"Is this an illusion, or a reality? Am I in some fairy land?"
"I do not wonder at your exclamation. It is more like romance than reality."
They walked away from the chapel together, and when parting, Mrs. Lewellin said, "If you are at the chapel in the evening we will sit in the same pew."
"O yes, my dear; we greatly prefer the chapel to the church. There we have the pomp of religion; here its beautiful simplicity. At church we hear the Church itself and its ceremonial rites held up to us from day to day; here the Saviour himself is placed before us as the Alpha and Omega of the service. We are more partial to the substance of the truth, than to shadowy forms."
In the evening a minister officiated, who was on a visit to Malvern for the improvement of his health. He was a fine looking man, though much emaciated, and preached as one whose eye was turned away from the vanities of time, contemplating steadfastly the glories of eternity. His text was strikingly appropriate to his own condition and to ours:—"The fashion of this world passeth away" (1 Cor. vii. 31).
"The context to this passage," said the minister, "tells us, my brethren, what experience confirms—that our abode on earth is short. St. Paul, therefore, exhorts us, and we will do well to attend to his exhortations, to guard against too fond an attachment to any relation or possession in life. You who weep, and you who rejoice, should moderate the intensity of your emotions; as you will soon be far removed from the influence of the causes which produce those feelings, and the possessions which you now hold on the most secure tenure will soon be claimed by others. Set not, therefore, your heart on this world, which you must so soon leave. Its appearance is attractive, like the shifting scenes of a theatre, or a gaudy pageant in a public procession; but it will soon vanish from your sight, to amuse and beguile others in like manner. There is another world—more splendid, more glorious, and more durable—towards that you should turn your attention, and seek with the most intense ardour of soul to be prepared to enter it. Otherwise, when you depart from this world—and you may very soon depart—you will go into outer darkness, and be lost for ever."
"I hope, my dear Mrs. Lewellin," said Miss Rawlins, on the following morning, when they were promenading by themselves in a retired walk, "you will forgive me for not replying to the last letter I received from you. Indeed, I have often reproached myself for not doing it. It has been the occasion of bitter grief, and some tears, especially of late."
"I can very easily forgive you, dear Miss Rawlins; but will you permit me to ask you why you did not reply?"
"It was, at that period of my life, absolutely unintelligible. I concluded you were become a mystic; and I foolishly imagined you were contemplating taking the veil, and that I should soon hear you had entered a convent. You will not be surprised at this when you advert to the foolish letter I wrote to you about religion."[33]
"If agreeable to you," said Mrs. Lewellin, "I should like to hear by what means you were brought to see and to feel your real character and condition in relation to God and the eternal world."