Part 36

"I was much struck," said Mrs. Roscoe, "at the size and listening attitude of the congregation. How audibly and impressively they uttered the responses. It was the sound of many voices, yet all in harmony; I saw no one gazing about, as though he were a stranger in a strange place, but every eye seemed fixed on Mr. Ingleby. I have been more pleased than I expected; and if this be a fair specimen of evangelical preaching, I shall feel no reluctance to go again."

This remark overpowered the feelings of Miss Roscoe, whose mind had been filled with anxiety respecting the issue of this first visit of her parents to the church in which she had so often listened with delight to the truths of revelation, and she could not refrain from shedding the tear of joy.

"Yes," said Mr. Roscoe, "the service was indeed interesting and impressive. The preacher displayed a spirit and a manner which became the place he occupied, and the responsibility of the sacred duties devolving on him. His mind was absorbed in his subject; and his principal aim was, by showing us our danger, and the resources of our safety, and by exhibiting before us the honours and felicities of the unseen world, so to awe and animate us, as to secure our devout and permanent attention to the momentous truths which he brought forward. I felt that the revelation of mercy was to him not a mere system of philosophical speculation, which, by exercising the reasoning faculties, improves the intellect without refining the moral sense; but that it was, what it professes to be, a restorative scheme of salvation, which, by renovating the heart, restores man to his long lost purity and bliss--deriving all its efficacy from the grace of Him by whom it was first announced."

"I never retired from a service," said Mrs. John Roscoe, "with such feelings as those that influenced my heart this morning; so dissatisfied with myself, and yet I know not why; I feel that I need something to solace my heart, and yet what that something can be I know not. I am, indeed, dear Sophia, in a state of almost overwhelming perplexity."

"Your observations, dear aunt, remind me of a passage in the history of the apostle Paul, who at one period of his life was in the same state of mental perplexity, which led him to say, 'When the commandment came, sin revived;' that is, when he felt the condemnatory application of the law of God to his conscience, he was in a tumult. Before this application was made, he thought that his heart was very good, but afterwards he felt himself a great sinner, and that he had within him many evil principles, which had been lying in such a dormant state, that he had no suspicion of their existence. The new discoveries which you are now making, and which occasion such painful perplexity, are preparing the way for other discoveries, which will soothe, and yield the sweetest consolation; and you will be led gradually onwards to a clear and comprehensive view of the grand theory of revealed truth; and then, like Paul, you 'will abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.'"

"I hope, my dear, it will be so; for I feel when associated, as I too long have been, with our Tractarian fallacies and delusions, such a craving of soul for some yet unknown spiritual helps and consolations, that I am painfully disquieted, and at times alarmed, lest I should be seized by death in my present state of unpreparedness for that solemn event. I hope, my dear, you and your papa will pray for me, for I now feel the need of the prayers of others. I know not how to pray myself. Forms are now useless to me, especially those I once used and admired, but never felt; I cannot use them now; and yet I know not how to pray to the Almighty without a written form."

"You will soon know, dear aunt."

THE UNHAPPY ONE.

Mrs. Denham was quite disconcerted by not seeing the Roscoes at church on Sunday; and therefore, accompanied by her daughter, she made a call the next day, to ascertain the cause.

"We were much surprised yesterday," said Mrs. Denham, "by not seeing any of you in your pew. We thought some of you must be very ill. We had a most charming sermon. Mr. Cole took his favourite text--'_Be not righteous over much_.' He read most excellently. Mr. Denham very much admired the sermon, and so did Sir Henry Wilmot; I heard him say that Mr. Cole surpassed himself. He showed us the folly and the danger of being too religious. We should have called in the evening, only we know that Mr. Roscoe has some scruples now about Sunday visitors."

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Roscoe, "you will be surprised when I tell you that we all went to hear Mr. Ingleby."

"Indeed!"

"And did you really?" said Miss Denham. "I heard him once. Is he not a most solemn preacher? I think if I were to hear him often I should be brought over to his religion, he enforces it with such awful power."

"You know, my dear, our objections to his religion; and I hope you will never think of leaving your own for it."

"Why, mamma, if I speak the candid truth, I must confess that I have no religion to leave."

"Dear Matilda, you shock me. Why, can't you say the Catechism, and the Belief, and the Lord's Prayer; and were you not confirmed by the Bishop of Bath and Wells; and have you not taken the sacrament three times, and thus made yourself a very good Christian?"

"No, ma', only twice. If you recollect, we had a large party last sacrament Sunday."

"Yes, I now recollect it. I suppose (looking at Mrs. Roscoe) you found the church prodigiously full?"

"There was a very large and a very attentive congregation."

"I have heard that before, and I wonder at it. I wonder what charm people can feel in such a gloomy religion, to be so fond of it. They should have the sermon preached to them which Mr. Cole read on Sunday morning. It would soberize them. I am told Mr. Ingleby preaches such awful sermons, and with so much vehemence, that he makes people take up with his religion whether they will or no. Pray, how did Mr. Roscoe like his preaching? He is a sensible man, and one on whose judgment we may place some dependence, notwithstanding his religious eccentricities."

"Mr. Roscoe was very much pleased. He thinks Mr. Ingleby a very intelligent and a very eloquent preacher. Indeed, we were all so much gratified, that it is our intention to hear him again."

"There, mamma," said Miss Denham, "I told you it would be so. Is he not, ma'am, a most beguiling preacher? I have often wished to hear him again; and yet I wonder at it, for he made me feel so awfully. What was the subject of his discourse?" (Mrs. John Roscoe now entered the parlour with Miss Roscoe.)

"He preached about the difficulties which a Christian has to overcome before he can enter heaven."

"I wish," said Mrs. John Roscoe, "you had been with us. I think all your objections against evangelical preaching would have been removed. I never enjoyed a sermon so much. We certainly act a very unwise part in cherishing antipathies against a style of preaching which is so well calculated to direct our attention towards that eternal world to which we are all hastening."

"It is very proper that we should all think about going to heaven; but if we think too much on that subject it will make us low-spirited. Mr. Cole very justly remarked yesterday, in his sermon, that our Saviour never prayed that we should be taken out of the world; and I think it would be wrong if we were to desire it."

"But you know that we _must leave_ it; and as we know not how soon, is it not of importance that we should be prepared?"

"O, certainly; and I doubt not but, when our Maker is pleased to take us unto himself, we shall be quite resigned to our fate; but for my own part (rising as she spoke), I would much rather live than die. We know what this world is, and here we are very well off, but we know nothing about the next."

"I hope," said Mrs. Roscoe, "you and Miss Denham will accompany us on Sunday to hear Mr. Ingleby, as I have no doubt you will be much pleased. No one could have stronger prejudices against that good man than myself; and though he advanced some things which I did not very well understand, yet he preached with so much ease and animation, that I felt more of the importance of religion last Sunday than I ever felt before."

"I have no doubt but Mr. Ingleby is a very good man and a most excellent preacher; but you know that Mr. Denham is so attached to his religion, that he would not like for us to change ours. When, Madam (addressing Mrs. John Roscoe), do you leave?"

"We think of going the early part of next week."

"No, no," said Mrs. Roscoe, "we cannot part with you so soon. You must prolong your visit."

"Yes, dear aunt," said Miss Roscoe; "indeed you must."

"I hope, Madam, you and the Rev. Mr. Roscoe, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Roscoe, will do us the honour of joining a select dinner-party at Brushwood House this day week. Mr. Denham charged me to take no refusal, he is so anxious for the honour of seeing you all at his table."

"I feel obliged by your polite invitation; but I believe my husband has to attend a clerical meeting, which will render it absolutely necessary that we should be at home on Tuesday next. If he can stay, you may expect to see us; and I will let you know immediately after I have seen him."

"You see, my dear," said Mrs. Denham, on her way home, "the propriety of the suggestion which I gave you some time since, to avoid associating with Mrs. Stevens, as it is to her influence we may attribute the entire secession of the Roscoes from our social parties. They are all gone, as you may perceive from our interview with them this morning; and their example will influence others. It is prodigiously affecting to see the progress this evangelical religion is making, and no one can say where it will end."

"But, mamma, one thing is certain--if we judge from observation, they are happier with their religion than we are with ours."

"Yes, my dear, they say they are happy; but what pleasure can there be in religion?"

"I don't know, mamma; but I am sure that Mrs. Stevens and Miss Roscoe have a larger share of happiness than I have. I often feel a gloom come over my mind, which I can neither remove nor account for; and sometimes I feel such a singular depression of spirit, that I am inclined to read my Bible; but I don't know that it would do me any good."

"Why, you know, my dear, you have been confined at home rather more than usual, which has relaxed your nerves too much; but our parties will soon meet, and then the gloom of which you speak will go off. But I must request you to avoid associating with your new friends, especially now you are somewhat depressed in spirits, or they may bring you over to take to their religion, which would be, as I have often told you, a most prodigious affliction to your father and myself."

"I cannot, mamma, efface from my memory the sermon which I once heard Mr. Ingleby preach. It sometimes recurs to my recollection with a force that quite overpowers me; and I have such fearful dreams. I dreamt last night that, just as I was coming out of the theatre, the heavens all at once blazed with fire, and I thought the day of judgment was come. I awoke in such a fright, and just then I heard Hector howl most awfully."

"But, my dear, this was only a dream."

"But is not my dream a presentiment?"

"O, no, my dear! it's only superstitious people who ever have such a thing as a presentiment."

"But, ma', I am unhappy, indeed I am. I can't forget the sermon I heard Mr. Ingleby preach."

"I wish you had never gone to his church. I wished you not to go. You should always follow my advice; I have more knowledge of men and things than you have."

"True, ma'; but I often wish to hear him again. Is he not a good man?"

"My dear Matilda, you alarm me. You wish to hear him again, when his first sermon made you so unhappy! You must not cherish such an idea. Indeed, you must make some effort to raise your spirits, and drive all these gloomy thoughts out of your head, or there is no knowing what may happen."

"But, ma', if I could drive them out of my head, I could not drive them out of my heart. They have penetrated too deeply."

"My dear Matilda, you _must_ rouse yourself. It won't do to give way to your melancholy ideas. Why, if you don't take care, you will become as religious as any of them; and then, as I have told you before, we should never have another happy day."

"My dear ma', I am unhappy, and cannot help it. With everything to make me happy--perfect health, affectionate parents, kind friends, the prospect of a union with the man I love--and yet I am not happy. That fearful question, which impressed me so much when I heard it, is perpetually sounding in my ears."

"What question do you refer to?"

"It is this, which I have repeated to you before--_Should_ you like to pass from the theatre to the judgment-seat of Christ?"

"But that, my dear, was in his sermon, and he could not help reading it. He did not mean you, and I wonder why you should recollect it so. You should forget it."

"But I can't forget it. It is always returning. I hear it now. I hear it in company. I hear it in solitude. And in the dead of the night, when I awake, as I often do, I hear it then."

"Your papa has spoken to me several times lately about you. He says he is sure, from your melancholy looks and absence of mind, that there is something the matter with you. He thought, till I satisfied him to the contrary, that there was likely to be some rupture between you and Mr. Ryder. He is urging me to grant you every indulgence in our power."

"I am strongly tempted to become religious, to see if that would make me happy."

"I am glad, my dear, it is only a temptation. You know our Saviour has taught us to pray, Lead us not into temptation. This accounts for something I saw the other day, which rather distressed me."

"What was that, ma'?"

"I saw a Bible on your toilet."

"O yes, I recollect. I heard a poor woman say that her Bible made her happy, and I thought for the moment it might make me happy. But I could not make out which part I ought to read first, so as to understand it; and, therefore, I didn't read much. I read the history of Joseph, which pleased me a little; and I read some of the gospel stories; but the other parts I cannot understand. It is to me altogether a book of mystery."

"Nor can I understand it. It is a book of mystery to me as well as to you. But, dear, one thing is certain--the Almighty does not require you, now you are so young, the very life and soul of all our parties, to give your mind to such awful subjects as the Bible speaks about."

"Perhaps not, but still I am restless and uneasy. Indeed, I sometimes think of going to consult Mr. Ingleby; he may be able to give me some advice which may do me good."

"Dear Matilda, by no means do such a thing. If he could once get you into the Rectory, he would be sure to convert you to his religion. Keep up your spirits. We will go to Brighton soon; then to the altar. Then the tour, and then the return and the visiting. You will soon be as happy as the day is long."

"I hope God will bless me, and make me happy."

"There's no doubt about that."

"Then, ma', if he will bless me, why does he let me live so unhappy? I have tried to pray to him to make me happy; but it's of no use. What can I do?"

"You must go into company more."

"It is useless. I can't now enjoy what I used to enjoy so much; and I don't know the cause. I feel doomed by fate to unhappiness, and yet I have everything to make me happy."

"I'll speak to Dr. Bailey; he is very likely to give a prescription that may relieve you."

"No physician's prescription will ever soothe the pangs of a wounded spirit."

"My dear Matilda, your case greatly distresses me, and your papa too. Tell us what we can do to comfort you, and we will do it."

"I cannot tell. What a contrast between Miss Roscoe and myself! How cheerful she is! what a sweet smile is always playing on her countenance! how lively and energetic she is, while I am wretched and depressed, weary of life, yet living in the dread of death; more wretched, while in the possession of abundance, than the poor in their poverty."

Some few weeks after this conversation, Miss Denham, on her return from making some morning calls, said to her mamma, "You recollect our meeting Mr. Cole, the last time we were at Mr. Roscoe's?"

"Yes, dear."

"And do you recollect the remark you made on his leaving us?"

"No."

"You said, 'I wonder what is the matter. Mr. Cole looks so much annoyed to-day.'"

"I now recollect it, and I thought of it several times during the week, but I don't cherish such gloomy things as you do."

"Then I can tell you what affected him. I have just heard it. It will astonish you. No one expected such a thing; it is so strange and unlikely."

"What is it?"

"You know Miss Amelia Stubbs has been very ill many weeks and is likely to die."

"Yes, I heard it from Dr. Bailey."

"Her papa, when she was given over by Dr. Bailey and another physician, sent for Mr. Cole, and he talked to her, and gave her the sacrament and absolution, and then assured her that all was done that was necessary to be done to fit her for heaven; and he told her that now she might be resigned to her fate without any fear, as her peace with God was made on the sanctity of the sacrament."

"Very proper, dear. It is not, I believe, quite safe to die without taking the sacrament. I should do that the first thing if I were a-dying."

"Exactly so, ma'. After Amelia had taken it, and when all thought she had made her peace with God, and was quite resigned to die, she sent for Mr. Cole again, and told him that what he had done was of no use, and that she dreaded dying just as much after taking the sacrament and absolution, as she did before she took it. It was this that so much affected him. He had just left her when we met him."

"But why should he care about it, if he did what the church prescribes to be done? He did his duty, and that ought to have satisfied him."

"But, he says, it is such an indirect impeachment of his competency to perform his clerical functions."

"I have no doubt, if the real state of the case were known, that Mrs. Stevens has been with her, and undone what Mr. Cole did. She is always prowling about amongst the sick and the dying, disquieting their minds after the clergy have helped them to make their peace with God."

"No, ma', she had not seen Mrs. Stevens. Her disquietude of soul came of itself."

"How do you know that?"

"I have just seen her, and she told me so. She said, and she spoke emphatically when she said it, 'To give the sacrament and absolution to fit a person for dying, as a sort of a passport to heaven, is a great delusion.'"

"Depend on it, dear, that her fever has affected her brain. She must be in a state of delirium."

"No, ma', she is quite herself--as calm and as collected as when in perfect health. And she talks now so sweetly about Jesus Christ, and about his love for sinners, and about coming to him to be saved, that she really made me weep, though I could not comprehend her meaning. You would not know her if you were to hear her speak now, so different to her former talk. She talks now like a saint just going into heaven. It is quite wonderful. I can't make it out."

"Then I suppose Mr. Ingleby has been with her."

"Yes; her papa, at her request, sent for him; and he talked to her, so she told me, so sweetly about Jesus Christ, about his compassion and his love, and about his being able and willing to save her, and prayed with her so sweetly, that now she says she is quite happy at the thought of dying--that she would rather die than live."

"All this is quite marvellous."

"Exactly so. It has taken the whole circle of her intimacy by surprise. Everybody is talking about it, and nobody can make it out. Only think, a young lady with her bright prospects saying she would rather die than live!"

"Did Mr. Ingleby give her the sacrament and absolution?"

"No, ma', he did nothing but explain the Bible to her, and pray with her."

"Is she dying?"

"She is just now a little revived; but she told me again, she would rather die than live; and there was such a sweet smile on her countenance when she said it."

"Marvellous! But are you quite sure she is not in a state of delirium? This is how delirious people talk, so I have heard."

"She is no more delirious than I am. She told me, that if she should get well again, which she did not expect, she would have nothing more to do with balls, theatres, and card-parties; and she said so many solemn things to me about my soul, and its salvation and another world, and urged me so earnestly and affectionately to prepare for death while time was given me for such preparation, that I am become as low-spirited as ever, and don't know what to do. It is marvellous to hear with what ease, and fluency, and earnestness, she now talks on these awful subjects."

"One strange thing now comes so soon after another, that I get quite bewildered, but I suppose after a while things will settle down, and we shall be as quiet as ever. It is this evangelical religion that is doing all the mischief. What a pity that our Maker does not, somehow or another, put a stop to it."

"But, ma', people can't die in peace without it, though they can live without it. How will you account for this?"

"I don't know, as I never studied the subject; and I wish you would banish it from your mind, and talk about something else."

"I may talk about something else, ma', but to banish it from my mind is more than I am able to do."

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the Rev. Mr. Cole.

"We were just talking about this strange case of Miss Amelia Stubbs. How unpolite in her to tell you that the administration of the sacrament and absolution was a great delusion, when it is the very thing our church prescribes to fit a dying person for heaven!"

"Ay, she is to be pitied. Her mind is affected."

"So I believe, and so I have said. Is she likely to get any better before death?"

"No, Madam; there is no chance of that now, as Mr. Ingleby has her under his care."

"I think," said Miss Denham, "she is scarcely to be pitied. She is as calm and as collected as when in perfect health, and appears so happy when speaking of the bliss she expects to enjoy after death. She says she would rather die than live."

"This, I know, is what the evangelicals say, but I won't believe it."

"I believe it, Sir, for I have seen her, and heard her say so. I wish I was half as happy with the prospect of living as she is with the prospect of dying. Can you account for this wonderful change from a dread of death to a desire to die?"

"It's all effervescent excitement."

"A most pleasant one, just such an excitement as I should like if I were dying."

"My dear, you are overstepping the bounds of reverential propriety, by offering such free remarks to Mr. Cole."

"I hope not, ma'; it is not my intention to do so; but I can't help saying that, while standing beside her death-bed, I envied her her happiness. She told me that the sacrament did not take from her the dread of dying, but the sweet promise of Jesus Christ did."

"What promise of Jesus Christ did she refer to? To one, I suppose, that she heard in a fit of delirium. Delirious people always see imaginary sights, and hear imaginary sounds, and yet they think them real."

"O no, Sir, there's no delirium in her case. It was a promise which Mr. Ingleby read to her out of the Bible, and it was something like this, '_Come to me, and I will give you rest_.'"

"I shall have no rest as long as Mr. Ingleby is suffered to invade my ecclesiastical territory, and pervert my parishioners from the sacraments of our church to his evangelical notions. I mean to complain of him to the bishop of our diocese, and have him cited before him."