THE CONSULTATION.
Mamma," exclaimed Miss Denham, as she entered the drawing-room one morning, after rather a lengthened walk, "I have heard something that will surprise and distress you; I can scarcely believe the report, but I have been assured of its truth from the best authority."
"What is it, my dear? you seem agitated, has anything alarmed you?"
"Nothing more, mamma, than this dreadful report; really none of us seem safe; dear Mr. Cole never spoke a greater truth than when he said there was something of a bewitching nature in this new religion! I am alarmed for myself, and almost wish that we were away from this place altogether. But I must tell you the story. Mr. Roscoe has taken to his daughter's religion, and is now as fanatical as herself!"
"I cannot credit this, my dear," replied Mrs. Denham; "you know how often I have said this is the worst place I know for scandal; you should be careful how you receive these reports; no, no, my dear, I cannot believe such a story as this about Mr. Roscoe; he is too good, amiable, and virtuous a man to be led so far wrong, and too much of the gentleman to stoop to anything so mean and vulgar."
"I hope, mamma, it may be so, but I am afraid it is true; and every one is so distressed and affected by the intelligence, I assure you it has produced quite a sensation."
"My dear, it is impossible; I saw him at church on Sunday, and heard him myself repeat the responses louder than he ever did before; and if you recollect, we talked about it when we got home."
"No, mamma; if you recollect, we dined last Sunday with a large party at Mr. Gladstone's, and did not go to church."
"Then it was Sunday week."
"It has happened since then. It happened one night last week; and as I have been at some pains to get at an entire knowledge of this disaster, I will tell you about it."
"Oh! dear," said Mrs. Denham, as she composed herself to listen to the tragical story, "what a world we live in! Really nothing but religion seems to be thought of. Our very servants are becoming religious, and who can wonder at it, when the rich set them the example! And if this should be true about Mr. Roscoe, which I devoutly pray heaven may forbid, there is no saying where the evil will stop."
"Well, mamma, you know that on Tuesday week Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, and the gentleman that is on a visit there, and the Rev. Mr. Guion, all went to spend the evening at Mr. Roscoe's."
"I have always said," interrupting her daughter, "that there is no good doing when such people get together. If I had seen them go, I would have given Mr. Roscoe a hint to be on his guard. He was taken by surprise, I have no doubt. Well, my dear, go on."
"Well, ma', as I was saying, they all went; and when there, Mr. Roscoe said that he would change his religion, and have that which flourished so luxuriantly at Fairmount; and he got Mr. Guion to read a chapter out of the Bible, and to say prayers, and had all the servants in to hear him, and they all knelt down, though I heard that the cook stole out slyly, when they were all upon their knees. She didn't like it."
"I always thought well of that cook; she has a taste above her class in life, I should like to have her; do you think she will leave?"
"I don't know, ma', but I should think she will; I will ask her if you wish it."
"No, my dear, it won't do for you to appear in the matter; I'll speak to John to speak to her. But now about Mr. Roscoe, what is to be done?"
"But, ma', I have something more dismal to tell you."
"I hope not. Why, this is enough to shock the feelings of an angel. Reading the Bible, and prayers, and kneeling down on the floor with servants! I hope Mrs. Roscoe is not gone off."
"No, all this was much against her will, and she is very unhappy about it, and says she shall never be happy again."
"Dear creature, it is impossible; but what else have you to tell?"
"Why, Mr. Roscoe proposed to set up a missionary society, to raise money to send this new religion abroad."
"Well, my dear, this last part of your story relieves my mind. This is a proof of mental derangement. The Chancellor would not want a stronger. It is often the case, when people go wrong in their mind, they profess strong attachment to the things they hate most when they are in their right senses. I now must insist upon it that you never make another call at Fairmount. Really, if you should ever take up with this evangelical religion, I should be tempted to wish myself in heaven, to escape the mortification."
"Indeed, ma', you need give yourself no uneasiness on that subject. I have no predisposition in favour of religion. Indeed, I have my doubts, and if it were fashionable, I think I should profess myself a sceptic, but that would not be lady-like."
Mrs. and Miss Denham, after much long and serious debate, resolved on making a call on Mrs. Roscoe. They found her at home, alone, depressed, and reserved, and though she made an effort to rise to her usual vivacity, yet she could not succeed. Mrs. Denham was very particular in her inquiries after the health of Mr. Roscoe, and was surprised to hear that he was well; and on being informed that he was gone with Miss Sophia to spend an hour at Fairmount, in company with the Rev. Mr. Ingleby, she became greatly agitated.
"Then I fear, my dear Mrs. Roscoe, that it is too true? Oh! I have had no rest since I heard it. What a trial! Really, no one is safe. That such a sensible, and amiable, and virtuous man as Mr. Roscoe used to be, should so far forget himself and all his friends as to change his religion, is very astonishing and affecting. We called on the Rev. Mr. Cole as we came by, to ask if he had heard of the report, and here he is, dear man, coming to condole with you."
"I am glad to see you," said Mrs. Denham to Mr. Cole, as he entered the parlour; "we have been offering our sympathy to dear Mrs. Roscoe—but can't something be done, Sir?"
"Then I suppose there is some foundation for the report. I always thought Mr. Roscoe a very judicious and sensible man, and I still hope, that though he has diverged into this eccentric course, his good sense will, on cool reflection, induce him to return."
"Yes, Sir," replied Mrs. Roscoe, "I hope so too, but it is possible that the influence and example of our daughter may protract, if it do not perpetuate, the delusion under which he unhappily labours; and if so, I shall never see another happy day."
"O yes, you will," said Mr. Cole, "his sun is only passing under a cloud, and when his mind clears up, it will shine with its accustomed brightness. His good sense will preserve him from that fatal vortex into which too many have fallen."
"If, Sir, this were a sudden change, I should be induced to believe that he might be recovered, but it has been coming on for a long time. You know that he does not make up his mind on any subject very suddenly, but when he has done it, you know how firm he is."
"Very true," said Mr. Cole, "but his spirits have been unusually depressed for some months. I remember the last time we spent an evening at Mr. Denham's, that I rallied him on his dulness when we were at play. We must raise his spirits, and then we shall drive away his evangelical notions."
"I have not noticed any particular depression. He has been rather more grave, yet he has been cheerful; and has talked rather more frequently on religious subjects, but they have not affected his spirits."
"Well," said Mr. Cole, "I will come and have a rubber with him, and I will engage to rub these notions out of him."
"Indeed, Sir, he has formally declined playing any more, and has requested me never again to introduce cards."
"Really," said Mrs. Denham, "this is very affecting. Not play again! Not suffer cards to be introduced? Then I suppose he intends to break off connection with all his old friends, and take up with the evangelicals; but I hope you have too much firmness to yield to him."
"It has been my maxim through life to sacrifice everything for the sake of domestic peace. I cannot oppose Mr. Roscoe, and I must confess that he has manifested the utmost degree of affection and kindness."
"The apostle St. Paul has predicted," said the Rev. Mr. Cole, "that in the last days perilous times should come, and indeed they are come. The church once enjoyed quietude, but now she is rent into divisions; not so much by the Dissenters who have seceded from us, as by the evangelical clergy who are admitted within her pale. Their eccentric notions, and their extempore and familiar style of preaching, operate as a charm on the minds of their hearers; and wherever they go, some stir is always occasioned about religion. In general, the poor and the illiterate become their admirers; but sometimes we see men of sense and learning beguiled by their artful sophisms. I can account for their success among the lower orders, but when I see an intelligent man brought over to their belief, I confess I am puzzled. But still I won't give up Mr. Roscoe. I will, in the course of a few Sundays, preach a sermon which I will procure for the occasion."
"You will greatly oblige me if you will, Sir, but you must do it soon, for I dread the idea of Mr. Roscoe going to hear Mr. Ingleby while he is in his present state of mind."
"But you have no idea of his leaving my church?"
"Why, you know very well," Miss Denham remarked, "that none of the evangelicals think you preach the gospel. I have heard Miss Sophia say so many times, and you may be sure that she will try to make her papa believe it, and if he is become an evangelical, he is sure to believe it; for I have noticed that what one believes, they all believe. Really, Sir, there is so much ado made now about the word gospel and evangelical preachers, that the subjects are become quite offensive."
"Yes, to persons of intelligence and taste."
"Exactly so, Sir; you will excuse what I am going to say, but I often think that you are rather severe, too much so I know for some of your hearers; but I have no idea how any people of sense can go and hear such preaching as Mr. Ingleby's. I heard him once, on the loss of the soul. I could not sleep after it—and even now, at times I think of it. But, Sir, you know we have nothing to do with such subjects till we die, or till after death."
"Such preaching," said Mr. Cole, "is as offensive to pure taste, as it is revolting to our feelings."
"Exactly so; you know we are to be allured to a brighter world—not frightened there. Pray, Sir, shall we have the pleasure of meeting you and Mrs. Cole at Mr. Ryder's on Tuesday? By the by, I wonder you do not cure Mr. John of his scepticism. There is to be a large party, and rather a gay one."
"I don't think," replied Mr. Cole, "that Mr. John Ryder has any more scepticism than does him good—it keeps off the gloom which a belief in the Bible almost necessarily brings over the youthful mind. No, I shall not be with you. I have an engagement with a few friends who are going to Bath, to see Romeo and Juliet."
"How dull and insipid is a religious service when compared with a play. What a pity that our Maker requires us to be religious. I have not seen a play for some months, and when I was hearing Mr. Ingleby, I really thought that I should never have courage to see another. Oh, how he did denounce the theatre! He really said that it was the pathway to hell."
"Yes," said Mr. Cole, with high disdain, "that man would interdict us from every social enjoyment; would batter down the temple of the muses, or change it into a house of prayer; and bring before our imagination the awful realities of the eternal world, with so much force, as should compel us to think, with perpetual awe, on death and the future judgment."
"Oh! dear, they are awful realities indeed. When I heard him, he alluded to dear Miss Patterson, who took cold on returning from the play, and died, you know, Sir, a few weeks afterwards? Oh! she was a lovely creature. She was too good to live on earth. Had she been religious, she would have been a saint. But she often used to say that her grandpapa left his religion to her aunts, and his fortune to his grandchildren. Mr. Ingleby, after condemning plays, &c., as impure and sinful, made a long pause, and then proposed his questions with so much solemnity, that my pulse began to beat with feverish rapidity.—'Should you like,' he said, and he looked while he said it so stern and solemn, 'to pass from the theatre to the judgment-seat of Christ? Should you like to leave the gaieties of this world, to associate with the awful realities of another?' There was so much stillness in the church as he went on in this strain of awful eloquence, and so many people were overcome by what he said, and such a serene smile on his countenance when he began to speak about our Saviour, that I do really think, if I had not been very firm and decided, I should have become as religious as any of them. It was, I assure you, very difficult to withstand his fervour."
"I hope," said Mr. Cole, "you will never go again, for evil communications corrupt the best of hearts."
"Go again!" exclaimed Mrs. Denham, "not if she have any respect for her own happiness, or ours. Why, to hear this about the sermon is enough to frighten any good Christian; what must it have been to have heard the sermon itself! One thing puzzles me when I think about it—why do our bishops consecrate such men?"
"Oh, unluckily we have some evangelical bishops."
"A bishop evangelical! don't you consider that a great wonder, Sir?"
"I consider it a great calamity to our church."
"Exactly so; then I suppose we shall always be annoyed with these evangelical clergy if the bishops sanction them. I hope you won't turn evangelical."
"Not while I retain my reason. When that is gone, I may go off too."
My readers who are but superficially acquainted with the religious habits and style of conversation which prevail in the higher walks of life, may be induced to imagine that I have given a strong colouring to some parts of my narrative, but I assure them that I have not. Indeed, had I quoted the epithets and the phrases which, I know, are sometimes employed, when a certain class of fashionable Christians, with their anti-evangelical pastors, venture to discuss religious subjects, and animadvert on religious people, my pages would be too disfigured to pass through the hands of the pious reader.
It is to be lamented that many intelligent and amiable persons, who occupy very prominent positions amongst us, and who are admired and esteemed by all who know them, are as ignorant of the nature and the design of Christianity as the ancient Scythian or the modern barbarian. They imagine that they are Christians, because they are born in a Christian country; that they are very good Christians, because they sometimes go to church; and that they are safe for another world, because their conscience does not condemn them for the practices in which they now indulge themselves. And if any one, in the most guarded way and the kindest tones of speech, venture to suggest the possibility of self-deception, they are offended, or take refuge in the belief that their hearts are too good to be guilty of such a mean vice. They keep to the religion in which they were born and educated; and this to them is the ark of safety.
Yes, you are a Christian in Britain, as you would be a Mahometan if you had been born in Turkey; but search the Scriptures, and examine if the design of Christianity has ever been accomplished in you. Have you been born again? No. That subject you ridicule, because you do not understand it. Have you had repentance towards God, and faith in our Lord Jesus Christ? No; and if these subjects were pressed upon your conscience with the affection of apostolic compassion, and ardour of apostolic zeal, you would retire displeased, if not disgusted, with the minister who dares to enforce them as essential to your safety and happiness. Are you crucified to the world by the moral influence of the death of Jesus Christ? Crucified to the world! The very phrase, though scriptural, grates offensively on your ear! Crucified to the world! O no. You are devoted to its pleasures, its follies, its amusements. Shut up the theatre, abolish cards, interdict the assembly and the ball, and how would a large portion of our modern Christians be able to support life?
You may imagine that you are a good Christian, because you sometimes go to church; but an occasional visit to a material temple will not produce that moral transformation of the soul which is essential to fit you for the holy exercises and enjoyments of another world. You may reject these questions which I now propose to you; but before you reject them, permit me to urge you to search the Scriptures, and then you will see that they have a paramount claim on your attention. Can you be a Christian unless you possess the spirit, and are in some degree conformed to the image of Jesus Christ?
But it ought not to excite our astonishment, though it may our tenderest sympathy, to see the great majority of those who move in fashionable life passing away their time amidst the gaieties and follies of the world, when they are sanctioned, if not encouraged by the clergy, who ought to teach them better, both by precept and example.
We have ministers of religion who do not hesitate to hold up to ridicule and contempt the essential doctrines and self-denying precepts of their own faith; and attempt, as far as the influence of their example can extend, to banish all serious and devout piety from the social circle. They see no harm in customs which the spirit and even the letter of the Scriptures condemn; and sanction by their presence those scenes of human folly and gaiety which have captivated and ruined thousands, who were once the ornaments of their fathers' house.
Such ministers not only sanction the customs of the world, but they discountenance all serious piety, and declaim against their evangelical brethren as disturbers of the peace of the church. If Christianity be a cunningly devised fable—if the life of faith and of practical devotedness of the soul to God be mere fancies—if heaven and hell be the conceptions of romance, brought into the pulpit to terrify the credulous and please the sanguine—I should not hesitate to pronounce a heavy censure on those ministers who bring forward these subjects so often, and who enforce attention to them with so much ardent and impassioned eloquence.
But if Christianity be true—if the final happiness or misery of the human soul depend on faith in Christ—if the glories of heaven and the terrors of hell are realities which exceed the power of man to describe—then even the most sceptical must admit that the ministers of religion ought, with great boldness and impassioned earnestness, to rouse their hearers to a serious and immediate attention to these great, these awful subjects; and ought they not to teach by example, as well as by precept? and by the purity of their morals—by their religious habits and style of conversation—give strong and unequivocal proofs that they preach what they believe, and believe what they preach?
But let no Christian, whatever rank he may hold in social life, or whatever degree of reputation he may have attained for intelligence, or good sense, or for amiability of temper, presume to hope that he will ever be able to make a scriptural profession of religion (after he has felt the power of it) without exciting the displeasure, if not the opposition, of his irreligious relatives and friends. They will not object to the religion of forms and ceremonies; to the religion which is confined to the temple, or to the bed of sickness; to the religion which allows of a conformity to the gaieties and the follies of the world, and which frowns from its presence all references to death, to judgment, to heaven, and to hell; but the religion which consists in the moral renovation of the soul, which identifies man with a living Saviour, and which raises his anticipations to the glories of the invisible world, they despise, and cast it from them as a strange thing, and then ridicule it as contemptible.