"It is generally supposed," said Miss Roscoe, "that the religious principle, when it takes possession of the mind, pervading all its powers, and regulating all its movements, necessarily becomes the source of perpetual dejection and sorrow; but a more false notion never obtained currency. True religion is not a source of misery, but a perennial spring of contentment; the day-star of hope, the rising and setting sun of human happiness."
"But you know, my dear," said Mrs. Roscoe, "that your religion prohibits you from participating in many sources of amusement in which you once took great delight; and as they are so innocent and so agreeable, I cannot but think that in this respect it must be painful to you to make the sacrifices which your religion requires you to make."
"If, mamma, I looked back on my former sources of gratification with a lingering eye, and still longed to participate in them, I certainly should feel the restraining power to be painful; but the grace of God, by renewing my mind, has entirely changed my taste; and now the theatre, the ball, or the card-party, would be to me as much a source of actual pain as they once were of ephemeral joy. While sojourning in this vale of life, the enjoyment of fellowship with my heavenly Father is more than a recompense for the loss of those pleasures which I have abandoned."
On which Mr. Roscoe remarked: "If the revelation of mercy was intended to promote our happiness, it certainly would fail in accomplishing its design if it proved a source of misery."
"But," said Mrs. John Roscoe, "I have never yet conceived of religion as being a source of mental bliss. I have felt it a duty to be religious, but never a pleasure. I have read over my prayers, but they never came from my heart. I have practised some of the self-denying virtues of religion, but it has been more from a sense of duty than from actual preference. I have sometimes thought of going to heaven, but I have never derived any gratification from anticipating it."
"O no," said Mrs. Roscoe, interrupting her, "neither have I."
"But," replied Mrs. John Roscoe, "one thing is certain, there is some essential difference in the origin and the character of that religion which is a source of real pleasure, and that which is embraced from a mere sense of duty."
"Yes," said Mr. Roscoe, "the religion which is embraced from a mere sense of duty, is the religion of forms and ceremonies; while the religion which is the source of mental bliss, is the religion of principle and of feeling. The one may be assumed or laid aside as fancy or as convenience may dictate; but the other, taking up its abode in the heart, liveth and abideth for ever. All false religions take man as he is; they accommodate themselves to his errors and his passions; they leave him essentially the same as they found him; they follow the man, they are formed after his likeness: whereas in genuine religion the man changes—he is modelled after the image of Jesus Christ. The gospel, instead of flattering, tells him that in his present state he is incapable of performing its duties or of relishing its joys; that he must be transformed, or he cannot enter into the kingdom of God; and what it requires it produces; hence all is order and harmony. For everything in the dispensation of the gospel and the constitution of the Christian church is new; we have 'a new covenant;' we 'approach God by a new and living way;' we 'sing a new song;' we are called by a new name; according to his promise we look for 'new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness.' 'He that sitteth upon the throne saith, Behold I create all things new.' Can we wonder then that we are required to 'put off the old man with his deeds, and to put on the new man;' 'to walk in newness of life;' 'to serve him in the newness of the spirit, and not in the oldness of the letter?' that we are assured 'that neither circumcision availeth anything, nor uncircumcision, but a new creature;' 'that if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature; old things are passed away, behold, all things are become new?'"
"I feel," said Mrs. John Roscoe, "under the impulse of strong excitement. Some strange emotions—conflicting emotions—which I know not how to embody in distinct and appropriate forms of expression. I have been religious—scrupulously religious—and yet my religious ideas have been vague and indefinite; my religion has never engaged my affections. I felt charmed while listening to the chaste eloquence of Mrs. Stevens, when speaking of the practical influence of the love and grace of Christ on her soul; and your correct distinctions between the religion of mere form and the religion of principle, confound and subdue me; but I want two things, which you, Sir, and Mrs. Stevens seem to possess—I want a spirit to discern the distinction, and a heart to feel it. Yes, there must be a mental change in me before I can see as you see, and feel as you feel."