mystic leaven amongst the people, which effects wonderful changes and transformations in their souls and social habits. I can supply out of my own parish examples illustrative and confirmatory of what John Foster says in his Treatise on Popular Ignorance. 'We cannot,' he remarks, 'close this subject without adverting to a phenomenon as admirable as, unhappily, it is rare, and for which the observers may, if they choose, go round the whole circle of their philosophy, and begin again, to find any adequate cause other than the most immediate agency of the Almighty Spirit. Here and there an instance occurs, to the delight of the Christian philanthropist, of a person brought up in utter ignorance and barbarian rudeness, and so continuing till late—sometimes very late in life—and then at last, after such a length of time and habit has completed its petrifying effect, suddenly seized upon by a mysterious power, and taken with an irresistible force out of the dark hold in which the spirit has lain imprisoned and torpid, into the sphere of thought and feeling.

"'We have known instances in which the change, the intellectual change, has been so conspicuous within a brief space of time, that an infidel observer must have forfeited all claim to be esteemed even a man of sense, if he would not acknowledge—This that you call Divine grace, whatever it may really be, is the strongest awakener of the faculties after all. And, to a devout man, it is a spectacle of most enchanting beauty, thus to see the immortal plant, which has been under a malignant blast while sixty or seventy years have passed over it, coming out at length in the bloom of life.'"

Mr. Lewellin.—"Yes, and we are all living witnesses of the amazing efficacy of Divine grace in effecting our spiritual transformation, which, like that of the apostle Paul, has been produced in us without any efforts of our own, or any anticipation of such an unlikely thing being done. That it is a reality we cannot doubt, because, in addition to the evidence arising from our consciousness, we have the evidence of our senses. Now, suppose by an action of our imagination we step back a few years in our moral history, and re-assume our original characters, what a contrast should we, in that case, exhibit to our present selves! You, Sir, and your brother would move amongst us as two haughty Tractarians, magnifying the form and ceremonies of Christianity, and depreciating its doctrines and precepts. Mrs. Roscoe would be a stereotyped formalist, sitting in her easy-chair, with her week's preparation before her on her card-table, looking forward with some undefined emotions of superstitious reverence to the sacrament Sunday. Miss Roscoe would be moving, the principal figure in a ball-room, exciting the envy or the jealousy of her gay associates. My uncle and aunt would be living at Fairmount, the chief priest and priestess in the temple of fashion; routs, and dances, and gala nights—coursing-matches, and the prosecution of poachers, and the gains and the losses of the turf, supplying the poor rustics with topics for their table-talk. And, as for myself, I should be prowling about the streets and resorts of London, with some profane sceptics or accomplished gamesters, humming, in an under-tone of grave or jocular levity—'Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.' This is a sketch of what we should have been at this moment if Divine grace had not come to impress on us another likeness, and infuse within us another spirit. These moral changes in us are not shams and delusions, but positive realities."

Mrs. Roscoe.—"I should not like to become my former self again, without religious thought, and without any religious emotions. I lived without reflection or anticipation; and when any particular circumstances compelled me to advert to the certainty of my death, I felt an awful recoiling of spirit against it."

Mr. Stevens.—"If our conversation were overheard by some of our fashionable Christians, how strange would it appear to them! They would imagine, if they did not know us, that we were a set of incurables; and if they actually knew us, they would speak of us as a group of fanatics."

Mr. Roscoe.—"This reminds me of an admirable discourse I heard my brother's Curate preach on the words of the apostle John: 'Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is' (1 John iii. 2). 'You are now living,' he said, when addressing the pious part of his audience, 'in a world of sin and sorrow; and you are living in disguise, and are not known to the persons amongst whom you live, and with whom you are engaged in the commerce of life. They may know your person, your name, your residence, your relative connections, and your distinctive religious denomination, but they have no knowledge, or even conception, of your elevated rank in relation to the wondrous beings of the great unknown world. This should neither astonish nor mortify you; for when Jesus Christ sojourned on earth, even though he was the brightness of his Father's glory—even though stormy winds and raging waves, disease, and death, and infernal spirits acknowledged the absolute supremacy of his dominion over them—yet the men of the world knew him not. They knew him as Jesus of Nazareth, the son of the carpenter; they knew him as a madman, an impostor, and a blasphemer; but they knew him not as the Son of God in the human form, come to seek and to save them that are lost. If, then, they knew him not who presented such luminous signs of his celestial dignity and glory, how can you expect the world over to look on you as the sons of God, living through the period of your minority in disguise, soon to have your relative dignity chronicled in the records of immortality?'"

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"That passage proves that our identity is preserved amidst all the changes we have undergone, or may yet undergo—identically the same persons after our conversion as we were before our conversion, though vastly different; and, in a glorified state, we shall be identically the same persons we are now, but then we shall be made exactly like the Son of God. Our Lord, when administering consolation to Martha of Bethany, said: 'And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?' (John xi. 26). There is nothing in this passage which requires its restriction to the singular occasion of its utterance; it announces an absolute fact, universally applicable to our Lord's disciples. There may be a momentary suspension of life, attended by a sudden yet momentary collapse of the self-conscious faculty, when the great spirit is in the act of removing from her material tabernacle, to enter the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens: but it is only the suspension, it is not the extinction of life; and the self-conscious faculty will soon awake, and bear an undisputed testimony to the personal identity of the soul. Yes, and there is to me a sublime and thrilling interest in the belief, that I shall be myself again when I awake in the Divine likeness, with my own intellect, with my own imagination, with my own heart, and with my own memory laden with its varied accumulations—identically the same person, yet transformed into a pure and spotless being—and that, after the lapse of millions of ages, I shall be identically the same being I am now; the same being I was in the days of childhood and of youth, of early and of later manhood; the same as I was when living amidst the attractions of home and the charms of more extended social intimacies; the same as when I was enduring the privations and sorrows of earth, encountering its conflicts and its trials; and the same as when I stood trembling on the narrow isthmus of time, fearing to slip the cable of life, and launch into eternity."

Mr. Roscoe.—"But while identity is preserved, we shall exist in some new form, as we shall then be disembodied; shall see ourselves and each other; and be endowed also with some new faculties to fit us for our high destiny, its felicities and employments."

Mr. Lewellin.—"We shall, undoubtedly, be as fitted to engage in all the exercises of the celestial world, and to intermingle, with graceful ease, in all its varied associations and enjoyments, as we should be if we had sprung up into being there, like the angels of God. But yet I do not think it necessarily follows that we shall have any new mental facilities communicated to us; the faculties which we shall then require may even now be lying dormant in the soul, waiting merely for the act of disembodiment to come forth in full development and activity."

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"That's an idea I have long entertained, for experience proves that the spirit of man, even now, when it makes its escape from the control of the senses, as in dreaming, does occasionally give palpable indications of the possession of faculties far more active and vigorous than is ordinarily displayed when under their dominion; doing, in fact, when asleep, what cannot be done when awake. I know an intelligent man, on whose testimony I can place absolute dependence, who has told me more than once, that though unable, when awake, to construct a stanza, yet, after reading Milton, or Thomson, or Pope, he has when asleep composed poetical pieces with great ease and rapidity. And I am quite sure that many of the sermons I have preached when asleep have far surpassed anything I could produce when awake. These facts, and I could increase their number, are to me satisfactory indications that there are latent faculties in embryo, lying dormant in the wondrous spirit of man, which, when fully developed and brought into action (as they will be when the spirit is disembodied), will be found admirably adapted to the exercises of our future economy of existence. Without requiring any new mental creation, we shall feel as much at ease and at home in heaven as though we had never lived elsewhere."

Mr. Roscoe.—"Does the apostle, by this expression, 'When he shall appear,' refer to the appearance of Jesus Christ on the morning of the general resurrection, preparatory to the final judgment."

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"Some think he does, but I doubt it. When he makes his grand appearance, preparatory to the final judgment, he will be seen coming in the clouds, and all the holy angels with him; and at the blast of the archangel's trumpet, the pious dead will spring up into life, and, together with the pious who may be living at this great crisis, will undergo a change in their physical formation and appearance; the natural body will become a spiritual body, bearing the image of the heavenly, as distinctly as they bore, when living on earth, the image of the earthy. But this wonderful process of coming up into newness of life, issuing in a physical transformation from a natural to a spiritual body, is effected by the action of power. 'For our conversation is in heaven; from whence also we look for the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ: who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body according to the working whereby he is able even to subdue all things unto himself' (Phil. iii. 20, 21). What a sublimely grand spectacle! every one of the august family of God will be arrayed in a body resembling the glorified body of Jesus Christ! But the assimilation to which the words of John refer, is produced by vision. We shall be like him when we see him; and the assimilation will take place immediately on seeing him, and in consequence of seeing him; and we shall see him the moment we die, for to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord."

Mrs. Stevens.—"There is something so strange and appalling in death and in dying, and in having to pass, and pass alone, into the great world of spirits, that I am not surprised by the shuddering dread which some feel when anticipating it; and nothing can allay this fearful commotion, but a firm belief in the watchful eye and ever-active presence of our kind and compassionate Saviour. 'I will come again and receive you to myself,' is the sweet promise which reduces agitation to calmness, and inspires confidence and joy in the moment of the final departure from earth."

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"We cannot tell on what living being here on earth any of us will cast the last look of recognition and affection; but the first Being we shall see on entering the great unknown world will be Jesus Christ, waiting to receive us to himself as his own, that we may be glorified together. This we believe, and this we know; and therefore we may rejoice with joy unspeakable."

Miss Roscoe.—"Then it would be more in harmony with the spirit of our faith, to cherish a desire to depart to see our Lord, than to wish to live here always away from him."

Mr. Roscoe.—"I was very much pleased with the following paragraph of the discourse which I heard the Curate deliver, from the text on which you have just been speaking:—'You are following, my brethren, no cunningly-devised fable, as infidelity asserts, when you enter the mystic inclosure of Divine revelation, and look with the piercing eye of faith on the glory to be revealed in you, because the objects of your belief are not inventions, but realities within the range of your actual knowledge. You know in whom you believe; and you know that he has effected in you the preparatory spiritual change which is to issue in the grand result of your eternal salvation. You know he has convinced you, by his Holy Spirit, of the evil of sin; that he has produced in you the feeling of deep self-humiliation and contrition; that he has drawn you to himself, to believe and trust in him; and that he has at times manifested himself to you as he does not unto the world, giving you peace and joy in believing. These emotions of contrition and self-humiliation, of peace and of joy, you know are genuine emotions; not self-originated, nor yet produced by the action of any mere human agency; and you know that they are the first spiritual operations in the new formation of your soul, which is to terminate in a perfect likeness to Jesus Christ, when you see him as he is.'"

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"I have in my congregation a very simple-hearted, godly man, who is in the service of an avowed sceptic; and one day, when he was at work, his master said to him, 'John, you don't know that what you believe about another world is true.'—'And you, master, don't know that it is untrue.'—'I believe, John, that the visions of future glory which now flit so vividly before your imagination, will turn out at last to be deceptions—mere fancy pictures; for when you are dead you will go out of existence.'—'I have heard you say that before, master; and if it should be so, I shall never know it; but there is one thing which I think I know.'—'And what's that, John?'—'Why, master, it is just this. If you were dying—and die you must—you would rather have the bright visions of immortality and eternal life flitting before your imagination, than die as infidels generally do, in dread uncertainty, or in the agony of self-reproach for neglecting the great salvation. I am safe against both these terrible evils, but you stand exposed to them; and it will very soon be decided which is right and which is wrong—you or I. We are both near our journey's end; I am seventy-two, and I believe, master, you are a few years older. We shall soon know what our end is to be. I have no fear, except for you, master.'"

Mr. Stevens.—"These plain godly people very often, by their homespun arguments and their shrewd remarks, stagger and confound even the most subtile and scornful infidels."

Mr. Lewellin.—"They often silence them."

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"I don't think we have many avowed infidels in Broadhurst, though, alas! we have too many who are theoretical believers, but practical unbelievers."

Mr. Roscoe.—"There are a great many in my brother's parish, and yet they generally attend church once on the Sabbath. They are very free in their remarks on his conversion, which, they say, is passing from one theological absurdity to another; the Curate, in their estimation, is a very amiable and zealous fanatic. At the conclusion of the sermon from which I have given you one extract, he made this striking appeal to them, and he was kind enough to give me a copy of it:—

"'I will now admit, for the sake of the question I have to propose, that what we believe is fictitious; that there is, in fact, no future state of existence for man; no such visions of glory for us to behold when we pass out of life; and no such scenes of bliss for us to enjoy as I have now been endeavouring to portray. But suppose we really believe that there are, I appeal to you whether our faith does not tend to sustain our spirits when suffering under the ills of life; and whether we have not something in prospect, which is an adequate compensation for the anticipated loss of life and all its possessions. Is it nothing to a noble mind, rich in the stores of knowledge, and still richer in the anticipations of hope—endowed with faculties too valuable to be annihilated without a pang of regret keener than ever pierced the heart of sorrow—to believe that he is superior in the duration of his being to the beasts of the field and the creeping things of the earth; that he is superior to the trees of the wood, the shrubs of the lawn, and the flowers of the garden; ordained to live after they have outlived their life, and to live on for ever in dignity and in happiness? Take the case of a poor believer, who has to sustain the hardships and privations of life, often not knowing how to get the next meal for himself and family, or where to get the means of protecting his scanty household property against the distraints of his landlord. Is it nothing to him to be able to look forward to the coming of a period when he shall be in the possession of an inheritance uncorrupted, undefiled, and that will never fade away? Take the case of one who has had to weather all through life the storms of adversity; to stand exposed to the blasts of calumny, reproach, and wrongful testimony; who has had to suffer, like the apostle of the Gentiles, the peril of the deep, the peril of the wilderness, and the more galling peril of false brethren. Is it nothing for such a man of accumulative trials, to be able to believe that, after a few more storms have agitated the waters of life, and after a few more reproaches have assailed his reputation, he shall enter into the port of eternal safety, where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are for ever at rest? Or take the case of one who has been a living martyr to physical afflictions and sufferings; who has scarcely ever breathed the breath of uncontaminated health, though she has wandered from one salubrious place to another, to catch its invigorating inhaling; whose food has been tasteless, and to whom restless nights and days of weariness and pain have been appointed; and whose ethereal spirit has been held in a state of langour and depression by the mysterious action of disease on her nervous sensibilities. Is it nothing to such a sufferer to believe that, after a few more months or years of agonizing and torturous endurance, the dark night of her mourning will pass away in the dawn of the bright and serene morning of immortality, whose sun will rise without a cloud, never to go down or pass under a momentary eclipse?

"'Why, then, I ask the infidel, will you attempt to destroy or disturb the faith of such believers? Why not let each one go daily, in the quietness of his spirit, to draw the waters of healing, of refreshment, and invigoration from this perennial well, which he has found in the wilderness? Why attempt to throw a dark and impenetrable veil over the enchanting scenes which the opening heavens partially disclose, and on which he gazes in joyous hope and in ecstasy of longing? Why not let him remain, under what you call the spell of his delusion, when it entails on you no loss or suffering, but which imparts to him such holy and sublime enjoyments? Suppose it be—what you tell him it is—all a delusion; yet if he die under its power he will never know it; why not, then, let him die in peace? surely his peaceful death can occasion you no bitter regret. Why try to rouse him out of his elysian reverie, simply to let him know that death is coming to deprive him of all his sublime anticipations, and slip him out of existence? What gratification can success in such a species of destructive labour afford you? You are not the daring highway robber, who plunders another to enrich himself; you are the wanton or the malignant incendiary, who devastates that you may revel in the irreparable losses which you inflict on others, with no prospect of personal advantage. But suppose that what you reject as fanciful and fabulous, should turn out at last to be a reality, then your doom is certain and truly awful; you will pass into the eternal world alone, a lost spirit, to perish, yet retaining your consciousness for ever. And you cannot know that it is not a reality, unless you can acquire all knowledge, and this you cannot do while you live. You must die to know that there is no hereafter; and if you survive your own death, and live on in some intermediate state, you must visit every nook and corner of the vast universe before you can know that there is no heaven and no hell. Why, then, proudly arrogate to yourself the possession of knowledge which you know that it is impossible for you to acquire? and why, while unable to decide against the reality of what we believe, are you not in terror lest you should be labouring under a criminal self-deception? If there be another world, which you cannot disprove, with what horror will your spirit, when disembodied, enter it, to meet her fearful and merited doom, to dwell for ever amongst the devil and his angels?

"'The efforts which you are now making to induce others to reject the Christian faith as an imposition on human credulity, will receive AT LAST a recompense; and what will that be?—their bitterest curses, which will be an aggravation to your misery, far beyond the capability of human conception. There, in the eternal world, you will be a lost spirit, assailed by other lost spirits, reproaching you as the prime agent in effecting their ruin for ever; and with emotions of deadly hatred, and in terms of malignant accusation, corresponding with the awful intensity of their mental suffering. Regret then, on their account or on your own, will be useless; for could you shed as many tears of sorrow, as there have been dew-drops since the birth of creation; could you heave as many sighs and groans, as there have been pulsations of pain since the first child of sorrow felt the bitterness of grief; and could you offer as many petitions for mercy, as there have been lamentations of woe since Esau endured the anguish of unavailing repentance, it would be of no use. Once lost, by dying in your sins, there is no possibility of recovery or escape. When, then, the final issue is so tremendously awful, the preparatory anxiety and caution to avoid it cannot be too scrupulous or guarded; but to advert to it with a spirit of levity, or to deem it too insignificant and unimportant to demand the most solemn attention, is to give decisive evidence that you have prematurely fitted yourselves for destruction, and are ripe for hell, before the reaper is in readiness to put in the sickle of death to cut you down.'"

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"This, Sir, must have been a most impressive sermon. What effect did it appear to produce?"

Mr. Roscoe.—"The congregation listened to it with profound attention; and some were subdued; they quailed under it."

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"If, Sir, a few years since, you had seen and heard in some night vision, what you have now seen and heard under the broad daylight of positive reality, you would have thought, when awakening out of your sleep, that you had witnessed something of what God could do, but you could not have anticipated its actual occurrence."

Mr. Roscoe.—"That's very true, Sir; I wish you would go, and see and judge for yourself."

Miss Roscoe.—"Yes, do, Sir; and, if you will permit me, I will accompany you. It is the Lord's doing, and it is a very choice specimen of the Divine workmanship."

Rev. Mr. Ingleby.—"I should like to go, but my age and infirmities forbid it. I must be contented to look at the descriptive sketching of this sublime manifestation of the power and the grace of God; it is the triumph of evangelical truth over the lifeless formalism of Tractarian arrogance and delusion."

"Our prayers," said Miss Roscoe, "are answered; my dear uncle and aunt are right at last."

THE QUAKERESS.

Amongst the various causes which lead to the peace and prosperity of a Christian church, the example and influence of females deserves a prominent place; it operates silently, yet powerfully, both to repress what is evil and to stimulate to what is good. Woman was first in the transgression, but in every age she has laboured to repair the evil which that direful calamity has entailed on the human race; and, though less conspicuous in her sphere of action than man, she has often equalled him in earnest devotedness, and has sometimes surpassed him in self-denying sacrifices and heroic sufferings. The apostle makes honourable mention of those women who laboured with him in the gospel; and it was my privilege and happiness to have some as co-workers, of great, if not of equal importance and worth. One of the most useful of these was Miss Chester, a diffident and unobtrusive woman, yet ever active in labours of love—doing everything with so much prudence and amiability that she neither provoked censure nor awakened jealousy or envy. She had acquired great aptitude in gaining the confidence of the females in the congregation, whose hearts the Lord appeared to be opening to receive the truth; she could go where the habits of social life forbade me to enter, and could gain information on the delicate question of personal piety, which would have been withheld even from my solicitations. In this way she acted as a pioneer, and often brought me information regarding individuals of whose religious awakening I might otherwise never have heard. The first time she called on me after my return, she had a great deal to tell me of what had taken place among my people during my absence; but the most gratifying intelligence of all was, that she thought her esteemed friend, Miss Osbourne, had become decidedly pious, though she had not yet openly avowed herself. Miss Osbourne was not one of my own people, but had been brought up in the Society of Friends, and had, to all human appearance, been a consistent adherent of that community. On making some inquiries as to this unexpected transformation of character and habit, I learned that it took its rise from a sermon she heard from Matt. vi. 5—"that they may be seen of men." While listening to the preacher, and when reflecting on what he said, she was convinced that it was contrary to the spirit of the New Testament for a disciple of Jesus Christ to assume any distinctive denominational sign, either in dress or style of speech—as it is holding out a secular mark to attract human attention; or if this be not the motive, she perceived that such was the result. From that time forth she exchanged the dress and speech of Quakerism for that which is in current usage in genteel life, believing that the best evidence of a living faith is to add to "faith virtue; and to virtue knowledge; and to knowledge temperance; and to temperance patience; and to patience godliness; and to godliness brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness charity" (2 Pet. i. 5-7). On leaving me Miss Chester said—"The history of her religious experience will, I have no doubt, interest and gratify you. I have promised to spend an evening with her soon, and I hope you will accompany me; I am quite sure she will be very glad to see you."

Miss Chester having made an appointment with Miss Osbourne, the evening soon came round that we were to pay her a visit at her quiet residence, and Miss Chester having called on me for the purpose, we set out on our mission together. Just prior to this my first interview with Miss Osbourne, I had lent my chapel to the Friends to hold a public meeting, when I had the pleasure of hearing Mr. Joseph Gurney and another address a large and an attentive audience. To this meeting Miss Osbourne very naturally referred, thanking me at the same time, for this mark of respect for the body; adding, "I am no advocate of the esprit du corps. We may cherish our preferences, yet I like to see all true believers living together in friendly intercourse."

"It is, Madam, by coming into close contact we rub off the angular parts of our denominational character, and then, as a necessary consequence, we can develope the more sterling attributes of our renewed nature, as one in Christ."

"I think Friends have isolated themselves too much. They live in a little Goshen of their own, and cherish rather too fondly the idea that they, and they only, have a purely spiritual faith. They look on others as devotees of carnal ordinances."

"We receive the ordinances which are delivered to us in the New Testament, and observe them as tests of our subjection to the authority of Jesus Christ; but, in our judgment, they do not possess any inherent power to work in us the fruits of righteousness. We look through them to the great truths they symbolize. Baptism symbolizes the washing of regeneration and renewing of the Holy Ghost; and the Lord's Supper symbolizes the shedding of blood for the remission of sins. And this Friends might have known long since if they had consulted our best writers; but this they neglect doing, and hence they do not know us perfectly. Indeed, they cherish many wrong notions and impressions about us."

"Yes; they move in a circle of their own, which is rather a confined and peculiar one. They do not like to cross the line which keeps them distinct from others. This I have long considered an evil, and I may say I have felt it to be one. Thus, when the controversy sprang up in America about the divinity of Jesus Christ, and which led to the secession of so many from the Society of Friends, I was in a most bewildered state; I had no previous information to help me to form a correct judgment on the questions in dispute and discussion."

"The tenacity with which the Friends adhere to the 'inward light,' which they imagine is given to every one, very naturally renders any laborious effort, on their part to understand the facts and the truths of the Bible a mere work of supererogation. They hand down, from one generation to another, a few distinctive opinions, which, combined with other causes, keep them a compact body and peculiar people; but I apprehend there is among them too great a lack of a diligent searching of the Scriptures, to ascertain how far these opinions are supported by Divine authority."

"I myself was very fond of this 'inward light' theory. It was to me, what the all-sufficiency of reason is to the rationalist. I was my own guide and my own authority. I could not stoop to receive instruction from prophets or apostles. But my faith in its infallible guidance has long since been shaken—I may now say, quite destroyed. I find it is not powerful enough to keep the Society of Friends from a gradual decay. They are dying off towards extinction, while other denominations are increasing in their numbers."

"I know some of the rising generation who have withdrawn from the Society of Friends and gone over to the Established Church. There was, I believe, a large secession at Manchester some few years ago?"

"Yes; but nothing shook the body so violently as the American controversy on the divinity of Jesus Christ. The shock was felt here, and Friends were not prepared for it. It led many to imbibe the Socinian heresy, and some became avowed sceptics."

"In relation to all controversies knowledge is power, but ignorance is weakness. If we are trained by a regular course of proper teaching to understand the distinct yet united truths of the Bible—the evidences by which they are supported, and the arguments by which objections to them are refuted—we are then prepared to withstand the shocks of heresy without being startled into scepticism by the imposing dogmatism or subtle plausibilities of its advocates."

"Very true; but Friends have not the advantage of such training; and therefore, when a controversial spirit does spring up amongst them, it becomes as a wolf in the sheepfold."

"But though controversy may do some evil, yet it may do some good; for in the spiritual world, no less than in the physical, stagnation is often more perilous and fatal than the most violent tempest."

"Very true. I know that the American controversy has done some good in England. It has awakened the dormant mind of Friends to a calm and close investigation of the subjects of discussion; and the result is, that the belief of many now rests on logical evidence, rather than traditionary testimony. Till it took place, and excited the attention of Friends, I always looked on Jesus Christ merely as an amiable and intelligent philanthropist—a model for us to copy after."

"But as there is an immense disparity between humanity and divinity—between a perfect man, and God manifest in the flesh—what effect did the first announcement of the divinity of Jesus Christ produce on your mind? Did it not startle you?"

"I felt an instinctive revolting against it. I felt more disposed to treat it as a legend, than look upon it as a fact."

"But why?"

"Because I thought it was not likely that God would manifest himself in the flesh, when he could so easily accomplish any beneficent purpose without stooping to such an act of humiliation and meanness. Indeed, for a very long time the more I thought of it the more I revolted against it. I loathed it, it was offensive to my taste; and I did not like to hear the question argued."

"But did it never strike you, when reading the gospels, that Jesus Christ attempted to make the Jews believe that he was a Divine incarnation? I suppose you must have read the following passage—'The Jews answered him, saying, For a good work we stone thee not; but for blasphemy; and because that thou, being a man, makest thyself God' (John x. 33)?"

"Why, yes; but I thought their accusation against him on this point, was a wilful perversion of his meaning—an excess on their part of malignant feeling."

"But did you never receive an impression, from the facility with which he performed many stupendous works, and his entire avoidance of all pomp and display, that he was a wonderful Being, something more than man?"

"Why, no. The truth is, I never felt sufficient interest in the question to pursue the investigation of it with attention. I revolted from it."

"But when you were forced to attend to it, in some measure, by the frequency of its discussion amongst Friends, did any other reason present itself to your mind as a constraint, or an inducement to reject it as a mere legend?"

"Yes; the absolute impossibility that two such dissimilar natures, as the Divine and human, could be united in one person."

"But did you never advert to the conjunction of the immaterial and material—two very dissimilar natures—in your own person?"

"I recollect hearing one Friend, who was arguing the question with another, advance that fact in confirmation of the proposition that natures very dissimilar to each other can be conjoined in one identity; but at the time I thought it more fanciful than correct. Indeed, I revolted against any evidence that was brought forward by any one in support of what I considered a legend, rather than a reality."

"But did it never strike you that his relative character, as the Saviour of sinners, involves in it the necessity of his being something more than a mere man, it being an absurdity to suppose that one man can save others?"

"I never adverted to his relative character at this period; I had no definite conception of it, nor did I wish to have. I did not feel that I needed a Saviour; I thought his being called one was a mere conventionalism—a mark of respect."

"At the time when the divinity of Jesus Christ became a popular subject of discussion amongst Friends, the question of his atonement was also agitated; what were your sentiments respecting it?"

"I repudiated it, as derogatory to the Deity."

"In what respect did you consider it derogatory to the character of God?"

"I thought it an impeachment of his benevolence to suppose that he would not exercise his clemency unless he was induced to do so by the shedding of blood. And I also thought it was an impeachment of his equity to require innocence to suffer and die in behalf of the guilty. All my feelings were opposed to it."

"But Friends in general have professed their belief in the reality and necessity of the atonement; and Joseph Gurney, who is an authority amongst them, has written in defence and support of it. Did you ever read his treatise?"

"It was put into my hands by one of our elders, who knew that I entertained some doubts on the subject. I looked into it, but as soon as I found that he attempted to support his views of the atonement by citations from the Bible, I felt that I could much easier reject the Bible as a revelation from heaven, than I could admit a dogma so utterly opposed to my reason. Indeed, I had become a confirmed sceptic, though I did not like to avow it, as I knew it would give pain to many for whom I had great esteem; and, besides, I did not like the idea of making myself the subject of public notice and remark."

"Did you, at this period, feel at ease—quite satisfied with yourself and your condition?"

"No; not quite. I sometimes felt an impression, and it was a very painful one, that I was not acting honourably nor honestly by standing identified with a body of Christians, after I had virtually renounced my belief in the articles of their faith. This greatly perplexed me. I knew not what to do."

"I suppose if you had openly avowed, what you had virtually done, they would have excluded you from their fellowship?"

"It is probable that a sentence of disownment would have been passed against me. This I should not have liked. It would have given so much pain to my parents."

"There is now, I believe, a change in your views of Divine truth?"

"Yes; and a great change, not only in my views of Divine truth, but in my appreciation of its importance."

"Will you tell me what was the means of leading you to receive the faith you once repudiated?"

"In the first instance, the reading of Dr. Chalmers' Astronomical Discourses weakened, in some measure, one very strong objection which I had long cherished against the truth of Christianity, and which I then considered invincible."

"I presume you refer to the objection which some philosophic sceptics have advanced against the Divine origin of Christianity, that it is monstrous to suppose the Deity would lavish on so insignificant a world as ours such peculiar and distinguishing attention as are ascribed to him in the Bible?"

"Yes. To suppose that he would make such costly sacrifices as the Bible says he did make, to recover such a puny race of beings from their degradation and misery, when, if they were swept out of existence, they would hardly be missed from the great field of the creation—was an objection which struck me with great force; and I long cherished it. It appeared quite insurmountable. But though the eloquent doctor, by weakening the force of a long-cherished opinion, cowed in some degree my sceptical spirit, it was not subdued—I felt more disturbed than gratified. Indeed, I felt so much annoyed, that I resolved I would read no more speculations relative to Christianity. I was determined to banish religion from my thoughts."

"Did you remain for any length of time in this state of mental isolation from all contact with the facts and truths of the Bible?"

"No; I really found it impossible to isolate my mind from them. The more I tried to do so, the closer did they cleave to me. I felt painfully annoyed by the ceaseless action of my thoughts and reflections. They disturbed me in my sleep, my dreams were often painfully exciting, and I often awoke in a tumult of mental emotion."

"Did this severe mental conflict subdue you to the obedience of the Christian faith?"

"No, no: quite the reverse. I felt, if possible, a more haughty indignation against the truths by which I was so painfully annoyed—they followed me as my own shadow. At length, I went so far as to resolve that I would rather avow my scepticism, than keep my rank as a believer."

"Then what led you to embrace the faith which you repudiated with such indignant feelings?"

"A most humiliating sacrifice of my integrity. It came about in this way. Joseph Gurney and a few other Friends met at my father's house to spend the evening; and as I expected there would be a religious service, I feigned indisposition as an excuse for not being present. I withdrew to my own room, and resumed reading Macaulay's Essay on Milton, but could not proceed with it. I took up another book, but soon closed it. I felt painfully restless—vexed that I was by myself, and mortified at what I had done. That night was a restless night to me. I had never before deviated from absolute truth. I was now sunk in my own esteem, and I felt that if my friends knew what I had done, and why I did it, I should sink in their esteem also. I retired to rest; but sleep was gone from me. When musing on what I had done, and what I must do in the morning, to carry on this work of deception, the idea rushed into my mind with terrific force—but God knows what I have done, and what I am now meditating to do to conceal my shame! Then I felt the pang of remorse. I had never felt it before. It was a strange sensation. I felt that I had fallen from my steadfastness."

Miss Chester had hitherto taken no part in the conversation, but on seeing her friend painfully excited, she remarked, "that the first convictions and impressions of conscious guilt have often a very singular effect on the mind. Some degree of perplexity is felt to account for them; but the most perplexing question is, How can relief be obtained?"

"Mine that night," said Miss Osbourne, "were very acute and depressing—almost overwhelming. However, I indulged a vague hope that I should sleep away my disquietudes, and be myself again in the morning, and feel as in former times. I resolved I would never again violate the sanctity of absolute truth."

"And did the morning bring relief?"

"No, Sir. It brought a rapid succession of strange and very painful emotions. I could neither banish nor repress them. I knew not what to do. I remained in my own room, for I was too excited to mix with the family. I spent a lonely and very unhappy day."

"Did you not attempt to pray for mercy to pardon the act of deception you had committed?"

"The idea occurred to me more than once. I had heard a Friend, some weeks before at a public meeting, discourse about the publican in the temple. His simple prayer came very vividly to my recollection; but my spirit was too haughty to adopt it. My convictions of conscious guilt had merely disturbed my quietude. They had not gone deep enough to awaken any alarm for my soul's safety. They inflicted torture, but excited no genuine penitence and contrition. I felt bewildered and unhappy. I knew not what to do."

"Did you long remain in this bewildered and unhappy state?"

"For several months, I was a living martyr to mental disquietude and restlessness."

"Did you search the Scriptures to see if you could find anything in them to minister relief to your disconsolate heart?"

"Such an idea never struck me. If it had been suggested to me, I think I should have scorned it as a fanatical idea. I had always looked upon the Bible as a compilation of strange writings, without unity, order, or authority. I had no more notion of deriving relief from them, than from reading any other book of history or ecclesiastic ceremonies."

"A melancholy proof, Madam, of the great defect in your religious training!"

"That I now feel and deplore. The Bible I now revere as the inaudible voice of the Lord speaking to the conscience and the heart."

"And how did you come to change your views as to the Bible?"

"One evening, while I was sitting alone, bemoaning my hapless condition, and mourning over the fruitless efforts I had made to regain mental tranquillity, the sense of conscious guilt became very, very acute, and very oppressive. It weighed down my spirit. It was at this time attended with some degree of alarm and dread. I began to think it possible that God would bring me before him in judgment. This was a new idea. I trembled when thinking of the probable issue—lost, lost for ever! At this eventful moment, when the dread of such a terrible issue was wringing and torturing my spirit, a sudden impulse, accompanied by a ray of celestial light—though then I knew not that it was celestial light—produced a deep conviction of the necessity of an atonement to expiate human guilt; and then I at once admitted the reality of the atonement made by Jesus Christ."

"Did these new discoveries of truth minister to your relief?"

"Not immediately; I was still bewildered and unhappy. I was trying to make myself good—trying to work out my own righteousness. But I could make no satisfactory progress. I thought at times that my heart was getting worse instead of better. I was treading on the verge of overwhelming despondency. I felt an outcast. In this state of extreme perplexity and mental torture, I betook myself to the Bible; but I did so more to divert my mind from its miseries than with an expectation of gaining relief. The Divine Spirit directed my attention to the passage—'If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. And he is the propitiation for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world' (1 John ii. 1, 2). Had the Lord spoken to me from heaven, I might have been more startled; but there was such a sweet consolatory power accompanying the reading of the passage, that I felt it came from him. I was in a moment, in a calm of ecstatic emotion. I shall never forget the sensation. It was a sudden transition from torture to ease. I then felt, and for the first time, an intense glow of love to Jesus Christ."

"Did not the reading of that passage," said Miss Chester, "with its hallowed accompaniments, bring you on your knees before the Lord with weeping and supplication?"

"It did; but for a while, and rather a long while, surprise was the most predominant emotion of my heart. I was surprised that I had never previously felt myself to be a guilty and helpless sinner needing an Almighty Saviour. I was surprised that I should ever have felt a loathing and hostility to a scheme of salvation which is such a sweet and rich manifestation of the loving-kindness of God. And I was surprised that I could have lived so long without feeling a supreme love for Jesus Christ."

"Your experience, my dear Miss Osbourne," said Miss Chester, "is a fresh confirmation of a remark I heard a good minister of Jesus Christ make not long since:—A sense of NEED must precede all intense concern for our salvation, and all right apprehensions of the relation in which Jesus Christ stands to us. When this is felt, the veil of mysticism is taken off the truth which is deposited in the Bible; and it becomes intelligible and powerful. As our Lord says: 'They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick' (Matt. ix. 12)."

Several months elapsed before I had another interview with Miss Osbourne; but I noticed that her attendance at the chapel was regular and punctual. She listened with marked attention to the pulpit ministrations; but there was a pensiveness in her look, which still indicated mental disquietude. At the request of Miss Chester, I again visited Miss Osbourne, along with her. On expressing a hope that she was making progress in the path of life, she said, "I am still in a state of painful bewilderment, and still unhappy. I no sooner get over one spiritual difficulty than I feel perplexed and entangled by another. I find that the pursuit after truth lies through a thorny maze."

"I trust you are now thoroughly established in your belief of the supreme divinity of the Son of God, and of the reality and efficacy of his atonement?"

"O yes, I am. His divinity is written as with sunbeams; and I now wonder how any one can doubt it, who admits the authenticity of the Bible. And his atonement is equally conspicuous."

"What, then, is the fresh spiritual difficulty that now disquiets you?"

"I don't know whether I rightly understand the import of the expression which Jesus Christ uses—'Come to me, and I will give you rest.' It is evident he makes the present and future happiness of sinners to depend on a personal application to himself. Hence he says, 'All that the Father giveth to me shall come to me: and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.' As this style of speech was never employed by any other prophet or messenger, it appears to constitute a peculiarity of great importance in relation to his supreme dignity. He cannot be a mere man who places such an inconceivable blessing on such an issue. But though I am convinced, after long and patient investigation, that our salvation is made to depend on a personal application to Jesus Christ, I often have this question pressed on my attention—How may I know if I have actually applied to Him in the exact way which the Scriptures require? To some, who are rooted and grounded in the faith, this question may present no difficulty; but to me it is one of great importance and of painful perplexity."

"One difficulty which attends the solution of this question arises from the very nature of the application which it supposes. If coming to Christ were a bodily act, and if the dependence to be reposed in him fell under the cognizance of the senses, we should be able to decide with perfect ease whether we have come to him or not. But it is simply a mental act, which may be performed even while the believer remains in a state of doubt. To believe or to trust in Christ, is the first act of the mind; but to come to a satisfactory conclusion that this act of dependence agrees with the requirements of the Scripture, supposes that a process of examination and comparison has taken place. I am to judge of my faith from its effects; as the worth of a tree is to be decided by the quality of its fruit. And here two questions demand my attention: first, What moral effects does faith produce? Secondly, Have these effects been produced in me? Faith purifies the heart from the love of sin; brings the distant and unseen objects of the eternal world to act with impressive force on the judgment, and affections, and imagination; induces its possessor to walk as seeing him who is invisible; to love the Redeemer with a supreme affection; and constrains him to attempt to advance the glory of God in the world by a life of practical devotedness to his will. These are some of the effects or moral evidences of faith; and if they always existed in their highest degree, we should have some certain landmarks of decision, when attempting to ascertain the genuine nature of our dependence on Christ, which neither sophistry nor unbelief would be able to remove. But as an excellent writer observes:—'The mind of every Christian experiences many alternations of holiness and sin. Temptations often and unexpectedly intrude. The objects which engross the whole heart of the sinner, unhappily engage at times in greater or less degrees that of the Christian. Nor is their influence always transient. David, Solomon, and other saints mentioned in the Scriptures, for a length of time sinned. Not a small number of sins are committed in thought, word, and action, in the brighter and better seasons; nay, in the brightest and best. 'I sin,' says Bishop Beveridge; 'I repent of my sins, and sin in my repentance. I pray for forgiveness, and sin in my prayers. I resolve against my future sin, and sin in forming my resolutions. So that I may say, My whole life is almost a continued course of sin.' This is the language of one of the best men that ever lived. A still better man has said, 'For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do' (Rom. vii. 19). If, then, the most eminent saints, in the most improved state of their character, and the most sacred seasons of their devotion, have the evidence of their faith weakened by the force of contrary evidence, ought it to excite our surprise if in us it is often obscured, and sometimes overbalanced?"

"Then I judge from the tenor of your remarks, that, for consolation and hope, we must turn from ourselves, and constantly depend on Christ as a Saviour; whatever may be the varying tone and tendencies of the heart."

"Yes; trust in him at all times—in sorrow, and in joy; when assailed by temptation, and in seasons of triumph; whether in transport on the mount, or abased in the valley—one undeviating act of the mind from the beginning to the end of the conflict."

Our conversation now turned on the honour which the God of all grace confers on an individual whom he condescends to admit into a state of fellowship with himself; and on the consequent obligation which this places him under to make an open and unequivocal profession of religion.

"Yes," said Miss Chester, "the noblest distinction we can attain to, is to be endowed with the faith of God's elect; but it is a distinction which often exposes us to the ridicule and the scorn of the world."

"The semi-Christians of modern times," I remarked, "are as ignorant of the relative dignity of the sons of God, as the ancient Jews were of the personal dignity of Jesus Christ. Nor ought this to excite our surprise, seeing that, as the apostle says, 'the world knows us not, because it knew him not.' But though the world be ignorant of our relative dignity, we ourselves are not; and yet there are some who appear ashamed of it. They desire to gain the crown of glory; but refuse to identify themselves with the disciples of Jesus Christ, that they may escape the odium to which they are exposed."

"There is in this," said Miss Osbourne, "a species of meanness, of which, I think, an honourable mind could not be guilty. But though some who have felt the power of truth to a certain extent, may hesitate to identify themselves with the disciples of Jesus Christ, yet they may be influenced by the purest motives. I have a friend, who has recently been convinced of the truth of the gospel; and yet, when conversing with an eminently pious stranger on some of its sacred topics, very ingenuously said, 'But, madam, I do not wish you to suppose that I am a Christian. I admire the doctrines and the precepts of Christianity; and I admire the character of those who display its moral virtues; but I dare not rank myself among their number. O no; I am not good enough!' Now, this friend has mental firmness enough to withstand the rudest shocks of reproach; but as she has not, in her own estimation, felt the transforming power of the truth, she cannot conscientiously identify herself with those who have."

"This," I remarked, "is neither a singular nor a hopeless case. The reluctance which your friend feels to make a profession of religion, till she is satisfied that she possesses the principle, is a decided proof of her integrity; and though she may remain in this state of dubious perplexity for a still longer time, yet she will never enjoy perfect peace, till she becomes decided."

"But ought a person to make a decided profession of religion before he has attained a full assurance of his personal interest in the redemption and love of Jesus Christ?"

"In my opinion, the very moment a sinner trusts in Christ Jesus for the salvation of his soul, he places himself under an obligation to render obedience to his laws. The first petition is, 'Lord, save, or I perish;' the next in order, and which should immediately follow, is, 'Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?' He distinctly states what he would have us do:—'Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven' (Matt. x. 32)."

"But is it not a wise discretion to tarry awhile, to test the strength of the religious principle, before the garb of a public profession is put on? Should we not avoid precipitation in a matter of such importance?"

"But would you, during this probationary period, depend on your own moral strength to sustain the vital energy of your religious principles?"

"Certainly not."

"Then you would depend on the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ to preserve the vitality of your principles, while you are passing through this probationary period; the length of it to be decided by your own discretion."

"I would depend on him to keep me steadfast in his ways."