It was with some difficulty that Mr. Ingleby could get to the desk; and when he commenced the service, instead of reading the prayers, like his predecessors, in a hurried and irreverent manner, there was so much gravity in his appearance, so much solemnity in his deportment, and such a clearness and impressiveness in his enunciation, that the whole congregation were astonished and delighted. But it was in the pulpit, where he had to proclaim the glad tidings of salvation, that he commanded most attention, and excited the deepest interest. He selected for the occasion the memorable words of St. Paul, "For I am determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified" (1 Cor. ii. 2). After dwelling some time on the death of Christ, and its grand design, he said, "My brethren, I am appointed to labour amongst you; and I have now informed you what will be the principal subject of my ministrations. I shall preach Christ; and can I preach on any subject so important? As you are sinners, involved in a state of degeneracy, guilt, and condemnation, you need a Saviour who is able to absolve you from your guilt, and bring you into a state of reconciliation with God, and save you from the wrath to come. Such a Saviour I now proclaim to you; a Saviour who is able to save to the uttermost all that come to God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them. On the merit of his obedience and death you must rely for pardon and eternal life; and I beseech you to renounce at once every other object of dependence, and come to him, by faith, with broken hearts and contrite spirits, and he will save you."

This sermon produced a powerful impression, particularly the following very simple illustrative argument:—"If a man, whose tongue is cleaving to the roof of his mouth, were to put this question to me—Will a draught of pure water quench my thirst? I should very naturally say—Try it. Or if a man, when standing on a wreck, should ask me—Will your life-boat take me in safety through this fearful storm? instead of philosophizing on the causes of storms, or on the art of boat-building, I should say—Jump in, Sir, and try it. And I have the same reply to make to you, who may feel disposed to ask me if coming to Jesus Christ to save you will make you happy—Try it. Thousands and millions have made the trial, and found it a successful one; and now I say to each one of you—Try it."

This style of bold, yet simple address, was as novel amongst the people as it was impressive; it commanded and secured attention; and it was evident to all that the preacher was in earnest, for he spake as one having authority. Some were delighted with the sermon, and said that they had never seen the truth in such a clear light before, and that they had never before felt it operate so powerfully on their minds; and after the service was over, they lingered about the church, as though they were unwilling to leave the place in which they had been listening, with so much pleasure, to the glad tidings of salvation. But there were a few of the more respectable part of the people who were offended, and who did not hesitate to say, that if morality was to be excluded from the pulpit, to admit of the introduction of this evangelical style of preaching, they should decline attending the church. In the course of the week Mr. Ingleby received a letter from Mr. Porteous, a county magistrate, of which I afterwards obtained a copy, and also of his reply. I here introduce them as curiosities:—

"Reverend Sir,—I was not a little delighted and astonished on Sunday last; I was delighted with your very eloquent manner of reading our incomparable Liturgy; but I was astonished by the very unguarded expressions which you made use of in your sermon. You said, if my memory serves me, 'good works have nothing to do with our salvation—that if we are saved, it must be by faith in Christ crucified.' Now, if our good works have nothing to do with our salvation, shall we not abstain from performing them? I need not, I am sure, to a gentleman of your learning, point out the dangerous consequences which must result to the interests of morality from such sentiments; but considering that you have been so much engaged in attending to the repairs of the church, etc., I can very easily believe, from your habit of preaching extempore, that you let fall many expressions which, on mature consideration, you will condemn as unequivocally as I do. You will excuse the liberty which I have taken in offering these remarks, but as the morals of the people are somewhat under my supervision, I could not remain silent when I apprehended danger. Assuring you, Reverend Sir, that I have a great esteem for the clergy, and, as you are appointed our rector, I shall be happy to see you at my mansion, and wishing you health and happiness among us—I am, Reverend Sir, your obedient servant,

"J. P."

Mr. Ingleby's reply:—

"Dear Sir,—I received yours of the 10th, and I presume that a reply is expected. I did say, in the course of my sermon, that good works would never merit the forgiveness of our sins, nor procure for us a state of final happiness. And I did say that we must be saved, if we are ever saved, by faith in Jesus Christ. I did state, most expressly, that the obedience and death of Jesus Christ constitute the only meritorious cause of our eternal salvation. And if you read the following passages of Scripture, you will perceive that I am correct:—'But what things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ. Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ, and be found in him, not having mine own righteousness, which is of the law, but that which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith' (Phil. iii. 7-9). 'For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them' (Ephesians ii. 8-10).

"And, further, if you consult the Eleventh Article of our church you will find that I advanced no new doctrine:—'We are counted righteous before God only for the merit of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, by faith, and not by our own works or deservings: wherefore, that we are justified by faith only is a most wholesome doctrine, and very full of comfort, as more largely is expressed in the Homily of Justification.'

"When these doctrines are preached with simplicity and earnestness among a people who have not been accustomed to hear them, it is no unusual thing for some to imagine that they will be followed by the most dangerous results; but if you will only wait to see their practical influence, you will be convinced that they will incline, as well as teach men, to 'deny ungodliness and worldly lusts, and to live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world.' Assuring you that I am not offended by your free communication, and that I shall be happy to avail myself of your very friendly invitation—I am, yours truly,

"J. I."

The church, which in former times had been almost "as drear as the mansions of the dead," was now crowded to excess; the people flocked to it from all the adjacent parishes, and many, who came to scoff, returned to pray. A visible change soon took place in their habits; the drunkard became sober, the Sabbath-breaker visited the house of prayer, the village games were exchanged for the hallowed exercises of devotion, and the moral desert displayed the beauties of holiness. When it was found that these effects were the result of his ministry, though the spirit of scepticism, which often lurks under a profession of religion, could not be conciliated, yet its open hostility ceased, and the amiable and zealous rector was allowed to pursue the even tenor of his way, beloved by the pious, and respected by the profane.

But he was not more attentive to the duties of his office than to the virtues of his private character. What he enforced on others, he himself practised; what he inculcated from the pulpit, he exemplified in his family. There religion unfolded her sweetest charms, and sent forth an influence which operated with resistless force on every inmate in his house; and as his wife was endowed with an unusual share of prudence, she became indeed an help meet for him. She involved him in no pecuniary embarrassments by the extravagance of her habits; occasioned no discord by the officiousness or bitterness of her temper; but by managing his temporal affairs with discretion, left him more at liberty to devote himself to the duties of his sacred avocation.

The rector of Broadhurst was instant in season and out of season, serving the Lord, and his labours were blessed in the conversion of not a few of his parishioners. His earnestness in the work of the ministry, his evangelical preaching, and his popularity with the common people, stirred up the jealousy and opposition of the neighbouring clergy, who were preachers of morality, but not of the gospel. Some of them even went so far as to denounce him from the pulpit as a fanatical devotee, who was disturbing the peace of society, and ought to be expelled from the church.

None were more severe in their remarks, or more determined in their opposition, than the Rev. Mr. Guion, the rector of Norton. This clergyman had passed through the University of Oxford with great eclat, was a most accomplished scholar, possessed of a very superior understanding, an admirer of polite literature in all its branches, and inherited a large fortune which his father bequeathed him; but when he entered on the discharge of his sacred functions he was an entire stranger to the power of vital religion. His zeal for the church burnt with an ardent, if not a pure flame, which led him to look with supercilious contempt on all whom he deemed innovators; his reverence for the consistency of the clerical character preserved him from the vices and follies in which too many indulge; and the independent tone of his mind induced him to compose his own discourses, rather than read those which were composed by others. By the rich he was admired for the elegance of his manners, by the intelligent for the extent and variety of his knowledge, and by the poor for his profuse benevolence. On his settlement at Norton he called on Mr. Ingleby, but finding that he was (what the world calls) a Methodist, he declined an intimacy, and they rarely met, except on public occasions.

Mr. Ingleby having been appointed to preach a visitation sermon, Mr. Guion and several other clergymen amused themselves with the prospect of hearing an enthusiastic and unintelligible discourse. He chose his text from Isaiah lii. 11: "Be ye clean that bear the vessels of the Lord." After a few introductory remarks, he said that the ministers of religion ought to be men of piety towards God, and of purity in the sight of men; and as they are intrusted with the truths of revelation, they ought to proclaim them with impassioned ardour. Having been favoured with a sight of this manuscript sermon, I have taken a few extracts from it:—

"As, my brethren, the ulterior design of our public ministry is to recover sinners from their apostasy from God, into a state of fellowship with him, ought we not ourselves to live in an habitual contemplation of his excellencies, and in the exercise of spiritual communion with him? Ought we not to rise above the mere forms and ceremonies of devotion, into that immediate intercourse with the Holy One which the Scriptures describe by the appropriate phrase of 'walking with God?' May we not fairly presume that such an hallowed exercise will have a most material influence in inducing within us that pure and ardent spirit of devotion, without which the duties of our sacred profession will be discharged in a cold, formal, and unimpressive manner? And can we expect to shed the lustre of piety around us unless we are imbued with its spirit, by a constant association with Him who alone can infuse it into the mind, and keep it from a state of relaxation and decay?

"It has been remarked that the copy which the rest of mankind write after should be remarkably correct. Hence the exhortation which St. Paul addressed to Timothy is strictly applicable to each of us: 'Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity' (1 Tim. iv. 12). The apology which has sometimes been offered for ministerial irregularity cannot be admitted—'Do as we say, but not as we do;' for is not example more powerful than precept? If the priest be profane, will not the people abhor the sacrifice? If we addict ourselves to the vices of the age, can we warn the people against them with any hope of success? If we follow the amusements and diversions of this world, will they believe that we are in earnest when we exhort them to abstain from the appearance of evil? If we secularize our habits, enter with spirit into the intrigues of the politician, and discover a restless ambition to reach the summit of human fame, will they give us credit for being sincere, if we exhort them, as we ought to do, to set their affections on things above, and not on things on the earth?

"In the discharge of your public functions, I would recommend you to press upon the attention of your hearers those truths which belong to the great scheme of redemption, the lost and helpless state of man, salvation by the free grace of God, justification and acceptance through the righteousness of Jesus Christ, the necessity of the new birth, and of the enlightening and purifying operations of the Holy Ghost. These doctrines, which are expressed with so much clearness in the Articles of our church, are the essence and glory of that gospel which we are commissioned to preach; and though they are rejected by many as the corruptions of Christianity, yet I presume that you will contend for them as the faith which you are to deliver for the conversion of sinners and the edification of saints. If these truths are rejected because they are evangelical, and the more fashionable doctrine of a sincere though imperfect obedience, combined with a submission to a prescribed formula of religion, which leaves the heart unrenewed, be substituted in their room, we may gain the applause of those who trust in themselves that they are righteous, but we shall be guilty of an awful departure from the spirit and the design of our commission, and justly incur the displeasure of Jesus Christ.

"To conclude: the hour is rapidly approaching when we, who are appointed as the stewards of the mysteries of the kingdom, shall be summoned into the presence of our invisible Lord, to give an account of our stewardship, when the motives which induced us to take upon ourselves the priest's office and which induced us to retain it, the manner in which we have spent our time, employed our influence and our wealth, and conducted the public solemnities of religion, will undergo a close and a severe investigation; and if we, the ministers of the sanctuary, should, when weighed in the balance, be found wanting, how awful will be our doom! Ezek. xxiii. 7, 8.

"Happy, thrice happy that minister who, amidst all his infirmities, will be able to give up his account with joy; but woe, woe, woe to us if we be found unfaithful!"

This sermon produced a very considerable effect on the audience, but no one was more deeply affected by it than Mr. Guion. He listened with profound attention, and though he mustered all his prejudices against the preacher, and endeavoured to avoid the force of his solemn appeals, yet he was not able to resist the wisdom and the spirit by which he spake. After the service was concluded he retired to meditate on what he had heard, but his mind was too deeply wounded to admit of calm meditation. His personal guilt, his danger, his ministerial infidelity, his dishonoured Lord, the future judgment passed in review before his mind, greatly agitating his feelings; and being unconscious of the immediate cause and design of this extraordinary mental excitement, he knew not where to obtain relief. As the Sabbath approached he attempted, as usual, to compose a sermon, but after poring over the text on which he had fixed, he abandoned it, because he could not understand it. He then selected another, then another, then another, till, in despair, he resolved that he would not make a fresh effort till his mind was more composed. "I'll preach," said he, "an old sermon," but he could not find one that he could preach. At length he took a volume of sermons from off one of the shelves of his library, and seeing one on these words, "Turn you to the stronghold, ye prisoners of hope: even to-day do I declare that I will render double unto thee" (Zech. ix. 12), he transcribed it. The following paragraph, when he read it from the pulpit, darted a ray of light across his mind, but he was not then able to discover the truth which it so beautifully exhibits: "You who are lying in the prison of an unconverted state, come hither to this sanctuary, whose gates stand open to receive you. 'It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.' He hath shed that blood which 'cleanseth from all sin,' and hath sealed that gracious and well-ordered covenant which offers pardon and eternal life to every penitent believing sinner. And now all things are ready for your reception; the Father is ready to embrace you, Christ is ready to wash you in his blood, the Spirit is ready to heal your diseased natures, angels are ready to rejoice at your return, and we, as the servants of this King of Zion, are ready to welcome you into this family of God, and do now exhort you, and pray you, in Christ's stead, 'to flee for refuge, to lay hold on the hope set before you.'"

On the next Tuesday he rode over to Broadhurst, and heard Mr. Ingleby preach his evening lecture, but contrived to return without being seen. He now felt conscious that Mr. Ingleby was qualified to become his religious instructor, and therefore resolved to open a correspondence with him, which he did by writing to him as follows:—

"Rev. and Dear Sir,—The sermon which I had the honour of hearing you deliver at your visitation, has made such a deep impression on my mind, that I have been uneasy ever since. It has stripped me of all my imaginary excellence, destroyed the foundation on which I was building my hope of future happiness, convinced me of my personal guilt and degeneracy, rendered me unfit to discharge the functions of my sacred office, and thrown my feelings into such a perturbed state, that I know not how to calm them, nor how to bear up under them. As you have been the means of inflicting the wound, probably you can administer some consolation; and, if you will permit me, I will ride over and avail myself of the honour and felicity of an interview. A reply by the bearer will greatly oblige, yours truly,

"Oliver Guion."

The interview took place as proposed, and from that hour to the present, these two laborious ministers of Jesus Christ have lived in the uninterrupted enjoyment of Christian fellowship, animating each other in their sacred work, and, by uniting their influence, have succeeded in diffusing the leaven of truth through the greater part of their extensive parishes.

A VISIT TO THE RECTORY.

As we sat, enjoying the interchange of sacred thought and feeling, almost forgetting that we were inhabitants of a world which had fallen from an original state of purity and bliss, I observed an interesting-looking stranger advancing towards us; and was informed that it was the Rev. Mr. Guion, of whom I had previously heard.

Mr. Guion apologized for not being punctual, and informed us that the fall of his horse was the cause of it. He was welcomed by the whole party, and congratulated on his having sustained no injury. Mrs. Ingleby, of course, presided at the tea-table; she was elegantly polite, yet so affable that we felt at perfect ease; and every one appeared to enjoy the desultory chit-chat, which was kept up with great spirit. At length, when the tea-drinking ceremony was over, conversation commenced, according to our uniform custom, and, to the astonishment of all, Mrs. Ingleby led off; yet I think it was more by accident than design.

"Strange events happen in the history of life; but I have been thinking, while attending to the ceremonies of the table, that if an old prophet of Israel had been with us when we took our first cup of tea in this moss-house, and if he had predicted that we should live to see the present company with us, I should have doubted it."

"Our presence, Madam," said Mr. Stevens, "may be attributed to the moral power of the Christian ministry; that ministry being the instrument in the hands of the Spirit of God, by which he effects moral wonders."

"I had no idea," said Mr. Guion, "when I was going to hear the visitation sermon at Salisbury, that I should come into contact with any other power than the rhapsodies of evangelical enthusiasm. Several of us were highly amused in anticipation of witnessing some strange outbursts of fanatical sentiment and feeling, uttered in some grotesque terms of enunciation. But my venerable friend had not proceeded far in his discourse before I felt compelled to listen with profound attention; what he said was new to me, it went to my heart; I was not able, nor yet inclined, to resist the wisdom and the spirit by which he spake."

"And pray, Sir," said Mr. Lewellin, "what was the direct effect which the sermon produced?"

"The effect, at the time, was an undefinable effect. I recollect, when I left the church, and I contrived to leave it without intermixing with any of my brother clergymen, I retired to meditate on what I had heard, but my mind was too deeply agitated to admit of calm meditation. My personal guilt, my spiritual danger, my ministerial unfaithfulness to my dishonoured Lord, and the future judgment, alternately convulsed my feelings; and being unconscious at the time of the immediate cause or ultimate design of this extraordinary mental excitement, I knew not what to do to regain my accustomed composure. I could neither read nor pray. I wandered hour after hour to and fro, in a lonely glen; I was in a fearful tumult of anxiety and agony of spirit.

"The gospel," said Mr. Ingleby, "is designated the power of God to salvation, and when it comes to the soul dead in trespasses and sins, in the demonstrative power of the Spirit, its great power is felt; felt to be subduing, at times agonizing, and always renovating. The issue is certain and glorious, its operations are the necessary preparations for eternal salvation."

"I believe," said Mr. Lewellin, "you have not many evangelical clergymen in these parts."

"Not many, Sir; the generality of our clergy are very excellent men, who mean well, but they are not spiritually enlightened men; and, unhappily for themselves and others, this is their great fault, they put a Papal construction on the import and design of our sacraments, and virtually repudiate the articles to which they have given a solemn assent and consent. My nearest brother clergyman is Mr. Cole, the rector of Aston; he is decidedly and avowedly anti-evangelical; he denounces us as a living curse to our church, and a disgrace to our order; but he is a gay man of the world, will shuffle the cards, dance at a ball, and visit a theatre, without any sense of impropriety; he rather glories in his shame."

"Their dependence for success in their official labours," said Mr. Lewellin, "is on the efficacy of the sacraments, and they may be regarded as magicians of a new order, operating on their deluded devotees by a sort of spiritual legerdemain; contrasts to the faithful in Christ Jesus, who execute the ministry which they receive of the Lord Jesus under the sanction and power of the Holy Ghost; and contrasts as great as between demons and angels of God."

"The Christian ministry," said Mr. Ingleby, "is a life-giving ministry, and a ministry of great moral power, when it is faithfully executed. It is an institution peculiar to Christianity, and admirably adapted to advance the improvement and happiness of society. Paganism wraps up the mysteries of her pretended revelations in the folds of an hieroglyphical device, Mahometanism discourages the people from prying into her origin, and Popery confines the light of revelation within the archives of her temple; but Christianity presents the Sacred Volume to the poor as well as to the rich; to the ignorant as well as to the learned; and by appointing men to explain and enforce the truth, secures the attention of the multitude, who find that it still pleases God, by the foolishness of preaching, to save them that believe."

"Yes, Sir," replied Mr. Guion, "but if the ministry throw into the shade the peculiar doctrines of the gospel, it ought not to be called a Christian ministry. I preached for the space of four years, and thought I preached well. I took great pains with the composition of my sermons, but I did not preach the doctrine of salvation by grace through faith. The few who attended my ministry were pleased, but none were converted; and I never heard any of them make the subject of my sermon the topic of conversation, except when I indulged myself in a satirical attack on the fanatics in the church and the fanatics out of it."

"I presume," said Mr. Stevens, "that you had no conception, when you were satirizing the fanatics, as you termed them, that you were satirizing those who contend earnestly for the faith."

"O no, Sir! I was ignorant of their sentiments, and my prejudices kept me ignorant. I would not read any of their productions. I often said that they ought to be driven out of the Establishment, because I thought they were secretly undermining its foundation, and, if allowed to grow into a formidable body, might endanger its existence."

"Did you wish to crush them?" said Mr. Lewellin.

"O no; I would have tolerated them as we tolerate the Dissenters, but I would not allow them to disturb the harmony of the church."

"Did you ever think, Sir, of the awful responsibility in which your profession involved you?"

"Yes, Sir; but as I lived a virtuous life, when I did occasionally advert to the day of final decision, I thought I should have a crown of glory awarded me. O! how I was deluded; but the delusion has passed away; and though I now see defects where I could not discern them before, and feel that I am not worthy to unloose the latchet of my Master's shoes, yet I hope, through his free and sovereign grace, that I shall be saved."

"Did your clerical brethren," Mr. Stevens inquired, "express any astonishment or displeasure at the change which took place in your religious opinions?"

"Yes, Sir, one, a very amiable and learned man, with whom I had been carrying on a literary correspondence, wrote me a long and rather severe letter. He said that he was astonished that a person of my distinguished reputation should condescend to take up the crude and unphilosophical notions of the modern fanatics. Pause, Sir, said he, and think of the fatal step you are taking—a step which, if actually taken, will tarnish the lustre of your character, blast for ever all hope of your preferment, and doom you to associate through life with those whom to shun is a virtue, and esteem a vice. I replied to his letter, stated the doctrines which I believed, and the reasons why I believed them, and assured him that he was labouring under a powerful misconception, from which I was happily delivered; and concluded by saying, that if it were vile in the estimation of my friends to revere and love such men as Newton, Cecil, Venn, and Ingleby, I was resolved to become viler still. This closed our correspondence."

Mr. Guion, who was naturally very facetious, amused us with a drollish story about two ladies, on whom he had called in the course of his pastoral visits. These were two maiden sisters, who had resided together for rather more than half a century, and possessing an independent fortune, were persons of considerable consequence in the parish. They were now too far advanced in life to take the lead in fashion, but they did not lag far behind; and though their opinions on some subjects were regarded as rather antiquated by their juvenile friends, yet they were usually treated with very great respect. They were considered as very religious, particularly so; and were very devout, when seen at their devotions. The preparation week was to them a week of very great importance, and very toilsome mental labour; and it is rather remarkable, that neither of them had been detained from the sacrament for the space of thirty years, except when they had company. At the time of Mr. Guion's visit, the eldest, Miss Susan, was sitting in the breakfast parlour, reading.

Mr. Guion.—"Good morning, Madam, I hope you are well."

Miss Susan.—"Indeed, Sir, I am not. I have not been well since you began to preach the new doctrines of the new birth and faith, and salvation by grace, which Mr. Ingleby taught you. I wish he had been on a visit to Jericho, instead of being appointed to preach that visitation sermon. Indeed, Sir, I don't like your preaching against cards; for, Sir, I never play for money; and beside, all the money I ever win I give to the poor. You have driven me and my sister from the church, Sir, and if we are lost, you will have to answer for it. And beside, Sir, I never will believe that God will damn any body. We were all living, Sir, as peaceably as a nestling of birds, till you began your present style of preaching, but now every body has something to say about religion. I am sorry to say that religion is getting quite into disrepute, now the common people are becoming religious." Miss Susan had not finished the last sentence, before Miss Dorothy entered. She was more polite, but there lurked under her politeness a malignancy of disposition which her sister did not discover, amidst all her flippant invectives.

Miss Dorothy.—"Well, Sir, I did not expect that you would have done us the honour of a call."

"Mr. Guion.—"I wish, Madam, to pay respect to all my parishioners."

Miss Dorothy.—"Out of the pulpit, I presume."

Mr. Guion.—"Yes, Madam, and in it."

Miss Dorothy.—"Surely, Reverend Sir, you are now indulging us with a joke, and I wonder that such a religious clergyman as you are can use such a profane weapon."

Mr. Guion.—"I am not aware, Madam, that I ever behaved disrespectfully towards any of my parishioners, when discharging the public duties of my office. If I have, I sincerely regret it, and you would oblige me if you would let me know in what."

Miss Dorothy.—"Did you not tell us, Sir, on Trinity Sunday, that publicans and harlots were more likely to enter the kingdom of heaven than your more righteous hearers? And did you not tell us that we must implore mercy, in terms equally humiliating? What was this, Sir, but proclaiming the jubilee of vice and the armistice of virtue?"

Mr. Guion.—"I merely quoted the language of Jesus Christ, which he addressed to the chief priests and elders of Jerusalem, and as we are all sinners, I am at a loss to conceive how any can implore mercy but in the same phraseology of speech. The language of our church, you know, Madam, is very, very appropriate to us all, 'Lord have mercy on us, miserable sinners.'"

Miss Dorothy.—"No, Sir. I am not a miserable sinner. That language is only intended for the depraved part of your audience."

Miss Susan.—"Miserable sinners! Ah! miserable enough. Why, Sir, there is more misery in the parish now, than there has been for the past forty years, put it all together. I went into the kitchen the other night, and I saw our cook with the Bible on the table, weeping as though she had lost her father. And this, Sir, is all your doings; and when I told her she should not go to church any more to be made miserable, she began crying again, and had the impudence to tell me the next morning, that unless she could have the liberty of going to church on a Sunday, that I must provide myself with another servant. So you see, Sir, what misery you are propagating among us."

Mr. Guion.—"All pure religion commences in repentance towards God, and can there be repentance without sorrow? And if tears, the signs of sorrow, should be shed, ought this to excite astonishment? And you will permit me to say, that prohibiting your servant from attending church on the Sabbath is neither kind nor equitable. The Scriptures tell us of some who will not enter the kingdom of heaven themselves, nor suffer them that are entering to go in."

Miss Dorothy.—"I see your reference, but feel not its force. And as we differ so materially in our religious opinions, I think we had better decline any farther intercourse. You may go, Reverend Sir, and comfort the miserable, who are crying for mercy, because they need it, but you will allow us and our friends to enjoy that mental complacency which arises from a full conviction that we discharge our duties to our God and to our neighbour, and this we take as a bright omen of our future destiny. We have no desire to be initiated into the mysteries of your faith, but we do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God."

Mr. Guion.—"If we cannot agree on the speculative points of religion, probably we may on its relative duties. And now, ladies, you will allow me to state the ulterior design of my visit. John Brown, a very worthy man, who is in the employ of Mr. Rider, fell two months since from the top of a barley-mow, and broke a leg. He is still confined to his bed. He has five children, and his wife is on the eve of being again confined. This severe affliction has reduced the whole family to a state of extreme distress, and I am anxious to procure a little assistance for them."

Miss Dorothy.—"They should apply to the parish. We pay our rates, and that, you know, Sir, is giving to the poor."

Mr. Guion.—"A gift is a voluntary donation, but paying the parish rate is no gift, it is a legal compulsion. And besides, this poor man has always avoided an application to the parish, and I think it is not only our duty, but our interest, to encourage the poor to depend on their own resources, and the occasional assistance of their richer neighbours, rather than force them, by neglect, to have resource to the parish rate. There is a high spirit of independence in the mind of a poor, honest, industrious man, which keeps him from making any application to the overseers; but when that spirit of independence is broken down by the iron hand of want, and he is compelled to solicit parish relief to save himself from starvation, the repugnance is no longer felt, and then, by withholding a little temporary assistance in time of need, we injure the tone of his moral feelings, and create a family of paupers, who may hang on the parish rate all their life."

Miss Dorothy.—"If, Sir, you always reasoned in the pulpit with, as much correctness as you now reason out of it, your more respectable parishioners would not turn their backs on you. I will think of the case of this poor man, and if, after having made due inquiry, we think it a meritorious case, perhaps we may send something."

Mr. Guion.—"On the accuracy of my reasoning when in the pulpit it would be improper in me to express an opinion, but you will allow me to say that it is only a very small portion of the respectable part of my parishioners who have turned their back on me. The generality attend the church more regularly, if not more devoutly, than before I commenced my present style of preaching. And who are those who have recently deserted the church? Not those who are separated from the spirit and the customs of this world, but those who are lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God, who feel a higher gratification in reading plays and novels than in reading the Sacred Scriptures, in whose families no altar of devotion is erected, and who are more disposed to ridicule pure religion when it is infused into a living character, than to admire its excellence or imitate its example. If I preach contrary to the Scriptures, or to the Articles of our church, it will be an easy thing to detect me; but if my preaching accord with them, to contemn it will be an aggravation of guilt, and to desert it will be judging ourselves unworthy of eternal life."

Miss Susan.—"Every tub must stand on its own bottom. You go to heaven your way, and we will go ours."

Miss Dorothy.—"Yes. We are commanded not to be righteous over-much. The Deity is pleased when he sees his rational creatures happy, and he does not require us to forego the innocent diversions which improved society has instituted for its own gratification. However, it is not my wish to prolong a debate which is mutually unpleasant."

"Do these ladies," inquired Mrs. Stevens, "ever come now to hear you preach?"

"No, Madam, Miss Dorothy bears what she calls her expulsion from church in a genuine pharisaical hauteur of spirit; and is sullenly silent about the cause of it. But Miss Susan is bitterly vituperative. She often says I shall have to account to the Almighty for driving her from the church where she was christened, and confirmed, and taken the sacrament ever since, and where she hoped to be buried with her ancestors; but she declares I shall never bury her."

"Do you ever see them now, Sir?"

"We occasionally meet, when we go through the formal ceremonial of a polite recognition. They do not object to a bow from their rector, though they object to his sermons."

"Have they any pernicious influence over others to keep them from church?"

"Yes, Madam, over a few of the frivolous and the gay, who now attend Mr. Cole's church, when they go anywhere. And there these two ladies go on sacrament Sunday—wind and weather permitting."

"We often," said Mr. Ingleby, "see the depraved and dissolute repenting, and seeking salvation through faith in Jesus Christ, but we rarely know a genuine Pharisee converted; they are too good in their own estimation to need a Saviour. They will bow at the mention of his name, but they will not look to him to save them; and primarily, because they are under no apprehension of ever being lost."

We were startled, while gravely listening to this tale of the two spinster ladies, by the sudden tolling of the church bell. Mr. Ingleby left the room to ascertain the cause, and on his return informed us that, owing to some mistake, he had to conduct the service at a funeral, which he expected would not take place till the following day.

"Pray, Sir," said Mrs. Stevens, "who is to be interred?" "One of the choicest lambs of my flock. She fell a victim to the inconstancy of a worthless man; but towards the close of her imbittered life she enjoyed unruffled peace of soul, and died in full and certain hope of a joyful resurrection to eternal life." He now left us to prepare for the service, and we resolved to follow him to the grave-yard.

Seated by myself upon a tombstone, I sat musing on death and immortality; on the raptures and the woes of the invisible world; on the dying and on the dead; till I saw the procession moving slowly up a lane which led to the place of sepulture. The pall was supported by six females dressed in white; and one walked before the corpse, carrying a chaplet of flowers. The parents and their surviving children followed; and a large proportion of the village hung on, as deeply interested spectators. On entering the church, the bier was placed in the aisle; the pall-bearers standing by its sides during the whole of the service. The procession at length moved to the grave, which was under the shade of a yew tree. Every eye appeared suffused with tears; but when the noise of the earth falling on the coffin was heard, there was such a simultaneous emotion of grief excited, that nearly all wept, except the parents. They stood motionless; the power of feeling seemed suspended; a fixed melancholy was impressed on their countenance; and they walked away, the victims of despair, moving from one dreary spot to another not less dreary.

As their grief appeared too singular to use any of the common methods which that passion generally adopts to gain relief from its own inflictions, I felt anxious to ascertain the specific cause of its excitement; and, on returning to the rectory, I asked Mr. Ingleby to give us the history of the deceased.

"She was," he said, "the eldest daughter of an opulent farmer, who resides about half-a-mile off; an extremely handsome and accomplished girl; and, from the elegance of her manners, and her intellectual attainments, she was fitted to move in the most polite circles. But though she stood without a rival in the whole hamlet, she was either unconscious of her superiority, or had too much good sense to display it. She would visit the sick, instruct the children of the poor, or perform any other work of mercy. In her the passion of selfishness was annihilated, and she lived to bless others. But she wanted the grace of pure religion to give the finishing polish to her attractive charms: and had she possessed this at an earlier period of her life, she might still have been, what she once was, the glory of her father's house.

"About four years ago, a young gentleman of rank and fortune, but of dissipated habits, obtained an introduction to her; an intimacy was formed, which soon ripened, in her unsuspecting breast, into an ardent attachment. Her parents, who ought to have guarded her against the cruel monster, did all in their power to encourage his visits; and on one occasion, when I ventured to suggest that I suspected the purity of his intentions, they were offended. But the veil of deception, which he had thrown over his professions, was very unexpectedly rent asunder; and with a levity and insolence of manner, which rarely occur in the annals of human treachery, he tore himself away from her, leaving her the dupe of her own credulity, and the victim of her own grief. Abandoned by one she loved, and thrown as an orphan on the world, even while her parents were still living, she withdrew from society, and, like the stricken deer, sought a tranquil death in a gloomy shade. Her health gradually declined, and it was thought proper to try if change of air and change of scene would not become the means of restoring it. She went, with a younger sister, to Teignmouth, to spend the winter; but on her return we all perceived that she was hastening to the tomb.

"I called to see her a few days after her return, and was both astonished and delighted to find that, during her residence at Teignmouth, she had given almost undivided attention to the momentous claims of religion. 'Though, Sir,' she said, 'I have had the privilege of attending your ministry from my early childhood, and have had my mind, at various times, most powerfully impressed by the truth, which I have heard you preach, yet I never understood the plan of salvation till recently. I used to admit the importance of religion, but now I feel it; and though I cannot say that I have attained to any high degree of eminence in knowledge or enjoyment, yet light has broken in upon my understanding, and I am permitted to indulge a good hope through grace. How astonishing! I was sent to Teignmouth for the recovery of my health, which I have not obtained; but there I found the pearl of great price' (Rom. xi. 33).

"I asked her if anything of a particular nature occurred while she was at Teignmouth, to force on her attention the great question relating to her personal salvation? when she gave me the following statement:—

"'When out for a walk one evening, I ran into a roadside cottage, for shelter against a very heavy shower of rain. I there saw a young person, about my own age, dying of a decline; and in a short time her physician came, who is a very godly man, and I overheard part of their conversation. I heard her say, I am not now afraid of dying or of death. I know by the loss of this frail life I shall gain immortal life in heaven—a life of happiness, where there will be no sin, or sorrow, or pain, or poverty, or death.'

"'I called,' she added, 'the next day, with a few jellies and oranges, but I found the cottage in a state of great confusion and sorrow, for she died just before I entered it. On the following Sabbath her funeral sermon was preached at the Dissenting chapel, and I heard it. The text made a deep impression on my heart, as I thought it applicable to myself—"Her sun went down while it was yet day." From that hour I gave an undiverted attention to the apostolic injunction—"Work out your salvation with fear and trembling;" and I trust, Sir, I can now say I do believe in the Son of God, and hope He will save me. I may live to outlive my affliction, and the poignant sufferings which have been the cause of it; but it is very doubtful. What a mercy that I am now prepared for death and its issue.'

"She grew better as the spring advanced; the influence of religious principle moderated the violence of her mental anguish; her spirits regained their natural vivacity; she resumed her customary habits of going about doing good, and again mingled amongst the living; but now her preference was to the excellent of the earth, who love and fear God. So great was the change in her appearance, that we all flattered ourselves that the fatal disease had received a check, and that she would yet live to bless us with her presence and her example. But the disorder, which we thought subdued, was silently spreading itself through her whole frame; and having taken a fresh cold, it attacked her with greater violence, and within the space of three weeks she was taken from us. At my last interview with her, which was only a few hours before her decease, she said, 'I am not now afraid to die. The subject has long been familiar to me. It is divested of all its terrors. "I know that my Redeemer liveth." I enjoy His presence this side the Jordan, and doubt not but the waters will divide when He calls me to pass through.'

"On seeing her mother weep, and her father retiring in sorrow from the 'post of observation,' she said with great composure, 'My dear parents, weep not for me. I shall soon, very soon be released from all my pain, and see Him, "whom having not seen, I love; in whom, though I see Him not, yet believing, I rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory." I leave you in this vale of sorrow, to ascend the mount of bliss; and I hope you will follow me. And O! that he who has been the guilty cause of my early death, may obtain mercy in that day when we must stand together before the judgment-seat.' She spoke but little after this, and at seven o'clock the same evening she said, 'Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,' smiled, and expired.

"Since her death her parents, who are virtuous, but not pious, have been inconsolable; they reproach themselves in the bitterest terms for the inducements which they threw in the way of the murderer of their daughter and the destroyer of their happiness; and though they have no doubt of her present felicity, yet, being ignorant of the nature of that felicity, and having no animating prospect of attaining it themselves, they sorrow as others who have no hope. I have visited them several times since the dear deceased left us; but grief has taken such an entire possession of their mind, that the words of consolation seem to aggravate its violence, and I fear, unless mercy interpose to prevent it, that the grave will soon be opened to receive them."

"Nothing," said Mr. Stevens, "gives such buoyancy to the mind, in the season of affliction, as communion with God. This holy exercise induces resignation, as well as submission to His will; raises up the soul above the conflicting elements of sorrow, into the tranquil regions of peace; and, by associating it with the unseen, yet not unfelt realities of the eternal world, makes it unwilling to look for permanent and substantial happiness amidst the fleeting possessions of earth."

"I was present," said Mrs. Stevens, "when my dear sister, Mrs. Lewellin, lost her Eliza. She wept as she followed her remains to the tomb; but she did not repine. She said to me, after the rites of sepulture were performed, as we sat together in the room in which the dear girl expired, 'If it had been the will of the Lord to have spared my child, I would have received her back with grateful joy; but as He has taken her to Himself, I can bow and say,