Part 49

No great while after Mrs. Lobeck had acquired this more perfect knowledge of the theory of Divine truth, and became rooted and grounded in its belief, she was received, with her husband, into fellowship with the church. They both distinguished themselves by their liberality, and by their activity in the various departments of labour connected with my congregation; and Mr. Lobeck was eventually elected an elder, by the unanimous choice of his Christian brethren. There was one praiseworthy habit they formed even before their membership; and from which no circumstances, except illness or absence from home, could induce them to deviate; and that was, neither to receive company, or pay any fraternal visits on the evenings when public worship was conducted at the chapel. They thus pursued their onward course with undeviating consistency; walking worthy of their sacred vocation; an example to their Christian brethren, in faith, in charity, and in zeal; blending in their character so many lovely excellencies, as to justify a beautiful remark made by an intelligent observer, that they had sustained as little injury from the fall, as any couple he had ever known.

Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth, is an aphorism which was first uttered by an inspired writer, and now it has passed into current circulation amongst the faithful in Christ Jesus; and as all chastisements, whether light and momentary, or heavy and prolonged, are designed to yield the peaceable fruits of righteousness, they should be submitted to with meek submissiveness of spirit, and unwavering faith in their necessity and utility. In general the Lord is pleased to give his people some intimations of their coming trials, that they may look to him for strength and patience to endure them; but sometimes he departs from this general rule, and, as in the case of Job, the storm rises out of the dead calm--the affliction is as sudden, as it is unexpected. The Lobecks had three children, two sons and a daughter, the living personifications of vigorous health and sprightliness; but the youngest child, a beautiful little boy about seven years of age, sickened and died within the space of a few hours. I hastened to the house of mourning to offer the expressions of my sympathy; and there I saw the intensity of parental sorrow, held in subjection to the triumph of heroic faith. There was a dignified placidity in Mr. Lobeck's countenance, but he could not repress the falling tear. "Our dear child is taken from us," he said in a mild but firm tone; "yet we must not forget that the Lord has done it, who has reasons for what he does; he does all things well. He never errs."

"This, Sir," said the mother, "_is a great trial_. I feel it at the very core of my heart. So sudden! We had no warning of its coming. Our medical friend did not apprehend any danger. But how thankful ought I to be to our heavenly Father, who has permitted me to see the bow in the overhanging cloud; the dear little sufferer said, just before he died, '_Ma, I am going to Jesus_.' Sweet words!"

"The bitter, my dear friend, often yields sweetness. He was commissioned to announce to you his elevation, even before he had seen the King in his beauty, and received his appointment."

"The sound of his sweet voice still lingers on my ear, but the sweeter words of his lips have sunk deep into my heart; and they soothe and comfort me. He is happy, because a glorified spirit; and though I cannot help mourning over my loss, yet I dare not repine. Yes, he is with Jesus, and must be safe and happy."

"You may mourn your loss. This is natural. Jesus wept at the grave of his friend, even though he knew that he was coming back to life. Your dear little one will long live in your memory. You will often recall his form, his looks, his sweet smiles and embraces, his inquiries and his sayings. These reminiscences will keep in continuous flow the waters of maternal grief. But turn from his grave, to heaven his present home. Think of his premature elevation, his dignity, and his blessedness--the sorrows and the conflicts he has escaped. Think of the honour which God has conferred on you; you are now the mother of a glorified spirit."

"I feel it to be an honour, and a great honour. But I shall never forget my sweet little Harry. He was the miniature of his father. I watched his rapid growth, and the premature development of his mind with intense pleasure. His looks, and speech, and manners were so engaging. I anticipated his coming manhood. Alas! he is taken from me."

"Taken from the evil to come; and the Lord has done it."

"I bow to his holy and sovereign will. He saw there was a necessity for this severe stroke, or he would not have permitted it to fall upon us. Perhaps we were too fond of our children, and getting too fond of the world; and therefore he has sent this trial to wean our affections from earth; to purify them; to concentrate them supremely on himself."

"Many have been heard to say, It hath been good for me that I have been afflicted. Hence afflictions, even the most severe, are not positive evils; they are blessings in disguise to the people of God. They unsettle the affections which were cleaving too closely to earth; they elicit the hidden meaning of the precious promises of the Bible, which distil the dew drops of Divine love on the heart; and by giving palpable demonstrations of the vanity of all human possessions, they imperceptibly invest the glory to be revealed with a freshness of reality which is felt to be elevating and sublime."

At a subsequent interview, when adverting to this severe domestic bereavement, she thus expressed herself:--"I can now say, what I could not say before this trial came upon us--I know in whom I believe. My fears and misgivings have all left me. I am happy, because I know I am safe now; and expect to be more happy, when heart and flesh faint and fail, because then the Lord will be my portion for ever."

"Your dependence for safety and happiness, here and hereafter, is not _now_ placed on your religious ceremonies, or on your virtuous attainments."

"O no! It _was_, when I was living under the beguiling delusions of the Tractarian heresy; but _now_ I can say with the apostle, 'Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ, and be found in him, not having mine own righteousness, which is of the law, but that which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith' (Philip. iii. 8, 9)."

"I congratulate you, my dear friend, in having lived to see this day--a day of sorrow, but a day of greater joy and rejoicing. Your husband has exchanged his long cherished scepticism for the faith of Christ, and is now safe for eternity. Your dear little one is with Jesus, in heaven, waiting your entrance. And you are now delivered from all your perplexities and depressive fears, and can anticipate the glory to be revealed in you."

"These, Sir, are facts, great facts, astounding facts. No delusions, grand realities. What an escape has my dear husband had from the subtle devices of scepticism, and what an escape have I had from the equally fatal devices of Tractarian superstition; and I cannot forget the subordinate part you have taken, in effecting these deliverances; nor can I feel too grateful. I thank you for your wise counsels, for your faithful warnings, for your sympathy and your friendship; but my purest and most ardent gratitude is due, and is often presented to HIM, who has produced these wonderful changes in our character and condition."

"And they are changes, my dear friend, which we may look upon as preludes and pledges of still more glorious changes, when the end cometh. 'Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is' (1 John iii. 2)."

CHRISTMAS.

The Christmas season carries the mind back to the origin of our faith, and all the wondrous events connected with it. It has been made the time for gathering together family connections, and drawing closer those bands of kindred hearts, which the cares, and sorrows, and pleasures of the world are continually operating to cast loose; of calling back the members of a family who have launched forth into life, and wandered far asunder, once more to assemble around the parental hearth, that rallying place of the affections, there to grow young again among the endearing remembrances of childhood. And though this season is commonly devoted by the gay and the thoughtless to scenes of frivolous mirth, thus diverting the attention from the contemplation of the glorious event which the observance of Christmas Day is designed to commemorate, yet that circumstance should not deter the pious Christian from availing himself of the opportunity which national custom affords of mingling in the friendly circle, and partaking of its innocent gratifications. The spirit of our religion neither requires us to shut ourselves up in a monastery, nor practise the austerities of a recluse; but while it purifies the affections, and throws a salutary restraint upon the appetites and passions, it permits us to enjoy the comforts and the felicity of social intercourse. It teaches moderation, but does not prohibit indulgence; it condemns levity, but sanctions cheerfulness; and, like its illustrious Author, it does not hesitate to attend the festive gathering, when hallowed by the influences of pious friendship and domestic love.

Fully two years had now elapsed since my return from Fairmount, and during the interval I had been engaged in close and unremitting attention to the care of my flock, and I believe I may say, without undue exultation, that my labours had been blessed. I frequently corresponded with my country friends, and when, in the close of 18--, Mr. Stevens sent me a pressing invitation to spend the Christmas with him, I resolved, after securing a suitable substitute in my absence, to proceed to Watville, along with Mr. Llewellin, who was to accompany me on my visit. We left London by the stage coach on a fine frosty morning, the 23d of December, and as evening was closing in we reached Salisbury, where we were to pass the night, Mr. Llewellin having some business to transact there. Our journey was exceedingly pleasant. After emerging from the smoke and bustle of London, we passed through a beautiful country, attractive even in winter, the aspect of which was all the more delightful to me from my long previous confinement to a city. We travelled the greater part of the way with two young gentlemen, who were going home to spend the vacation. They were brothers, of nearly equal age--the one destined for the profession of the law, the other for the church. The elder boy was sprightly, the younger somewhat grave; both were very agreeable and intelligent. With the happy buoyancy of youth ere its day-dreams are dispelled by the sad experience of maturer years, the present was to them a joyous reality, only to be exceeded by the realization of the bright visions of the future. Their conversation was the complete overflow of youthful spirits, rejoicing in the release from school discipline, and the prospect of again meeting their friends, and returning for a time to all their country recreations. They also alluded to their prospects in life--of their success, in which no desponding thought had as yet ever crossed their minds; but, though thus sanguine in their anticipations, they possessed too much good sense to suppose that distinction could be attained without industry, or honour acquired without desert.

"I suppose, young gentlemen," said Mr. Llewellin, "you intend to devote your holidays to amusement."

"Not entirely," said the young lawyer; "I intend to read history at least two hours every morning;" "and I intend," said the young divine, "to con over the classics as long, and then, Sir, to amuse myself."

"I am happy to hear," added Mr. Llewellin, "that you have come to such a decision; while your recreations unbend your minds from the severity of close application, the adoption of such a habit will keep them in trim for future service."

"Very true," replied the lawyer; "if we wish to rise to eminence, we must redeem time, rather than suffer it to be wasted in indolence and inactivity."

The young clergyman, who was looking out of the window, suddenly exclaimed, "Here's old William standing at the gate with our horses, and yonder is papa coming on Smiler across the close."

The coach stopped, and out stepped our interesting companions, who, after bidding us adieu, left us to pursue our journey alone. We soon lost sight of them, but, in the space of a few minutes, a turn in the road revealed them again to our view; their father, alighting from his horse, joyfully embraced his children, after which they all mounted their steeds, and we watched them galloping off towards a beautiful country-seat, which we had been admiring before our young friends left us, but then had no idea that it was their destination.

The stage now drove on, and about five o'clock we were rattling through the streets of Salisbury, where, after refreshing ourselves at our inn, Mr. Llewellin sallied forth to transact the business matter which had led us to take this route, and I ensconced myself comfortably by the side of a blazing fire, where I commenced reading Cheever's _Wanderings of a Pilgrim_, then just published. The charms of the narrative entranced me, and I gradually lost myself, crossing the pass of the Grand St. Bernard to the charming Val d'Aoste, or sailing on the romantic Lake of Luzern. Mr. Llewellin was detained for several hours; I accordingly had time to traverse a considerable part of Switzerland in company with my pilgrim. He at length appeared, and we shortly afterwards retired to rest. On getting up in the morning I proposed a walk to the cathedral, as we had some time to spare before the coach started. On reaching it (the hour for morning service not having yet arrived) we found the attendants busy decking the cathedral with evergreens for the ensuing day. Though both Mr. Llewellin and myself were decided Dissenters, we could nevertheless well appreciate the majesty of the noble structure in which we were now standing, and feel even something of a religious awe as we gazed down the long aisles, and listened to the echo of our footsteps as they reverberated through the building.

"After all," observed Mr. Llewellin, "the simplest form of worship appears to me the most to be commended, where the mind runs no danger of mistaking the mere excitement of the imagination for a burst of devotional feeling."

"Certainly," I returned; "and I quite agree with Cheever's remark in his _Wanderings_, which I was reading last night, that it is generally the period of greatest spiritual declension where we find ecclesiastical architecture most magnificent. But hark!"

The organist had, unseen by us, ascended to the loft to practise; and at this moment pealed forth a majestic voluntary, which sublimely rolled away to the extremity of the building, and then returned in a softer strain through the re-echoing aisles. Another and another succeeded. We both stood for some moments rooted to the spot, surrendering ourselves to the overpowering influence of the sacred strain. The music ceased for a few moments, and, recovering myself, I exclaimed, "Let us haste from this bewitching influence, which I am afraid savours but too much of mere earthly excitement." "I think so too," rejoined Mr. Llewellin; "and, nevertheless, I can well understand the lines of the poet Gray:--

'Where through the long drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.'"

As our time was then nearly expired, we returned to our inn, and shortly afterwards started again in the coach; and after a journey of some hours, reached Watville, where we found Mr. Stevens' carriage waiting to convey us to Fairmount. It is needless to say how warmly we were welcomed by our friends, whom we had the pleasure of finding in excellent health. Soon after the first greetings were over, and we had arranged our toilet and made ourselves comfortable, Mrs. Stevens, with a peculiar smile on her countenance, which _told tales_, said to Mr. Llewellin, "Mr. and _Miss_ Roscoe are engaged to spend the evening with us; no doubt this will be a gratification to you." This communication at once raised his spirits, which had been gradually sinking as we approached the end of our journey. I was no longer at a loss to account for the sighs which had occasionally made their escape from his breast during the short intervals of silence that took place in the course of conversation. His countenance now brightened up, and he seemed to be animated by a more than usual flow of spirits.

A storm of snow began now to descend as we gathered snugly around the cheerful fire, and for a time enjoyed ourselves in familiar converse by its uncertain light. Candles had been brought, and Mrs. Stevens was busying herself with the tea arrangements, when the bell rang, and Mr. Roscoe was ushered into the parlour; but he came alone. "I am sorry to inform you, Madam, that Sophia will not be able to be with you this evening, as she has caught a cold."

"I hope, Sir," said Mr. Llewellin, with a certain awkwardness of manner of which gentlemen are sometimes guilty when they feel _too much to express_, "that she is not materially affected by it."

"O no, Sir, it is only a slight cold, and she is unwilling to expose herself to the night-air, lest she should be incapable of going to church in the morning."

After tea our conversation turned upon the festivals of the church, and the propriety of observing those days which are set apart for the celebration of the great events which stand connected with the redemption of man. "I was once," said Mr. Roscoe, "superstitiously attached to these days, and regarded them with more reverence than I did the Sabbath; but I have now corrected the error into which I had fallen, and though I still reverence them more than the common days of the year, I do not look upon them as equal to the Sabbath in obligation or sanctity."

"Some Dissenters," said Mrs. Stevens, "who wish to get as far away from the church as they can, reprobate this observance as savouring of Popery. Is it not so, Mr. Llewellin?"

"Yes, aunt, they do; and in doing so, they go from one extreme to the other. Their aversion to superstition is so strong, that they cannot observe these commemorative days of Christianity with feelings of reverence and delight, because the zealous patrons of the church invest many of them with more sanctity than they attribute to the Sabbath. As time is the regular and unbroken succession of minutes, hours, days, months, and years, one portion of it cannot be more sacred than another, unless it derives a sanctity from the command of God; and since he has enjoined the observance of the Sabbath only, as that portion of time which we are to hold sacred, we feel ourselves under no obligation to keep the holidays which are set apart by mere human authority."

"But, Sir," interposed Mr. Roscoe, "though we do not exalt the holidays of our church to equal sanctity with the Christian Sabbath, yet as the recurrence of the anniversaries of great events in the history of man is known to impart to past transactions a degree of interest which is not so powerfully felt at other times, is there not a propriety in observing these commemorative days, if we are anxious to derive from past events the powerful lessons which they ought to teach?"

"Most certainly," returned Mr. Llewellin. "I do not object to these commemorative days, though some of my brethren do, but gladly avail myself of them, as a means of recalling to remembrance the great facts which stand inseparably connected with my redemption. I can go with you to church on a Christmas morning, to celebrate the birth of my Saviour--on a Good Friday, to commemorate his death--and on an Easter Sunday, to rejoice in his resurrection. And though some may censure this as a dereliction of principle, I do not so view it. It gives me greater pleasure to unite with my fellow-Christians, than to live in a state of alienation from them: and while I would condemn all superstitious attachment to these days, I would reprobate the spirit which treats them with contempt."

"I am happy to find," observed Mrs. Stevens, "that you have not lost your catholic spirit by associating with your brethren in the metropolis; and I hope you have been the means of diffusing its mellowing influence amongst them--softening down their prejudices, and bringing them over to a more friendly intimacy with their fellow-Christians of the Establishment."

"Since you left us," rejoined Mr. Roscoe, "I have examined some of the reasons which induce you to dissent from our Establishment: and though they have not produced the same effect on my mind which they have on yours, yet I think it right to confess, that they have convinced me of the impropriety of censuring you, and of the folly, not to use a stronger term, of allowing a difference of opinion on minor questions of religion to operate as a barrier to Christian fellowship."

"I am really happy to hear you make such a concession; it exactly accords with my own views:" and turning towards Mrs. Stevens, he said, "You seem to think, aunt, that all the bigotry of religion is on our side."

"Quite enough of it," she replied.

"Too much, I grant; but with all due deference, I think that you of the Establishment have the greatest share amongst yourselves."

"Bigotry amongst us! A libel! a libel!" Mrs. Stevens returned, with an expression of feigned indignation.

"I suppose, aunt, you are become a believer in the modern doctrine of libel; which teaches us, that _the greater the truth, the greater the libel_."

"Well, well, we won't contest this point; but rather regret that there should be still found amongst any of us a vestige of that anti-Christian spirit, which keeps asunder those who are united in the bonds of the everlasting covenant, and who look forward to dwell together in that heavenly world, where no discordant notes will ever break the harmony of holy fellowship."

"It is when we view religion," remarked Mr. Roscoe, "as connected with this world--as coming in contact with our prejudices, and our passions--as trespassing upon the sanctity of our opinions, and threatening to disturb them, that we imperceptibly imbibe an anti-Christian feeling towards those who differ from us: but when we view it as connected with eternity--as involving the glory of God in the transformation of the human character; and when we distinctly recognize the action of his power, in setting apart a peculiar people to display before the men of the world a palpable evidence of the unity of our essential faith, our mind becomes imperceptibly imbued with the spirit of the Redeemer, who loves no disciple _more_ because he is a Churchman, and no disciple _less_ because he is a Dissenter--having given his life a ransom for all who trust in him for salvation."