"Oh! they are the best of parents, and if they had not been influenced by the evil spirit of others, they never would have disturbed my peace. I blame not them, but the officious few who, like the ancient Pharisees, will not go into the kingdom of heaven themselves, nor suffer them that are entering to go in. But I forgive them. They demand my pity—they have it—and my prayers also, for they know not what they do. I will now, as a diversion from this painful subject, read to you an interesting letter which I have just received from a young friend with whom I formed an acquaintance when at Dawlish, and I have no doubt it will give you great pleasure, as it has given me. She was, when I first knew her, devoted to the pleasures of this world; but now, I trust, she is seeking those of a better:—
"'My Dear Sophia,—I received your last letter; on looking at the date of it, I must apologize to you for leaving it so long unanswered. It came to me while my mind was in an agitated state, and I had almost abandoned the hope of future happiness. Not that I have been called to pass through any scene of earthly trial and disappointment, but my volatile and thoughtless heart has been deeply impressed by the conviction of my sinfulness in the sight of God, and my consequent danger. Although I have received a religious education, and ever felt a reverence for what is sacred and sublime, yet love for real religion had never found a place in my heart. Far from my thoughts and feelings was all regard for what is most essential to our eternal interests. Fond of the society of the worldly and gay, my chief pleasure and pursuits have been in the world—gayest among the gay, the festive dance, the evening assembly—all the pleasures which may be derived from the associations and charms which this vain and transitory scene can give, had acquired a complete ascendency over my heart. The thought of death and futurity I banished from me, living on in a state of careless, thoughtless indifference.
"'At this time a friend presented to me a little treatise, and I could not from politeness refuse to read it. From its perusal I have received those deep and powerful impressions, which, I trust, may never be effaced from my heart. I now see wherein I have acted so foolishly. God, in his great mercy, has poured into my soul the light of Divine truth. Oh! how greatly are all things changed to me! I can no longer find pleasure in worldly dissipation and gaiety; I have entirely forsaken those scenes of folly and sin; and am I not happy? The peace and true joy which only a Christian can know, has taken possession of my heart; love to my Saviour, who lived and died for me, and a sense of his forgiving mercy, is my chief delight. In the study of the Holy Scriptures I find intense enjoyment; the time I formerly spent in thoughtless gaiety I now devote to the improvement of my mind, and the sacred delights of private devotion. If you, my dear Sophia, have felt the renewing influence of Divine truth, you will be able to rejoice with me, and fully comprehend the gratitude I feel to Him who has arrested my steps, and is now, I trust, leading me in the paths of purer happiness and peace.
"'Hoping soon to receive another letter from you, and with kind remembrances from my dear parents, believe me, ever your sincere friend,
"'Louisa.'"
"It is pleasing," said Mrs. Stevens, "to see the progress which the truth is making. It is true we cannot boast of numbers, when we compare the righteous with the irreligious, yet our number is on the increase. The poor in general hear and receive the gospel; and the God of all grace is calling some in the higher ranks of society to be the living witnesses to its truth and excellence."
"But how few the number! We may quote the language of the apostle as descriptive of the present state of the higher orders: 'Not many wise, not many mighty, not many noble are called.' Alas! no. The wise disdain to receive instruction from the fishermen of Galilee; the mighty are too proud to yield subjection to the authority of the son of the carpenter; and the noble contemn the ignominy and reproach of the cross. They support the dignity of the church, while they debase the character of its Founder; venerate its ministers, while they despise and reject the authority of their Master; observe its sacraments and its ceremonies, while they repudiate the design for which they were instituted; and move onward towards the unknown world of spirits, without ever agitating the great question, What must I do to be saved? Alas! they are self-doomed to endless woe. "We should pity and pray for them."
"Their talents, their rank, and their wealth, often excite our envy; but if we knew all the moral disadvantages which are attendant on their great possessions, such a passion would never glow in our breast. They are exempted from many of the evils which press on the lower and middle classes of society, but they are not exempted from the pangs of sorrow, nor the visitations of death. A late senator,[9] whose knowledge of human life and manners was as comprehensive as his eloquence was brilliant and fascinating, has somewhere said, 'that to the great the consolations of religion are as necessary as its instructions. They, too, are among the unhappy. They feel personal pain and domestic sorrow. In these they have no privilege, but are subject to pay their full contingent to the contributions levied on mortality.'"
"From the intercourse which I have held with the higher circles, I am of opinion that there is a much smaller proportion of real happiness among them than is generally imagined; and when I reflect on the temptations and dangers to which they are necessarily exposed, I feel no disposition to envy them. But what rank of life is free from danger? Who, of all the human family, would ever seek redemption through the blood of Christ, unless impelled by an invisible force? What heart would ever glow with love to God, unless that passion be enkindled as with a live coal from off his own hallowed altar? And where this passion does glow, what force can extinguish it? And if we have been made to differ from others, ought we not to distinguish ourselves both by the purity of our life, and the ardour of our zeal for the honour of the Lord Jesus?"
"Where much is given, much is required. Our responsibility rises in proportion to the elevation of our rank and the extent of our influence. When I see a professing Christian, possessed of wealth and of leisure, freed from the incumbrances of the world, yet living a supine and comparatively inactive life—while he makes no effort to form plans for the moral welfare of society, or to lend his aid to those already established—I feel the force of the apostolic question, How dwelleth the love of God in him?"