Citation
Seed-time and harvest, or, Sow well and reap well

Material Information

Title:
Seed-time and harvest, or, Sow well and reap well a book for the young
Spine title:
Seed time & harvest a book for the young
Portion of title:
Sow well and reap well
Creator:
Tweedie, W. K ( William King ), 1803-1863
Paterson, Robert, fl. 1860-1899 ( Engraver )
Small, William, 1843-1929 ( Illustrator )
Thomas Nelson & Sons
Dalziel Brothers ( Engraver )
Place of Publication:
London ;
Edinburgh ;
New York
Publisher:
T. Nelson and Sons
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
247 p., [8] leaves of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 17 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Kings and rulers -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Philosophers -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Sailors -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Philanthropists -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Missionaries -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1873 ( lcsh )
Biographies -- 1873 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1873
Genre:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Biographies ( rbgenr )
non-fiction ( marcgt )
collective biography ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
Scotland -- Edinburgh
United States -- New York -- New York
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Added title page and frontispiece printed in colors; other illustrations engraved by Dalziel or Paterson after Small.
Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
Statement of Responsibility:
by W.K. Tweedie.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026999763 ( ALEPH )
ALH9531 ( NOTIS )
60313637 ( OCLC )

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Full Text
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SEED-TIME AND HARVEST;
SOW WELL AND REAP WELL,

A Book for the Young.

By

THE LATE REV. W. K. TWEEDIE, D.D.,

Edinburgh,

* Be not deceived ; Goud is not mocked: for whatsoover a nan soweth
‘hat shall he also reap.””—Gat, vi. 7

LONDON:
1, NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
3} AND NEW YORK.



1873,







HEN Sir Walter Scott was preparing his
¥} “Letters from a Grandfather,” to instruct



a young relative in the history of Scotland,
he reckoned it needful to commence his work in a
style of great simplicity, adapted, as he supposed, to
the attainments of the boy. He soon discovered,
however, that he had under-rated at once the capacity
and the taste of his grandson, and had accordingly
to elevate the style of the subsequent portions of his
work. Everything akin to the puerile was discarded,
and a mode of writing was adopted, less stately, or
less measured, perhaps, than the style which is com-
monly employed in history; but, at the same time,
considerably raised above what Sir Walter had at
first supposed to be needful in a work addressed to

youth.
We have often thought that the mistake into which



iv Preface,

he fell is repeated in many of our books for the young.
If these books were to be confined exclusively to the
nursery and its inmates, their character and contents
would correspond with their object; but if they are
designed for those who are somewhat more advanced,
many of the works to which we have referred cannot
but fail in their attempts to elevate and improve.
To a large extent they find youth infantine, and tend
to keep it so. Few of them brace the mind. There
is nothing placed before the young at such an eleva-
tion as to necessitate some endeavour to feach it,
without being so high as to make the reaching of it
hopeless. It is intelligence lowered, rather than the
intelligent being elevated; and under such training,
the young mind must necessarily be continued in a
state of prolonged juvenility.

In the following pages an attempt has been made
to induce youth to think—that is, to connect events
with their causes—to trace the character, when fully
formed, up to its origin in youthful tendencies and
habits, and to notice how much may depend upon a
single principle adopted, or a single deed done. In
short, our little volume is designed to hold a middle
place between tales for nurseries and works for those
whose principles are mature and whose character is



Preface. 7

formed ; and we shall greatly



oice if the young be
thus helped to read, mark, and inwardly digest the
important truth—that if they would reap well, they
must sow well; if they would enjoy an old age of
honour, they must be trained in youth to virtue; if
they would prepare for an eternity of glory, it must
be by walking in the footsteps of the wise and the
good—of those who loved the truth, and were pre-
pared to sacrifice all rather than forsake it. In God’s
world there is no law more sure in its operation than
that “what a man soweth that shall he also reap”
and to stamp that law upon the minds of the young,
forms the leading object of this little volume.










Contents.









Pace

1. INTRODUCTORY, n oon . %
I, TIE HEBREW CAPTIVE, ee 8
ML, THE HEATHEN’S SON, eee 8
Iv, THE BISHOP, sm EN Oe een ine 3S
V. THE MONK, ae has eigen ee eeee
VI. THE KING, ie. hee Cae a a
VIL, THE vac! SEO ade Rae:
VII. THE NOBLE, ease ee oD
IX, THE SOLDIE aoe . o - 4
X, THE PRILOSOPHER, eS
@HE SAILOR,
XIE THE PHILANTHROPIST, . st
XIIT, THE MISSIONARY, : ee hac. 4.8 ee
XIV. THE POET, : - se aed a 187
XV. THE DIVINE, ewe ee 20
XVL THE STATESMAN. see cee
XVI THE PASTOR, sents eweE
XVIII, THE MERCIAN, « ye” cee ea













SEED-TIME AND HARVEST.

n=
L
antroductory.

E have wandered by the margin of a little
brook which glided silently along through



a verdant belt, where it spread fertility and
freshness around it. Welling up on the mountain
side, it seemed to promise a long and an expanding
career ; and it was not difficult for fancy to picture
it widening, and deepening, and enlarging as it
flowed, till it fertilized half a continent, or bore on
its bosom the navy of an empire, or wafted the
wealth of the Indies to its havens. But that little
brook had not advanced far when its course was
impeded by noxious marshes, where bleak sterility
reigned around, and where its transparent waters
were speedily lost amid stagnant corruption. These
waters, no doubt, found their way to the ocean at
last, but it was by some dark and subterraneous



10 The Fitting Brook.

passage, where they shed no visible fertility, and
imparted no beauty to the scene.

Is not that an emblem of what often befalls in
infancy and youth? A little child, the object of a
thousand solicitudes and tender cares, starts on his
career of life. For a season he appears to be beau-
tiful exceedingly, and the hearts of hundreds are
linked to’ him in closest affection, for they see him
only as surrounded by the halo of hope. But time
steals on. The child becomes the boy. . The boy
becomes the youth. The youth becomes the man ;
and close-handed worldliness has blighted all that
once seemed fair and promising—perhaps unblush-
ing crime now stains what once appeared so innocent
and beautiful, and the heart of a father or a mother
is broken, at the thought of —

“ Hope's honey left within the withering bell.”

‘The flitting brook, or the weeping willow, may thus
be the type of man.

We have walked in the garden in spring, when
all was beauty to the eye and music to the ear, and
noticed with delight how the rich blossoms gave
promise first of the plenitude of summer, and then
of the mellow autumn. In its wondrous laboratory
prolific nature seemed to be preparing the bounties
of Him who is the author of every good and per-
fect gift, to make glad the hearts of hundreds; and



The Withered Blossoms. 11

fancy revelled without an effort in the stores which
appeared to be in progress. But on the morrow we
revisited the scene, and it was now one of desolation
—like death, a killing frost had nipped in a night all
the promise of yesterday, and blackness, corruption,
and blight, now reigned where beauty was so recently
conspicuous.

And is not that another emblem of what often hap-
pens in youth? Its blossoms “ go up like dust.” To-
day all promise—to-morrow all disappointment. To-
day cherished with fondness, as the hope of many
hearts—in a brief period only illustrating the truth,
“Iniquity is bound up in the heart of a child!”
Though the earth be often spanned by the rain-
bow, it may be true all the while that a tempest is
raging.

We have passed by the fields of the husbandman
when they were prepared in spring for the seed—when
that seed was committed to their ample bosom, and
when the dews of heaven, with the early and the
latter rain, were expected to impart fertility at the
bidding of Him who “ visits the earth, and waters it;
who greatly enriches it with the river of God, which
is full of water; who prepares them corn when he
has so provided for it; who waters the ridges thereof
abundantly; who settles the furrows thereof; who
makes it soft with showers; who blesses the spring-
ing thereof.”



12 Habakkuk's Hymn.

But all was deceitful. A withering mildew came,
like the locusts of old, and the hope of the husband-
man perished. He had to betake himself, whether
he would or no, to Habakkuk’s hymn: “Although
the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be
in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and
the fields shall yield no meat ; the flock shall be cut
off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the
stalls: yet I will rejoice in the Lord, T will joy in the
God of my salvation.”

And is not that. also an emblem of what often
happens in youth? All is done that human care
could do, to nurture in wisdom, and lead in the
paths of pleasantness and peace.

« Parents first season us; then schoolmaster
Deliver us to laws; they send us bound.

‘To rules of reason, holy messengers,
Pulpits and Sundays ;”

but all is like water spilt upon the ground. He that
is unholy continues unholy still. Reason, conscience,
hope, and fear, are all swept away by the whirlwind
gust, or slowly sapped by the corrupting power of
passion. Like the unwary bee, drenched in the
nectar of the foxglove, and unable to fly to its hive,
such youths are clogged and ruined by the fancied
joys at which they grasp.

We have seen a princely pile of building reared
half way, and there left a monument of man’s folly



Blighted Hopes. 13

or ambition, or both. Marble gleamed there—the
East and the West sent their riches to adorn it, while
Art had done its utmost to lend beauty to the struc-
ture, and men hurried from far and near to study its
grandeur, or measure its proportions. But the am-
bition of the owner transcended his resources, and the
pile now serves only as his monument or mausoleum.

It isan emblem again of youth! Mighty projects,
airy hopes, sanguine anticipations, and a life of sun-
shine without a cloud, form the fancy picture of many
a young aspirant. But that picture vanishes like the
mirage of the desert, and, like the half-finished fabric
of the ambitious builder, that youth perhaps finds a
grave amid the ruins of his hopes.

We knew a youth of more than common promise,
and he was cherished by all who knew him as an
object of more than common love. In opening
manhood he would become a soldier, and lend him-
self to the butchery, or the pillage, on a national
scale, which men call glorious war. In an attack he
led his detachment to the muzzles of the enemy’s
guns, paused for a breath ere he should say
“Charge!” and that breath was his last—he was
stretched on the cold earth a corpse. Need we
add that this also is an emblem of what is too
often the doom of youth—

“ When warped into the labyrinth of lies,
Which babblers called philosophers devise 2”



14 The Companion of the Fool.

Allured by some factitious joy into a path which
promised pleasure, wealth, or fame, they perish in
the act of grasping at these shadows. ‘They sow the
wind, and reap the whirlwind—an -early grave, or a
corpse scarce buried in a foreign land, is all that re-
mains to wounded and bleeding affection. Over
such youths the ancient cry, “ Woe, woe, woe!” may
be dolefully renewed.

We have seen a child of promise glancing through
his home for some of his earliest years, the delight
of all who dwelt there, and occasioning a joy as
exuberant as his glee. His mind was quite preco-
ciously developed ; and some in reality, others from
courtesy, marvelled at his early powers. But disease
laid its hand upon that centre of many hearts, and
those who loved the child so prematurely wise, would
gladly have scen him as little gifted as vulgar chil-
dren are, could that have stayed the ravages of dis-
ease. And does not that also find a parallel in the
history of many a youthful soul? Trained at first
with utmost painstaking, he is perhaps admired,
caressed, and doted on by those whom affection
blinds. But the latent moral disease at length
breaks out ; it gives—

« Prayer to the winds, and caution to the waves.”
Evil communications. corrupt good morals. The
companion of the fool is destroyed—nay, he destroys
himself; and you may perhaps trace his pathway



The Redeemer's Love. 15

through life to the tomb, by the tears which are shed
by those who follow him thither. Like the bones
which lie scattered by the grave’s edge, speaking so
eloquently of the littleness and decay of man, these
moral wrecks proclaim how poor and abject man is,
even in his best estate—

“ Poor child of dust and death, his hopes are built on sand.”

How different is it with those who, under the watch-
ful care of some pious father or guardian, learn in their
youth those lessons of love and faithfulness and devo-
tion which alone can keep the soul free from the con-
tamination of the world! Pleasant it is to see them
bending over the holy Book, and gathering from each
other’s lips encouragement to persevere in its study!
We know that upon such study the blessing of Heaven
will be outpoured; and that childhood is very dear in
the sightof God. The Saviour’s loving soul has let forth
all its affection regarding that period of life, when—

« Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees.”

One of the tenderest of his sayings has reference to
the young, and it seems like a gleam of the very
light of heaven to hear the Saviour say: “Suffer the
little children to come unto me, and forbid them not;
for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” And then,
Wisdom—the Redeemer’s emblem, or the Redeemer
himself—walks forth among the erring sons of men,
and in winning words exclaims, “They that seek me



16 The Geily Youth.

early shall find me.” It is not merely by such gene-
ral maxims as, “ What a man soweth that shall he
also reap,” that the young are warned and allured
towards what is pure, and good, and true. By line
upon line, and precept upon precept, the wisdom of
Heaven manifests its solicitude for them: “ Even a
child is known by his doings, whether his work be
pure, and whether it be right,” is one of its an-
nouncements. “A wise son maketh a glad father,
but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother,” is
another. “The eye that mocketh at his father, and
despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the val-
ley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat
it,” is a third. The Book of Proverbs, containing
the wisdom of the wisest man on whom our sun ever
shone, is full of instruction regarding youth; and
nothing is needed but the grace of God to bless its
deep though simple sayings, to make even the young
wise unto salvation, to keep them from the paths of
the destroyer, and lead them up to a Father's home
on high.

And while the Word of the Holy One teaches us
by lessons, it is careful to instruct us also by exam-
ples. There is a little child who has begun betimes
to sow the good seed. He had a godly mother,
who said regarding him, “I have lent him to the
Lord ; as long as he liveth he shall be lent to the
Lord ;” and it was done according to her vow. The





THE YOUNG STUDENT



Josiah the King. 7

child “ministered before the Lord.” “He grew be-
fore the Lord.” “The Lord communed with him”
as with the holy prophets ; and the boy grew in god-
liness, a blessing and a joy to all around. It was
the child Samuel, who sought God early, who found
him, and concerning whom we read in that word of
the Lord which “endureth for ever”—“ Samuel
grew, and the Lord was with him, and did let none
of his words fall to the ground.” p

Or, there is another youth. ‘The people made
him king over a great nation when he was only eight
years of age. Yet, surrounded as he was with the
allurements and the dangers of a court, he “did what
was right in the sight of the Lord,” #and turned not
aside to the right hand or to the left.” He was
careful to rebuild the ruined temple of his country.
He removed every vestige of idolatry, and swept the
land clean of all that had defiled it. The Spirit of
God was his guide, and he would endure no wicked
thing before his eyes. ‘That was Josiah, who, though
only a stripling king, was yet a mighty man for God;
and as he honoured the Lord, he was honoured by
him. “He tuned to the Lord with all his heart,
and with all his soul, and with all his might ;” and
he was largely blessed in his deed.

Seeing, then, that reason combines with revelation,
and daily experience with all past history, to pro-
claim the importance of youth, let us try, in a few

wo 2





18 : The Warning.

chapters, to win and warn the young to be wise in
early years. As is their seed-time, so must their
harvest be: “Sow well, and you will reap well,” is a
maxim which is universally true. But neglect such
sowing, and the winter of life will overtake you, as
want overtakes the sluggard. Our little book is
meant especially for the young, and it goes forth to
address them, followed by the prayer, that He who
loved little children, and whose Spirit made Samuel
so early holy, and Josiah so early bold for God, may
bless it to teach them to sow well that they may reap
well; so that they themselves may at last be gathered
home to the garner of the Lord, like a shock of corn
when it is fully ripe.

oe

CEES





IL

The Hebrew Captive.

HE heart of man is like the daughters of the
horse-leech, ever crying, “Give, give.” It
was designed to be happy in God; and
unless it be restored to his favour, it would be un-
happy and restless though the whole world were its
portion. Youth forgets all that, and is reluctant to
be undeceived. It expects happiness where man
finds only disappointment ; it turns away from God
—nay, He is often a weariness to youth, and yet it
hopes to be happy. But to correct that tendency,
let us study the history of a youth whom God



himself had taught where to find his joy.—At one
period there sat on the throne of Israel a king of
distinguished wickedness, whose name was Jehoiakim.
A single incident in his life will show how depraved
and how godless he was. It was in his reign that
Jeremiah the prophet lived, and some of his pro-



phecies were conveyed to the king for his warning

Ss

and guidance. And how did the king proceed?



20 The Pitfall.

Did he welcome the message, and reverently listen
to the lessons which it brought? Nay; the haughty
persecutor took the scroll which the prophet sent,
he cut it-to pieces with a knife, and cast the frag-
ments into the fire. The word of God was hateful
to that unholy man, as it is offensive to all who live
in sin; and just as wicked men have always perse-
cuted the holy when they had the power, the king
of Israel tried to bum and destroy the word of the
iving God. He did just what Popery is doing still,
and what all men would do whose hearts are not
right with God.

But when that king had destroyed the word of
God, like “the cowled demons of the inquisitorial
cell,” did he escape from “ the sword of the Spirit?”
It seemed a weak and a contemptible thing, and
the bold sinner could easily cut it to pieces, or con-
but when he had done all




sume it in the flames
that, did he escape from God himself—could those
flames destroy the truth of God, or turn it into a lie!
Nay; all that the proud sinner could accomplish in
his wrath only helped to hasten forward the fulfil-
ment of every recorded word. It was predicted that
that persecutor should be ignobly “ buried with the
burial of an ass.” No man was to lament for him,
saying, “Ab, my brother! or, Ah, sister!” “Ah,
lord! or, Ah, his glory!” Shame and degradation
were to be his lot: he had torn and destroyed the





The Hebrew Boy. au

word of God; and the destruction which it threatened
was the lot of that destroyer. That sinner dug a
pitfall, and was taken in it himself.

Now, it was during his reign that Nebuchadnezzar
—-the Bonaparte of his day—besieged and took
Jerusalem, and carried away a part of its sacred
vessels to place them in the house of his gods. At
the same time, he carried away Daniel the prophet
as a captive; and it may teach the young both how
to sow well, and how to reap well, or how a busy
seed-time tends to produce a plenteous harvest, if
we study for a little the conduct of that captive
Hebrew.

Daniel was but a youth when he was carried to
Babylon to grace the triumph of the conqueror.
Some compute that he was not more than twelve
years of age, while none suppose that he was more
than fourteen. In either case, he was only a boy,
unfriended and alone; and let us follow him to
Babylon, and there learn lessons from his life. Or
the banks of the Euphrates there stood a gorgeous
palace. It was the home of a mighty king—the
conqueror of kings—and into its capacious halls the
spoils of fallen empires were collected. Daniel is
there, a slave to man, but already “made free” by
his God. He had been cradled in sorrow—for a
persecutor sat on the throne of his country. He
had seen Jerusalem besieged and sacked; he had



22 The True Refuge.

been torn from the land of his fathers, and dragged,
perhaps in chains, to a distant house of bondage.
He had to shed many tears—

“ Tears for the dead who die in sin,
And tears for living crime.”

He was, perhaps, of royal lineage too ; but the more
on that account must he be made a captive, for it
was the purpose of Nebuchadnezzar to humble the
pride of Jerusalem.

But did all this mar the godliness of the captive
boy.? Did he swerve from his purpose, or, having
begun well, did he wickedly fall away? Nay, all
that happened to Daniel only pressed him nearer
to his God—only made him more devoted to His
service—only urged him to cling the closer to the
arm which could uphold him. In truth, Daniel at
Babylon became one of the holiest of all the servants
of the Holy One—“a man greatly beloved.” He
was driven to the true Refuge, for he had no human
help. He sought an asylum under the Rock that is
higher than we ; and, youthful as he was, he was
strong in the Lord and the power of his might. ‘The
truth in his soul bore fruit unto holiness ; God was
glorified, and that boy was blessed.

And mark some of the stages by which Daniel,
even while a boy, became thus signalized. He was
ordered to be fed with a portion of the king’s food,
and to drink a portion of the king’s wine. But to



The Right Standard. 23

Daniel, as 2 “Lebrew, that was pollution. He could
taste nothing that had been consecrated to an idol.
He could touch no kind of food that was forbidden
by the law of Moses, and he therefore resolved, cost
what it might, “not to defile himself with the king’s
food.” The sovereign might command, but the
captive would not obey. Daniel knew something
more authoritative than the, word of an earthly
monarch, or more attractive than his smile ; and the
firm purpose of the stripling, therefore, was to avoid
the contamination of the palace of Babylon. In
doing so, he might oppose the will of the mightiest
monarch then upon the earth; but what of that,
when he was obeying the King Eternal? He might
be endangering his own life, or he might cause his
fetters to be more tightly rivetted ; but what of that,
if his conscience was kept free? Such fears, then,
and such temptations, had no weight with Daniel.
Nay, he feared God, and had no other fear. It
was not the voice of man, it was the voice of con-
science; it was not the smile of a creature, it was
the smile of God; it was not the prevailing custom
where he dwelt, it was Jehovah's unerring standard,
that that believing boy had madesupreme: and, guided
by that standard, he was steadfast and unmovable
amid all that could befall him. Alone, unfriended, a
captive or a slave, he resolved to brave all that could
happen, rather than defile his conscience by a sin,



24 The Hero Rewarded.

But Daniel’s heroism in doing right has not yet
been all described. He might have courted the
world’s smile: he might have shrunk from its frown:
lie might have tampered with its iniquity; and, as
the reward, he might have secured worldly prosperity
at the expense of Jehovah’s withering frown. Man-
hood spent in the service of Mammon might have
ended in an old age that was blighted, without one
real blessing, or one solid hope. But, far from that,
Daniel’s godliness was decided at every step. When
he proposed to abstain from the king’s food, the
courtier who had charge of the boy saw nothing but -
disaster in the proposal. Danger rose above danger,
till it appeared that death would be the sure result.
Were the young captive to adopt the course which
conscience said was right, confusion and every evil
work would be the issue. So reasoned the courtly
hpenaz ; he never asked, what is right? or, what
duty? or, what saith the Lord? but only, what is
safe? Daniel, however, was not to be moved. Nay,
as he trusted in. God, he would put the matter to the
proof : he was ready to use only prisoners’ fare, assured
that if he did so in faith, he would not be put to shame.
Feed me on pulse and water ; feed another with the
royal dainties ;—and see which shall be the fairest in
the end. ‘That was the stripling’s challenge, for he
knew that better is a dinner of herbs, where God's love
is, than a stalled ox, and strife with the Holy One.









DANIEL PRAYING



Reaping in Joy. 25

It was thus, then, that Daniel sowed, and how
did he reap? ‘The holy God was his fear and his
dread ; he did not fear the face of man, and what
was the result of his heroism? It can be briefly
told. In an age and amid scenes where luxury and
ungodliness were rampant, Daniel held fast his
integrity, and friend after friend was raised up—
heart after heart was opened before him. In the
wondrous providence of that God whom Daniel
feared, Nebuchadnezzar himself became the fast
friend of that youth. Three times did that warlike
king take Jerusalem in war. He overthrew Nineveh
—he destroyed Tyre—he subdued Egypt—he van-
quished the Medes, and carried his arms in the west
even into Spain, in the east to the banks of the
Indus. Yet that mighty prince and warrior became
the friend and protector of this captive boy. And
not only was Nebuchadnezzar the friend of Daniel.
Darius, another conquering king of the Medes, set
his affection upon the prophet. The victorious
Cyrus did the same; in short, the youth had honoured
God, and was not put to shame. He might sow in
tears, but he reaped in joy. He who holds the
hearts of all men in his hands, turned them to favour
Daniel ; for “ when a man’s ways please the Lord,
he makes even his enemies to be at peace with
him.” By one resolute purpose—by opposing the
beginning of sin—by simply believing in God—-





26 A Pure Conscience—

by declining to move by a single hair’s-breadth from
the path to which conscience pointed, Daniel cleared
away a thousand obstructions, and escaped from a
thousand snares. It was with him as it had been
with David: “ He went on, and grew great, and the
Lord was with him.” Like Joseph, “he was a pros-
perous man ;” and the reason was, that his God
was for him, Learning, honour, and power, under
sovereign after sovereign, for threescore years and
ten at least, were the lot of the devoted—the resolute
—the God-fearing Daniel. When he fed on pulse,
he seemed fairer by far than those who fared sump-
tuously every day. The countenance beamed with
joy, for the conscience was not defiled. The eye
was radiant with gladness, and told of the serenity
which reigned within—a joy which all may share
when they have learned with David to say, “God is
our refuge and our strength—a very present help in
trouble ;” “ God shall help us, and that right early.”
‘The worm Jacob can thrash the mountains when he
clings in faith to the arm of the Omnipotent. In
the caim of a pure conscience, and the smile of an
approving God, such a man, both in youth and age,
enjoys a reward which gems and jewel mines could
not buy. Some sow the wind and reap the whiri-
wind ; but they whom God has blessed, sow to the
Spirit, and of the Spirit reap life everlasting.

“0 dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,”



Its Reward. 27

is the dirge which may be uttered over those who
trample upon conscience, or ignore the righteous
claims of the Holy One. “Thy name shall be
Israel, for as a prince hast thou power with God and
with men, and hast prevailed,” is the eulogy of the
youth who fears his God, and has no other fear,
But can he have a sound mind who prefers man’s
smile to God’s ?—who lives for the pleasures which
“sting like a serpent, and bite like an adder?”—
who, with his own hand, and in spite of every warning,
sows tares, and expects to reap a rich and golden
harvest who plunges into sin, and expects to bring
up the pearl of great price?











III.

The Geathen’s Son.

JEW things in the history of man are more
iS painfully touching than the ruin and the
se ei misery occasioned by the misdeeds of
children. There is a widowed mother: she sits in her
loneliness and weeps—or perhaps her burning eye-
balls are too parched to yield the sad relief of tears.
She once wept before, but it was when the delight
of her eyes was taken away with a stroke. They
were the tears of affection shed beside a husband’s
grave ; and though numerous, they were not scalding.
But now she laments, perhaps, over the reckless
waywardness of an only son, who has forfeited his
life to the laws of his country, and appears not un-
likely to die the death of one hardened in crime.

Or there is a father: his strong soul is bowed to
the earth like a willow before the blast—and why is
he so utterly overwhelmed? It is because one whom
he had fondly cherished, and for whom he had as
fondly hoped well, has become the companion of



Sorrow from those we Love. 29

fools, and, by guilt added to guilt, is compelling his
stricken parent in agony to cry with David—* O my
son Absalom! my son, my son Absalom! would God
Ihad died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!”
or with the older patriarch—* My gray hairs are
brought in sorrow to the grave.”

Or there are an aged pair, far advanced in the pil-
grimage of life, and misery seems to accumulate as
they proceed. They were once in affluence, and the
sun rose and set in gladness on their happy home.
But now all that has vanished away—home, and
happiness, and substance—all have disappeared like
the summer brook. They are tottering forward to
the grave, the inmates of an asylum for the indigent,
pensioners on what is often the cold hand of
charity. And what brought them to that condition
of woe? Itwwas the misdeeds of a once cherished
boy. We see before us still such an aged heart
broken parent, though twenty years have rolled away
since he was laid in the grave. He is wasted, hag-
gard, and at times scarcely coherent. Ever and
anon he mutters the once favourite name of his boy,
but the sentiments which it awakens are dashed by
the feeling of anguish of which it has become the
very prolific origin. We repeat it: of all the woe to
which man is the heir, none can be more poignant,
more crushing, or more deadly, than that which
originates in the misdeeds of children.



or









30 The Young Disciple

But while many have thus to endure the sore an
guish of Eli, others are permitted to rejoice in spirit
over the second birth of those whom they love, and
to hail them as members of that great family which
is named, in heaven and on earth, after Jesus Christ.
‘There dwelt, for example, in the Holy Land, eighteen
hundred years ago, a boy, who knew what it was
both to sow well and reap well. As to the first, or
the sowing, he enjoyed none of the advantages which:
children in our day enjoy. There were then no
attractive books for the young, no royal road to
knowledge, no decorated books to allure, and no
illustrated books to simplify. ‘There was no printing
to make learning common—all had to be copied
with the hand of man ; and, at a period long subse-
quent to that, some of these written volumes were
as valuable as a whole estate, or would have cost
the income of a parish. But the ardour of that boy
overcame every obstacle, and ‘Timothy, the son and
disciple of the apostle Paul—for it is of Timothy
that we speak—did learn to read. It requires little
effort of the fancy to picture the little group with
which the Scriptures make us acquainted when they
are telling of that boy. His father was a Greek—
that is, a pagan—and perhaps took little interest in
the godly training of his child; but the young Chris-
tian of Derbe had others to care for him. His
grandmother, Lois, was his early teacher, and it was



The Sacred Primer. 3r

in the wisdom of God’s word that she trained him.
His mother, Eunice, was no less zealous in the same
good work, so that Paul had reason cordially to
speak of “the unfeigned faith that was in Timothy,
which dwelt first in his grandmother, Lois, and his
mother, Eunice.” The result was, that “from ¢
child,” that favoured boy “knew the Holy Scrip-
tures, which are able to make us wise unto salvation,
through faith which is in Christ Jesus.” Through
three generations grace was thus triumphant. The
grandmother, the mother, and the boy, had all
gathered wisdom from the heavenly store; they
had sat down at the feet of the heavenly Teacher,
and experienced the truth of Elihu’s exclamation :
“Who teacheth like God ?”

But how dd Timothy learn to read? In some
parts of Ireland, where books were not common in
years gone by, it was the custom to teach children
to read in the grave-yards, with the tomb-stones for
their primer, and the chiselled epitaphs for their
lesson. And missionaries have been known to teach
their savage flocks the letters of the alphabet by
tracing them on sand or clay, and making that rude
material serve as a substitute for books. ‘Timothy
and his godly teachers had no such difficulty to sur-
mount, yet his way to learning was by no means
smooth. We must think of him as “a child,”
stretched, perhaps, on the roof of his home at







32 The Gain of Godliness.

Derbe, in the oriental fashion. Eunice, or Lois, is
beside him. He has a roll unfolded before him
containing the Hebrew Scriptures, or perhaps it is
the Septuagint translation of the Old Testament in
Greek, and he is busy deciphering first the letters,
then the words, and then the rich full meaning of
the book which made him, and has made millions
besides him, wise unto salvation. And we can
easily picture how that devout boy would be en-
couraged and made glad as he read of Joseph, who
sat at Pharaoh’s right hand; or Samuel, the prophet ;
or David, who, while a stripling, slew Goliath, and
when a man, ascended a throne. Little did that
boy then dream that his own name was to take so
conspicuous a place among those who shine as the
stars for ever and ever! But godliness has “the
promise of the life that now is, as well as of that
which is to come ;” and Timothy found that to seek
wisdom early, according to the word of God, is the
sure path to the reality of glory, honour, and immor-
tality; while those who despise that wisdom find only
the counterfeit and shadow. ”

And having thus sowed weil “from a child,” how
did Timothy reap? He became the attendant of
the apostle Paul, and again and again did that re-
markable man rank Timothy side by side with him-
self in his holy epistles. He was the apostle’s com-
panion in preaching the gospel. He was Paul's



The Martyr's Death. 33

“son Timothy,” or Paul’s “own son in the faith.”
He was the apostle’s “beloved son,” his “ work-
fellow,” his “brother,” his very second self. He
was, moreover, the apostle’s companion in bonds,
when they were called to suffer for the truth’s sake.
‘They shared, it would appear, the prisoner's fare,
and wore together the prisoner’s chain ; so that two
of the strongest ties which link man to man—a com:
mon faith, and common suffering for that faith—knit
these two men to each other, and made them like one
soul. Nor were they far divided in their death.
‘The tradition is that Paul was beheaded at Rome
for his adherence to the truth; and from the same
source we learn that Timothy suffered martyrdom at
Ephesus—the death of glory, for which thousands in
early ages panted.

But Timothy reaped something better still than
the martyrs crown. The letters which Paul ad-
dressed to him, rank among the most touching por-
tions of the Word of God. Through the son of
Eunice there has come down to each successive
generation of ministers, for eighteen hundred years,
the instructions which the Holy Spirit designed
should fit them for their holy calling ; so that even
among the sons of men, the promised “ brightness of
the firmament,” which is to encircle the godly for
ever, has long encircled him who knew the Holy
Scriptures from a child, and whom these Scriptures

wo 3



34 The Infidel—

made wise unto salvation. Paul once described
Timothy as “faithful in the Lord ;” and he stands
out before us now a monument of the Lord’s faith-
fulness to those who trust in him before the sons of
men.

But a contrast may here help us to understand
more clearly the close connection which exists be-
tween sowing well and reaping well. David Hume
is well known as one of the despisers of God’s truth.
He prostituted the powers which God had given
him to the impious purpose of making God a liar.
He denied the Holy Word, though he confessed that
he had never read it; and he reaped his reward in
the plaudits of men who loved, and therefore longed,
to see the Bible proved untrue, or man left without
a Saviour and therefore without a hope.

And while pursuing that career, what were the
opinions which Hume espoused and defended as
better to him than the truth of the Scriptures?’ He
is called a philosopher. What did his philosophy
teach him? What did he sow? what did he reap!
We give a single example. Hume taught that self-
murder “is but turning a few ounces of blood from
its natural channel ;”—in other words, there is no
great harm in destroying ourselves. To swallow
poison, or bleed ourselves to death, or blow out our
brains, is not very wrong ;—and that is the man
whom some have praised as a better preacher than



A Contrast. 35

the Bible! Timothy was wise unto salvation ; Hume
only to the extent of pleading for self-murder, or ex-
tenuating its guilt. Timothy sought to turn many
to righteousness; Hume argued to make them
grossly polluted. Timothy sought to throw the
wood of the healing tree into the bitter waters of
life ; Hume spent his days and his nights in making
them more bitter still. Now, which of these was the
true philanthropist? Which the soundest philoso-
pher? Which the most rational, happy, and noble-
minded man—the youth who lived for God, or the
man who spoke of his fellow-mortals as if they were
valueless like brutes? Could we follow them into
the world of spirits, where all is truth and earnest-
ness, and where infidelity is for ever at an end,
what would be our estimate of their sowing and
their reaping #



pag |









Iv.

The Bishop.

HEN Philip Doddridge was born, he was
supposed to be without life, and accord-
ingly put aside for burial. In a little

time, however, some symptoms of animation were



accidentally noticed, and means were adopted to in-
vigorate the infant. Sickly and feeble as he was,
these means were crowned with success ; and though
he carried with him through life a delicacy of con-
stitution which might often remind him of his feeble
beginning, we know what he lived, and what he was
blessed, to accomplish. ‘To name no more, he was
the author of “The Rise and Progress of Religion
in the Soul,’—a book which has been translated into
most of the modern languages, and been the means
of converting more souls to Christ than perhaps any
other book that could be named, except the Word of
God. It has roused some. It has warned others.
It has enlightened thousands, and helped to guide or
to cheer the earthly pilgrimage of many now in glory.



Augustine, 37

Now, what happened to the feeble infant, Philip
Doddridge, takes place in regard to many a soul.
For years, it is not merely pining and feeble ; it is
dead—dead to God, or dead in trespasses and sins.
It is as completely cut off from the enjoyment of
God, and from all that constitutes the true dignity,
or the true blessedness of man, as they that are dead
and buried are cut off from the business of life.
When Lazarus lay in the tomb, and when decay had
begun to do its loathsome work, who would have
denied that he was separated by a wide or an im-
passable gulf from the world of living men? And it
is the same with the soul as it is born into the world.
‘The God who made it declares that it is “dead in
sin.”

But as Lazarus was raised from the tomb by an
almighty word, so may the soul be quickened by an
energy from heaven. It may be made a child of
God by the power of the Holy Spirit ; and we are
about to draw attention to a case which illustrates
that most striking change.

AvRELIus AuGuSTINE, afterwards Bishop of Hippo,
was born in the year 354, at Tagaste, a town in
Numidia. His father was a heathen; but his mother
was a Christian, and a woman remarkable for her
faith and piety. She did all that affection could
suggest to promote the best interests of her boy ; and
neither example, nor assiduity, nor many prayers,



38 The Voice of Conscience.

were wanting to impress him early with a love of
the truth, and with the fear of God. She was
doomed, however, to many years of harassing and
heart-breaking disappointment. It is true, as that
boy lived to confess, that in his early years he was
sometimes haunted by fear, in consequence of his
ungodly ways. Conscience was not wholly dead,
nor wholly silenced ; and it sometimes spoke out for
God in a way which showed at once the sinner's
determination to sin in spite of it, and the misery
which he was preparing for himself by such a career.
But in spite of conscience, Augustine tells us that
he spurned at all restraints, and grew up in a
wickedness such as few have surpassed. Bloody
games and exhibitions were then common. He
loved such things with the force of a passion, and
there fomented those evil desires which made his
mother wretched on his account, and which, in the
end, rendered Augustine himself more wretched
still. Neither her prayers nor her tears were
heeded; but, goaded onward by his mad love of
sin, he walked to the enjoyment of it over a mother’s
bleeding heart, and a mother’s wounded spirit. So
blinded was he, that he would have blushed, as he
records, to be thought less wicked than his com-
panions. He even invented false stories of his
sinful exploits, to obtain their applause. He thus
made such progress in vice as to shut himself up in



The Theatre. 39

the darkness of sin, and debar God’s truth from
entering his soul.*

The theatre became one of Augustine’s favourite
haunts, and there he was more deeply drenched in
guilt than ever. What he calls “the fomentations
of his fire” were there increased, till he grewhackneyed
in crime. He saw sin turned into mockery, and
made a topic of mirth, while all the decorations of
art, and eloquence, ar” poetry, and music helped to
make perdition more pleasing and more welcome.
His early compunctions for sin were soon effaced
amid such scenes. The death of his soul ceased to
give Augustine any concern ; and for nine years, he
says, he rolled in the slime of sin, sometimes attempt-
ing to rise, but only sinking deeper and deeper into
guilt. “He rushed,” as he confesses, “ into the sins
by which he desired to be enslaved.” Pride and
arrogance, and the gaudy inanities of his profession,
as a teacher of Rhetoric, inflated his soul. He loved
“ gratuitous wickedness,” or wickedness for its own
sake, apart from its fancied profits or pleasures ; and
his own picture of himself while in that condition is
as powerful as it is dark. “The avidity of doing
mischief from sport, the pleasure of making others
suffer, and that without any distinct workings either
of avarice or revenge”—these things prove how far
Augustine had fallen, how debased he was by iniquity.

* Augustini Conf. lib. ii,



40 The Wages of Iniquity.

Much of this had taken place when that youth was
only about fifteen or sixteen years of age. In that
brief period he had grown mature in sin; and though
superstitious fear goaded him at times, he rushed
on without a check. He prayed, but it was in this
spirit— Free me from sin, but not yet;” that is, he
wished to sink deeper and deeper into woe before he
was delivered from it—to swallow another draught
of poison ere he applied for an antidote against what
he had already drunk; and with that madness which
makes the sinner hug the very cause of his wretched-
ness, or drag it with him to the edge of the grave,
did Augustine, while little more than a boy, hasten
along the broad road. He was the bold companion
of fools—the victim of his own unsubdued passions
—the sport, as he confesses, of sin in every form.
He was sowing sin, and, by God’s decree, the fruit
of sin is woe and the second death.

Such, then, was the seed-time of this youth, He
was busy sowing tares. Night and day he was occu-
pied in fostering all that is noxious to the soul. What
he cultivated was the deadly nightshade. Instead of
rearing, he tried to extirpate, everything that was
good for food or pleasant to the eye. And as that
was the character of Augustine during the spring-
time of his life, what was his condition in the harvest?
Was his case any exception to the remark, “ What a
man soweth, that shall he also reap"? Did he



“ The Way of Transgressors is Hard.” 4n

“gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles”!
He himself shall reply.

Woe and tribulation, bitterness and sorrow were
his lot. He discovered at length that he had sunk
into an horrible pit. ‘He was excluded,” he says,
“even from the husks which the swine did eat.”
“ He was inflamed,” he writes, “in his youth, to be
satiated with infernal fires.” He found out that he
had turned’ “his back to the light, and to those
things which really illuminate the face.” This man
of genius, of learning, and most subtle mind, once
envied a poor beggar—he bewailed to his friends
the pains and toils, the labour and vexation of his
own lot, compared with that of him who basked by
the wayside, and begged a bit of bread. ‘I found
myself miserable and grieved,” is Augustine’s cheer-
less confession. “I doubled that misery; so that if
anything prosperous smiled upon me, I was reluctant



to lay hold of it, because it flew away almost as soon
as I could seize it.” Nay, more cheerless still; even
when he began to groan under the burden of sin, and
seek deliverance from it, the truth eluded his grasp,
and his wretchedness was augmented from day to
day. He found himself in darkness, and said with
sighs, How long? Still, however, he followed after
objects with which he was now dissatisfied, because
he knew nothing better to substitute in their place,
‘The fetters which his former ways had rivetted tightly



42 The Sinner’s Anguish.

on his soul now galled and impeded him. He felt
that he should give himself to seek God with heart
and soul; yet thoughts of which sin is both the
parent and the nurse haunted the sinner. “What
if death be the extinction of my being?” was one form
of temptation which assailed him; and though he
repelled that and all similar thoug1ts, it tended to
fasten him down a little longer to the earth ; like the
little bird which flutters to be free that it may soar
and sing in the sky, but finds itself a prisoner to the
devices of some wanton boy.

Augustine thus sought happiness, yet fled from it.
In quest of what he sought, he plunged afresh into
his old sins,* became more miserable than ever in
the mire of pollution, and verified to the letter the
saying of Solomon, when he speaks of sin as biting
like a serpent, or stinging like an adder. This youth
was now “like one that lies down in the midst of
the sea for rest, or like him that lieth upon the top
of a mast.” “They have stricken me, and I was
not sick; they have beaten me, and I felt it not:
when shall I awake? I will seek it yet again’—was
his condition. “What were the groanings, the
labours of my heart!’—is his touching outcry.
“When I silently inquired, I was so distressed and
confounded, that the bitterness of my soul no man
could comprehend by any description I could give.”

* Augustini Conf, tib. vi



The Sure Decree, 43,

Learned as he was, he was forced to exclaim to a
friend—“ Illiterate men rise and seize heaven, while
we, with all our learning, are rolling in the filth of
sin.” His sorrownowreached a crisis ; and when hecol-
‘lected all his misery into one view, “a great gloom,”
he says, “arose, producing a large flood of tears.”

Such is a glimpse, and only a glimpse, of the early
career of Augustine. There are things recorded
concerning him which should not once be named—
and we pass them by in silence. But enough has
been said to illustrate once more the truth, that what
a man sows that shall he also reap. This young
man “rejoiced in his youth; his heart cheered him
in the days of his youth; he walked in the ways of
his heart, and in the sight of his own eyes;” but he
forgot what follows—“ know thou that for all these
things God will bring thee into judgment.” He
forgot that God has linked suffering to sin, by a law
as sure as that which links shadow to substance in
sunshine. It is, we repeat, the irreversible decree
of the holy God, that a sinner shall be a sufferer ; and
the young may as well attempt to lacerate the body
and give it pleasure, or feed it on poison and yet
keep it alive, or plunge it into the depths of the
ocean and yet make it prosper and be in health, as
oppose the holy will of God, and be blessed in their
deed. Augustine felt, to his bitter experience, that
“the wages of sin is Geath;” and what had been



44 The Great Change.

earned was paid. “Be sure your sin will find you
out,” is the decree of the unchanging God; and
Augustine found, as every sinner must sooner or later
feel, that that decree will be carried into effect as
surely as God is true, and “ the same yesterday, to-
day, and for ever.” Would youth be happy? Then
be God the guide of our youth. Would old age be
honoured? ‘Then till hoary hairs let God be He.....
If we consecrate’ our earliest days to Him, our latest
will be our best.

But Augustine at last became a signal monument
of mercy. Like a brand he was plucked from the
burning. The grace of God visited and redeemed
him, and he could say at last, “I ascribe it to Thy
grace that Thou hast melted my sins as ice is
melted.” Serenity came after the storm, and the
man once infatuated or spell-bound learned to say,
“ My mind was set free from corroding cares, and I
communed in playful ease with Thee, my Light,
my Riches, my Saviour, and my God.”—“ Thy
truth was distilled into my heart; the flame of piety
was kindled, and my tears flowed for joy.” He lived
under the guidance of that Spirit whom he called
“the inner Master of the inner man;” yet he always
bore about with him, and carried to the grave, the
scars of his former fighting against God, or the marks
of his former chains. ‘There still lived in his memory
the images of evils to which he had been habituated.



Monica. 45

They occurred to him even in his sleep; so that
Augustine, the converted man, the self-sacrificing
pastor, the learned doctor, whose influence has now
spread over fifteen centuries, had to pass up to his
place among the pardoned through a cloud of grievous
affliction. He had long panted for heaven—for he
lived till he was seventy-six years of age—and his
longings to depart were quickened by a bitter taste
of the evils of a world whose sins, for a season, he
had so zealously helped to augument. God will be
true, and every man a liar; and Augustine, converted
and unconverted, alike warns us to sow well, if we
would reap well—to give our youth to God, if we
would spend our time in happiness, our eternity in
heaven.



No better opportunity can occur for showing to
the young the power of a mother’s example, or the
ascendency of a mother’s influence, than is afforded
by the case of Augustine and his mother, Monica.
It was the saying of West the painter, in reference
to a kiss which his mother gave him for one of his
juvenile works—“ That kiss made me a painter.”
Her smile attached the mind of the boy to that
pursuit on which he was predisposed to enter ; it was
a bland persuasive, and the young artist yielded to
its gentle, dew-like power. And the same may be
said of a mother’s influence in other spheres. Amid



all the waywardness of Augustine, Monica never



46 A Mother's Power.

forsook either him or the throne of grace on his
behalf. She followed him from place to place, to be
his guardian angel everywhere; and though he often
deceived her, that he might rush unchecked into sin,
or revel in iniquity, she never wearied—only once
did she waver. But when conversing with a minister
of Christ regarding the wayward object of her affec-
tion, she was encouraged by his reply to persevere,
and lived to see at last that her prayers were answered,
the prodigal was reclaimed, and the son that had
been lost was found. She had taken hold of Omni-
potence on his behalf, and he was at last delivered,
While his guilt was immeasurably increased by the
conduct which trifled with a widowed mother’s affec-
tions, and walked to sin over her very heart, the
triumph of faith was on that account the more signal
and complete. While many a parent, in effect,
causes his child to pass through the fire, by training
him for the world, Monica rescued her son from the
fearful pit, by “giving God no rest” on his behalf,
And surely, if a mother might address her dying
child as she closed his fading eye, with the words,
“T wish you joy, my darling,” the mother of Augustine
might exult in a similar spirit, when she saw him an
unfettered slave, standing fast in the liberty which
Christ bestows—a tree of the Lord’s planting, and

bearing fruit unto holiness, to the praise of the grace
of his God.





The Monk.

HE TOKEN OF A MOTHER'S Love.” Such is
the inscription which may be read on the
tombstone of a departed son. It stands

on a lovely spot near the monument of Francis

Jeffrey, and is surrounded by a glorious panorama of

sea, and city, and mountains far and near. Yet

none of these material things affect one so deeply as
the simple words, “The token of a mother’s love.”

They remind us of the saying of Luther, that there

is nought on earth so lovely as a woman’s heart, with

God’s grace to guide its love; and oh, how much

can a heart so loving, and so guided, achieve? or

rather, what can it not accomplish? No doubt some,
the basest, and the furthest fallen of men, caz trample
on a mother’s heart, and disregard her deepest feel-

ings; but if aught but Omnipotence could arrest a

sinner on the way to ruin, or win him back to God,

it would be the power of a mother’s affection, armed
as it is with a might which nothing but the extreme







43 The Miner's Son.

of degradation can resist. We are now about to
trace the history of one who owed not a little to his



mother,—we mean the reformer LurHer ;—and let
us view him, first, in the season of sowing; and,
secondly, in the season of reaping; or the spring and
the autumn of his earthly existence.

On the plains of Mansfeld, and by the banks of
the Wipper, about the year 1488, a boy might be
seen at play, who was destined to rank among the
greatest of the sons of men. He was then about
five years of age, and the poverty of his parents soon
obliged him to forsake his sports, and adopt some
means of procuring a livelihood for himself. He
was early trained in the fear of God ; and his father,
who was intelligent, though poor, resolved to attempt
to make his son Martin a scholar. He often prayed
by the boy’s bedside, and at last, after invoking the
Divine blessing upon him, sent him away to a school,
where, though he was grave and attentive, “his
master one morning beat him fifteen times in succes-
sion.” The impetuosity of his temper exposed
Martin Luther to temptation; and the rule then was,
to restrain by force and pain rather than by kindness.
Even his mother once corrected him about a filbert
till the blood came. Though it has been said of her
that “she patterned the widow of Sarepta, and trained
her son in- the fear of the Lord,” she too literally
obeyed the maxim of not sparing the rod. No



The Yoke Borne in Youth, 49

wonder, then, that fear became a ruling passion in
that keen boy’s mind. We read that, even when he
heard the name of the gentle Saviour, he grew pale
with terror. The compassionate Redeemer had been
described to young Luther as an angry Judge; for
Popery thus perverts the history of Him who will not
break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking
flax.

When this ardent boy was about fourteen years of
age, he was accustomed to sing from house to house
to procure a morsel of bread. He has himself told
us that he had to beg. Providence, however, found
for him a home in the bosom of a Christian family,
where his powers expanded, and his heart began to
beat with life, and happiness, and joy. Once a
begging boy, he is on the way to eminence, because
he is cultivating the powers which God had given
him; and when his teacher, Trebonius, uncovered
his head and made his bow, as he always did, in the
presence of his boys, he had more reason to do
obeisance than he at all supposed, at least in regard
to the class in which young Martin Luther stood.

At an early period he had serious thoughts of God.
He felt his dependence upon Him. He often fer-
vently asked the Divine blessing on what he did.
He began each day with prayer, then proceeded to
church, then hastened to study, and, throughout the
day, assiduously employed every waking hour. But

w 4



50 Earnest, but not Converted.

he was not yet a child of God. Conscience might
be quick, fear might be strong, prayer might be
ardent, but nature could make Luther all that; it
might not be the work of the Holy Spirit, and conse-
quently it was not Christian. In the library at Erfurt,
however, a discovery was made which was to change
the whole tenor of his being. One of the volumes
which he opened there was a Bible. It was the first
he had ever seen, for Popery hides the Word of God
alike from young and old. Luther read, he marked,
he read again ; and now the spell is broken, his soul
will soon be on the wing! Sickness came in his
case, as in that of the modern Luther, Thomas
Chalmers, to deepen these impressions and solemnize
the soul; and though no one who knows what con-
yersion is would say that Luther was yet converted,
impressions are made which it will not be easy for
him to erase,—a hand has taken hold of him from
which it will not be easy to escape. ‘The favour of
God now became the one thing needful. Conscience
wa



s roused. He trembled as before the Judge; and
when the question rose from his heart to his lip,
“Am I sure that I enjoy the favour of God?” con-
science loudly answered, No. He lost a friend by
the hand of an assassin, and now the inquiry was,—-
What would be my lot were I suddenly cut down as
Alexis was? Next, a thunder-storm overtakes Luther;
he is terrified, and vows to enter a convent. ‘There,



A Convent, not Christ, fled to. 51

he thinks, he will escape from sin; he will become
holy, and so prepare himself for heaven. Mortifica
tion, fastings, vigils, penance, self-inflicted woe, are
to do again what the death of the Son of God had
done already! Self-salvation, self-righteousness, the
Redeemer dethroned, and man in his place—behold
the objects aimed at by Luther, and by crowds
besides, in entering a convent! ‘The menial offices
which he performed, the drudgery to which he sub-
mitted, and the insolence which he endured from
stupid monks, were all like a price offered to Him
who invites us to come “without money and without
price” at all. Young Luther was not yet a Christian.
He did not know that it is not a convent, but Christ,
that saves the soul.

At length, however, the Word of God began to
assert its own supremacy. In his convent Luther
found another Bible, fastened by a chain to a parti-
cular spot, and that was his place of frequent resort
Still he did not savingly understand the Scriptures.
He read like the blind groping for the wall; he
scarcely even saw men like trees walking; he was
still a monk of the intensest kind; and he has care-
fully recorded, that “if ever a monk had got to
heaven by monkery, Luther would have been he.”
Yet fear haunted him still. His conscience grew
more enlightened ; its condemnation was therefore
more loud; and the young monk sank into despair



52 “Vain is the Help of Man.”

when he could find no righteousness within, and
knew of no righteousness without. A moral tempest
swept over his soul, and Luther was driven of the
wind and tossed. The smallest faults were now
regarded as great sins. In a word, he says, “I
tormented myself to death to procure peace with
God; but, surrounded with fearful darkness, I nowhere
found it.” How could he find it, when he was not
seeking it where alone it can be found—in the
Saviour of the lost? But God was thus training
Luther for his future work. He was to know that
vain is the help of man, that a retreat into a cloister
is not conversion, that self-inflicted torture is but
another form of sin: he must either get possession
of something higher and better, or perish in his
unrelieved misery.

And at length deliverance came. A man of
wisdom and of experience—in short, a Christian—
visited Luther's convent, and soon discovered
Luther's condition. “Instead of making a martyr
of thyself for thy faults,” this visitor said, “throw
thyself into the arms of the Redeemer. Confide in
Him, in the righteousness of his life, and the
expiation of his death. Keep not back. God is not
angry with thee—it is thou who art angry with God,”
were his wise and soothing words. Such counsels
proved the balm of Gilead to that wounded spirit ;
and the Scriptures, so dark or so terrifying before,



Luther's Reaping Time. 53

became “an agreeable sport, and the most delightful
recreation.” He had found Christ in them, and that
made him leap for joy. “Oh, my sin, my sin, my
sin!” exclaimed the monk.* “Know that Jesus
Christ is the Saviour even of those who are great,
real sinners,” rejoined the brother born for adversity.
Luther now saw light in God’s light, and his soul
began to magnify the God of his salvation. “It i
impossible to comprehend God out of Jesus Chri




and that truth received into his heart, filled it with
peace and joy in believing. Luther was now a
Christian. The Spirit of God had showed him the
thiggs of Christ, and Christ had become “all his
salvation.”

Thus, then, did Luther sow in tears; now hoping,
and again despairing ; now seeking to lean on some
creature for help, and then driven by the law of God
from that refuge of lies. But consider next how he
reaped, after his days and nights of toil. Never
a more abundant harvest on earth than his. He
grasped the Word of God, he laid it up in his heart,
and it literally became the seed of the kingdom in





his soul. He became a man whose word made the

* It proves the presence of the “one Spirit” to notice how identical are
the feelings of men of every class and country when convinced of sin, An
aged Kaflir, named Genote, once employed the very language of Luther
when in similar circumstances. “Oh, my sins, my sins!” he said to a
“The greatness of my sins makes my heart as heavy as a
mountain of lead.” Itis the meeting of extremes—the greatly gifted Luther,
and the naturally imbruted Kafir.








54 Kings of the Earth

world resound, and who shook even the terrible
Papacy to its basis. It is true, Luther once begged
for a bit of bread, but it is as true that God chooses
weak things to confound the mighty. To be great
we must begin with being little, and God set this
man among princes at last. Having taken into his
heart the great central truth, that Christ, and Christ
alone, is the Saviour of sinners—a truth almost wholly
Luther



buried under the corruptions of Popery-
went forth conquering and to conquer, and never
halted till he had subdued a large portion of
Europe by that truth. Joyous, hearty, and happy
amid all his trials, he burned the Pope's bulls, he
denied the Pope’s power, he opposed the Pope’s
emissaries ; in particular, he resisted one who had
been sent out from Rome to sell to the Germans
Indulgences in sin, and, in that holy war, he eman-
cipated millions in Christendom. By the blessing
of God, Luther, in short, accomplished what no man
since the days of the apostle Paul had achieved.
There is a brilliant assemblage convened at
Worms; it is designed to suppress the progress of
Luther's triumphs. All that is reckoned great and
gorgeous on earth was there. An emperor, Charles
V., in wh
six electors of his empire were present; twenty-four

¢ dominions the sun never set, presided ;



dukes were there, with thirty archbishops and
bishops; seven ambassadors ; and among them one



Combined against the Truth. 55

from England. ‘The nuncios of the Pope swelled the
lordly crowd, till two hundred and four personages,
with an emperor at their head, formed the tribunal
before which Martin Luther, the poor and solitary
monk, was to appear for God and truth. And was
he put to shame? Nay. “Advance in the name
of God,” whispered one to him, “and fear nothing
—God will not forsake you ;”—and Luther advanced.
‘The Pope had condemned him, but God stood by
him, Luther was under the ban of Antichrist; but
He who is a sun and shield was near him to shelter.
‘The Pope had doomed him to perpetual silence ;
Luther was about to speak to hundreds of assembled
princes. One of these very princes said to him,
“Fear not them who can kill the body, but cannot
kill the soul”—and he was comforted. Startled for
a breath before such an assemblage, but soon calm
again, because “stayed upon God,” Luther did his
duty, and feared no evil. “OGod! O God! O thou
my God!” was a clause in his prayer at one of these



appearances.
the world... .. The cause is thine; and it i
everlasting. O Lord, be my help. Faithful God,

“Assist me against all the wisdom of



just and

immutable God, I trust not in man..... Stand by
my side, for the sake of thy well-beloved Son, Jesus
Christ, who is my defence, my buckler, and my
fortress.” As he thus trusted in God, he was helped.
He was, in short, with God; and before the august



56 The Victory of Faith

tribunal he was kept serene and_ self-possessed.
Prayer—at least the answer to it—had made him
great and strong. When asked—would he retract
his views? he replied, without violence, calmly,
meekly, and modestly, but with great firmness, in the
very presence of the emperor—that till he was con-
futed by the writings of the prophets and apostles,
he would not; but were that done, he added, “I will
forthwith retract all my errors, and be the first to
seize my writings and commit them to the flames.”
“T neither can nor will retract anything, for it is not
safe for a Christian to speak against his conscience.”
‘Then, gazing on the assembly before which he stood,
and which held his life in its hands, Luther ex-
claimed—“ Here I Am; I CANNOT DO OTHERWISE ;
Gop HELP ME, AMEN.”

“The writings of the prophets and the apostles,”
—these formed Luther's stronghold. From these he
would not be dislodged; for he felt that God was in
them of a truth. Behind that breastwork he could
cope with and conquer emperors, princes, and poten-
tates of every degree. Before the truth, the power
even of the Papacy quailed. Upheld by it, Luther
fought the good fight of faith at Worms; and through
all his heroic pilgrimage, till he died in peace, he was
kept steadfast by that anchor; he was safe behind
that high tower. He had sowed indeed in tears, and
tears he often shed, both over sin within and sin



The Monk and the Emperor, 57

around him, for few ever strove as he did to keep a
place for God in God’s own world. But, by God’s
grace, Luther succeeded; and in his own day, in our
day, and till time shall be no more, his struggles
will be found to be the means of emancipating, ex-
alting, or purifying the minds of ten thousand times
ten thousand. Such was, such is, and such will be,
Luther's harve: “God help me, for I can retract
nothing.”—Oh, had our youth the grace and the
heroism to imitate that example to hold fast God's
holy Word amid the scoffs and the taunts of godless
companions, how bright would be the prospects of
the future! In the Hall of Worms there was a
mighty emperor, but there was a mightier monk.
And why mightier? Because the Redeemer kept his
word—“ Lg, I am with you alway.” And is he not
present still, to strengthen, to counsel, and to shield
all who place their confidence in him? Was “that
solitary monk who shook the world” an exceptive
case? Nay. Were we like him—as faithful to our
God, and as resolute in clinging to his arm—it would



be seen how rich a harvest we should reap. Is not
God’s wisdom still ample? Is not God’s righteous-
ness still all that we can ask or think? Is not God's
strength still sufficient? Is not his Son still and for
ever his unspeakable gift? And all these are ours, if
we sow as Luther did, to the Spirit, and live as Luther
did, unto God,





VI.

The Hing.



=3'T is not very common to find godliness on a
throne. ‘The Scriptures, indeed, tell kings
to be wise. They assure us that kings

shall yet be the nursing fathers of the Church, and
thus point us forward to the time when at the name
of Jesus every knee shall bow. They say that “not
many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not
many noble, are called;” but, there are some: and,
in the fulness of time, we know, the kingdoms of this
world will yet become the kingdoms of the Lord and
of his Christ.

Let us now glance at the history of a king who
anticipated those days of glory, and, by the grace of
God that was in him, strove to make his kingdom
truly a portion of the kingdom of Christ. It is well
known that that was the character of Edward VI. of
England; and if we consider how well he sowed, and
how abundantly he reaped, the happy lot and life of
a child of God may become more and more ap-





Early Goodnes 59

parent, or be more and more commended to the
young.

That prince was born in the year 1547, and though
his father was the fierce and fiery Henry VIIL., the
youth was early placed under the guardianship of
able and godly instructors. At the age of six, Sir
Anthony Cook, who is described as a sincere friend
to the gospel, became Edward’s tutor; and afterwards
he found a noble counsellor and friend in Archbishop
Cranmer—in that honest and worthy prelate who had
not feared to uplift his testimony to the truth of the
gospel before the nobles and statesmen of England,
though most of them had had their hearts corrupted
by the evil influences of Romanism. Under such
admirable supervision he made a rapid progress, and
when but nine years of age could write letters in
French and Latin. But it is not merely early scholar-
ship ; it is early goodness that signalizes Edward VI.
‘That the Spirit was his teacher, is manifest from much
that he wrote and did; while his reverence for the
Word of £c0d, the fountain of all good, is sufficiently
attested by the well-known fact, that when a Bible
was placed for him to stand on that he might reach
some object which he wished to examine, he declined
to place his foot upon it, remarking that it should
rather be treasured up in his head and his heart.

» When Edward was only in his tenth year his father
died, so that at that tender age this young prince



60 The English Josiah.

ascended a throne amid keen contending factions.
Archbishop Cranmer then reminded him of Josiah’s
youthful zeal in reforming his Church and land,
and urged King Edward to make the King of Israel
his model. Nor was he averse to act on the advice;
and on the very day of his coronation, he showed to
what he looked for guidance. Three swords were
borne before him, emblematic of his three kingdoms ;
but the young monarch wished a fourth—the Sword
of the Spirit, the Word of his God. To that he
traced up all his power; and he told his courtiers,
that “he who rules without the Word of God is not
to be called God's minister, or a king.” The Bible
was accordingly carried before him, as at once the
charter of his rights and the guide of his life.

His correspondence with Cranmer, when only a
child, enables us to see further still into the heart of
Edward. He told that prelate, that “he considered
godliness as a thing to be desired and embraced by
him above all things;” and when one so young
acted resolutely on that maxim, we need not wonder
to hear it said, that at no subsequent time was reli-
gion more generally prevalent in England than in the
days of Edward VI. The country was adorned and
enlightened by the Word of God. The mass, that
Dagon of Popery, began to fall; images were swept
away, and other forms of superstition abolished.
Amid all this, the king, though only eleven years of





CRANMER'S TESTIMONY TO THE TRUTH



Popery and its Struggles. 61

SS

age, was studiously preparing for his kingly functions
by acquiring knowledge regarding his realm; and to
some of the wisest of his subjects the royal boy
appealed for information on such subjects as the
following :—Whether religion, besides promoting the
glory of God, be not also the best means of promot-
ing civil order? Indeed, such solidity of judgment,
and such deference to God in one so youthful, and
surrounded by so many snares, are more like some
embellished legends than simple historical facts ; they
could scarcely be credited, were there not documents
of that period still in existence which prove beyond
a question that Edward VI. was all that we have said.
A foreign divine once told him to “hold it an un-
doubted truth, that true prosperity was to be obtained
by him in no other way than by submitting himself
and his whole kingdom to Christ, the highest Prince ;”
and the monarch of England delighted to act on the
advice.

Nor was the advice unnecessary. The intrigues of
Papists, struggling then as now for power, threatened
to embroil the kingdom. Other plots thickened, so
that, though Edward strove to show that “by God
do kings reign,” he was not without the tribulation
which is the way to the kingdom above, to monarchs
and menials alike.

He was now thirteen years of age, and, compared
with youth of the same age now, King Edward may



62 A Mode.

be classed among men of erudition; while “ the mani-
fold grace of God that was in him” shone more con-
spicuous than even his learning. He wrote to one
of his subjects, at that time in France, to “regard
the Scripture, or some good book, and give no rever-
ence to the mass at all.” In a word, the secular and
the spiritual were beautifully blended in the attain-
ments of King Edward. His kingdom and his soul
were attended to as before God, each in its own
place; and no finer character can attract the regard
of the youthful student of history than that of
Edward, the successor of such a king as the tyranni-
cal Henry VIIL, the predecessor of such a queen as
the bloody Mary.—aAs those of Edward's age roam in
quest of health on the mountain-side, they may have
noticed some gentle little flover—the wood anemone,
forget-me-not, or heart’s-ease—seeking a shelter in
that inclement spot under the shade of some tall
shrub, while overhead the curlew’s plaintive cry may
sound like a wail over the lonely thing. So lonely
was Edward VI. in that high sphere which he graced
so well, but where so many strove to draw him from
his steadfastness. That he held fast his integrity,
however, is certain ;—it is proved by the fact that he
offered John Knox a church in London, though that
bold man had reproved, in a sermon, the misconduct
of the Duke of Northumberland, and the Marquis of
Winchester, even to their face.



Clouds and Darkness. 63

But all this promise was about to be blighted—a
dark portentous cloud was gathering over England
and the Reformation. In 1552, symptoms of con-
sumption began to appear in the king; and as we
have seen how assiduously, and with how many
prayers he sowed, let us now consider how he
reaped. He, if ever one, sought God early—he, if
ever one, employed the seed-time well and wisely;
and what was his reward when his autumn so sud-
denly came?

His anxiety to secure a Protestant successor, in
the event of his own death, perhaps led Edward to
adopt some unwise or impolitic steps; but in as far
as the accounts of his closing hours have reached us,
“they were peace.” He appeared, indeed, to be
cut off in the midst of his days, but no doubt

“ He lived till life's great work was done ;”

and the manner of his death shows how ripe he was
for a better and a brighter crown than that of Eng-
land. He had endowed Christ’s Hospital, in London,
for scholars; St. Bartholomew’s for the sick and the
maimed; Bethlehem for the insane, and allotted
Bridewell for the idle and the dissolute; and when
he attached his signature to the deeds, with a dying
youth’s trembling hand, he thanked God that he had
lived to do it. But he had to address himself to yet
more solemn work—he had to die; and about three



64 The Last Prayer.

hours before his death, the royal boy offered up the
following prayer :—

“Lord God, deliver me out of this miserable and
wretched life, and take me among thy chosen.
Howbeit, not my will, but thine be done. Lord, I
commit my spirit to thee. O Lord, thou knowest
how happy it were for me to be with thee; yet, for
thy chosen’s sake, send me life and health, that I
may truly serve thee. O my Lord God, bless thy
people and save thine inheritance! O Lord God,
save thy chosen people of England. O my Lord
God, defend this realm from Papistry, and maintain
the true religion, that I and my people may praise
thy holy name; for thy Son Jesus Christ’s sake.”

In spite of all his boasted independence, man is
only a climbing plant—a parasite. Left to himself,
he trails along the earth—he grovels in the dust; but
clinging, as the vine-tree clings to the espalier, or the
elm, he mounts and soars till he has reached the
topmost bough, and then you may see his tendrils
still shooting up into space, as if he would mount,
and climb, and soar yet further. Edward VI. was a
plant of this class. He clung close to the Plant of-
Renown, and by its help we have seen how soon he
shot up to the stature of perfection.

Now, were it not a blessed thing were youth in
every sphere to be as early decided as this “ British
Josiah”? ‘Though events occurred in his reign which



A Contrast. 05

all will deplore, Edward was preserved from many
entanglements by his early resolution to be for God,
and not another; and it would be the same with all,
were all decided like him. Surely no one ever re-
gretted being too early saved! Surely, surely no one
ever lamented being too soon ripe for heaven! As
the young tree is easily bent, and the brook at its
spring-head easily turned aside, godliness may be
more easily learned in youth than age; and we give
it as the result of twenty years’ experience, that we
have known few old men converted—we can name
only one in all that time. On the other hand, the
early godliness of Edward VI. seems to beckon the
young to be followers of him in the narrow way; and
if his case do not allure, are there not others which
may well terrify or drive? “I once saw a man
dying,” said a minister of Christ, “ who was a terror
to himself and all who saw him. He was not thought
a very wicked man... . But the king of terrors soon
made him think and tremble. Behind him he saw
nothing but a life spent without love to Christ, and
before him he saw nothing but the wrath of an
angry God; in his body he felt nothing but pain and
weakness, and in his soul nothing but remorse and
despair. He rolled about his wild eyes, and smote
his breast, and wrung his hands. He cried for par.
don, and spoke some dreadful words about eternal

damnation, and then groaned, trembled, and died.”
a 5



66 The Death of a Sinner.

Now, will the young contrast this death-scene with
that of King Edward?

Will they decide which death they would prefer to
die—the death of the royal boy, breathing out his
soul to God who gave it; or of the guilty man,
blaspheming himself into a darker eternity?

Will they answer the question, Is it not madness
to delay?

Entangled in the world, and lost for ever; or
conquerors over the world through the grace which
came by Jesus Christ—which should the young, if
they be wise, prefer!







vu.
The Fudge.

ZN climbing the cone of Mount Vesuvius,
when the volcano is active, streams of



molten lava may sometimes be seen creep-
ing slowly down the slope. When the eruption is
violent, the matter which it discharges either falls
in fiery showers, or rushes down the mountain with
a speed from which it is difficult to escape. But in
calmer states of the volcano, the stream is sluggish,
if it may be called a stream at all.

On the molten matter it is easy to stamp any
impression that may be desired. The contents of
Mount Vesuvius at times so wild and desolating, may
thus be shaped into graceful figures, such as may
ornament the halls of monarchs, or adorn the persons
of their queens. In other words, by management
and care, what would be dangerous and destructive
is converted into a decoration. When the lava is
taken at the proper time, it may be rendered not
merely harmless, but a source of wealth, or of plea-
sure and enjoyment.



68 Sir Matthew Hale.

«nd it is the same in regard to the mind of man.
Take it when tender and impressible, and you may
mould it at pleasure; let it become fixed and rigid,
and it will mock your utmost power. Let us now
study the life of an eminent man who was thus early
impressed.

Sir Matruew Hate, “ the renowned Lord Chief-
Justice of England,” was one of those men who are
raised up from time to time, as if to tell the world,
by a living example, what true Christianity is.
Though he was engaged in a profession which ranked
among the most engrossing of all, and lived in an
age when the minds of men were greatly disturbed
by civil commotions, he still held fast his integrity.
He was a burning and a shining light; and both
Oliver Cromwell and Charles IT. rejoiced to do him
honour. Would the young learn how to be steadfast
and unmovable, or how to fear God, and have no
other fear? Let them study with care the life of
Judge Hale, first in youth, and secondly in manhood
~—or, first in the seed-time, and then in the autumn
of his earthly existence.

He was born in the year 1609, and lost his mother
before he was three years of age, his father before he
was five. He was religiously trained, however, by
some pious relatives, and became an extraordinary
scholar, both at school and at Oxford. As too often
happens, some incidents took place in his youth



The Escape. 69

which, for a time, enticed him from the path on
which he seemed to have entered. He appeared to
choose his portion among some of those whom the
holy God so often declares to be fools. He seemed
to be in training to pour

“ Curses on is heart who stole
‘The gem of truth from his unguarded soul.”

But young Hale was soon set free from these tram-
mels, and adopted resolutions concerning them which
he was enabled to keep throughout his subsequent
career. He also had felt that evil communications
corrupt good manners; and when he experienced
their degrading effects, he broke loose from them at
once, to rejoice in the freedom which can bé enjoyed
only by the holy and the pure.

It was when he was about twenty years of age that
Hale became deeply sensible of the folly of those
paths in which most of the young are prone to walk.
He then abandoned the habits which had been grow-
ing upon him in spite of his early training, and be-
took himself so resolutely to study as a lawyer, that
for many years he read at the rate of sixteen hours
each day. This happy change in the soul of Hale
was wrought by means of a lawyer in London, whom
experience had taught the costly price which man
must pay for sinning. The father of that lawyer had
disinherited him for the vices of his youth, and a
younger and a better brother succeeded to the family



Jo Decision, and its Cause.

estates. Mortified by this, Glanvil began solemnly
to reflect on his conduct, and a thorough revolution
was ere long wrought in his life. When the younger
brother saw the blessed change, he invited his own
and his brother's friends to a feast, and when the
party assembled, there were found under the cover
of the disinherited youth, the titles to his estate, thus
formally restored by his brother! He had done
what he was sure their common parent would have
done, had he lived to see the happy change which
came over that youth, whose own experience thus
fitted him to act as a friend and a counsellor to
Matthew Hale when in danger of yielding to tempta-
tion. That disinherited youth, when he gave way to
vice, had sown the wind, and reaped the whirlwind,
and his case was a warning to all who can reflect.
He could speak because he had felt, and some were
wise to listen.

But young Hale was rendered still more decided
in his religion by an event which happened to one of
his companions. He was suddenly taken ill in
Hale’s presence, and supposed to be dead. As
that youth had brought his illness on himself by his
own hand, Hale immediately withdrew to another
apartment, where he fell upon his knees and cried
for mercy.—It was the deciding point in his history;
and from that event his time was divided between
religion and the duties of his profession. To show



Sabbath Love. qt

how watchful he now became in regard to his soul,
it may be mentioned, that habits were formed at this
period in which he persevered through life, insomuch
that for six-and-thirty years he never was absent fora
single Sabbath-day from the house of God. He
revered that sacred institution as one of Heaven's
most blessed gifts—the very queen of days.

But the plan of life adopted by this youth may
enable us to understand how laboriously he sowed
beside all waters. One of his regulations was, to
renew his covenant with God in Christ from time to
time; and by renewed acts of faith, to receive Christ,
and rejoice over his relation to him, Another was,
to set a sleepless watch over his infirmities and
passions, as well as the snares which were laid in his
way. A third was, to serve God in his ordinary call-
ing, and to “mingle somewhat of God’s” in all that
he did. A fourth regulation was, to review the
evidences of his personal salvation and the state of
his soul from time to time. By these and similar
resolutions, carried out with admirable perseverance,
he reduced his mind to great subordination, and was
able to blend the service of God with his most ordi-
nary studies. Indeed, his common duties were
religion, so that his soul became like a well-watered
garden—“a garden inclosed.” ‘Though careful never
to parade his religion like the hypocrite, he was as
careful not to hide it under a bushel like the man



72 “A Fruitful Bough.”

who is ashamed of Christ. Nay, he sought to de
good unto all as he had opportunity, and was richly
rewarded by Him who judges righteous judgment.

One of Hale’s acquirements deserves tobe specified
as a model—he never wasted time. When weary
with the study of law, or of divinity, he turned for
rest to philosophy, or mathematics, and thus acquired
such knowledge as added many embellishments to
his more solid acquirements. In no respect, per-
haps, have the complaints of men been more deep
or loud, after the Spirit of God has made them wise,
than regarding mis-spent time. As Hale grew up to
manhood, he effectually put away all ground for that
complaint; and it may be safely said, that no man
ever arrived at excellence worthy of the name who
did not act as Hale did.

It was thus, then, that this eminent judge was pre-
pared for the high position which he held, and his
life is another illustration of the truth, that “ godliness
has the promise of the life that now is, as well as of
that which is to come.” As a judge, it was one of
his maxims, “Not to rest on his own understanding
or strength, but to implore and rest on the direction
and strength of God;” while another was—“ Not to
be solicitous as to what men might say or think, pro-
vided he kept himself exactly according to the rule
of justice ;” and guided by these two, he moved on-
wards in the even tenor of his way, till he rose to one



The Harvest. 3

of the highest positions which a British subject could
hold. He adorned it with unusual godliness, and
left a memorial of his virtues, such as too few have
been known to leave. Like Joseph, “he wasa fruit-
ful bough; a fruitful bough by a well, whose branches
run over the wall.”

How, then, did this devout and well-trained lawyer
reap? We have seen how he laboured during the
seed-time of his life, and learned that sixteen hours
each day were given to God, and to study; What,
then, was his reward? Did he reap sparingly or
bountifully? Was his a meagre or a rich reward for
serving God with so much assiduity?

When only forty-four years of age, Hale was
raised to the bench by Oliver Cromwell, who prized
his ability and admired his worth. In 1671, Charles
II. made him Lord Chief-Justice of England; but,
amid the engrossment of such spheres, where his
judgments were characterized by singular equity, he
found time to devote his great powers to God in yet
another way. That was in preparing his “ Contem-
plations,” a book which evinces at once his godliness
and his grandeur of mind. He was, as we have
seen, a conscientious observer of the Sabbath. He
was as conscientious in walking in the footsteps of
the Hebrew captain, who said, “Whatsoever others
may do, as for me and my house, we will serve the
Lord.” Amid these exercises, he sometimes spent



14 The World Awed.

whole hours on the Sabbath in private devotion ; and
his “Contemplations” are the fruit of these hours.
By means of them he is still speaking to men—still
proclaiming how much man may do for God when
the heart is right with Him, and how perfectly con-
sistent pure and undefiled religion of the highest
order is with all the activities of life, or with the
duties of high office as well as of more lowly spheres.

But the time came when Hale must retire from
public life, and the reward which he had reaped, or
was reaping, for his godliness, then became apparent.
The general satisfaction which all the kingdom felt
at his administration of justice induced the king,
who delighted to honour the judge, to decline receiving
the resignation of the upright and godly man, as long
as he could be induced to hold office; and soon
after he had resigned, a special order from the king
perpetuated his salary during his life. Even a dis-
solute and unprincipled monarch could not but
reverence the man who continued unsullied amid all
that was corrupt in his age; and when Hale at last
withdrew into retirement, he was followed by the
acclamations of all. It is not always that the godly
are favourites with the world, for it loves only its
own; but Hale was an exception—his sanctity awed
men into respect.

And, amid the quietude of a private sphere, he
led a life of strict devotion, for he was one of those



The Eulogy. 75

who can pray without ceasing, and who have the
kingdom of God within them. As greatness had
not corrupted, so decay scarcely enfeebled his soul,
and he walked to the grave robed

“Tn that fair beavty which no eye can see.”

When near the entrance to the valley of the shadow
of death, he was known to be in habitual communion
with that world of spirits and of glory on which he
was about to enter, and even till hoary hairs his
God was with him, He had “carefully considered
the poor,” for he gave them the tenth of all his
income; and, according to the promise to such men,
“the Lord delivered him in the time of trouble?” It
is, indeed, a rare thing to find one so unlike the
world so much lauded, yet it is recorded concerning
Hale, that he was universally much valued and
admired by men of all parties. None could take
offence but at his justice, and anything spoken
against him would have appeared a paradox, or
untrue. “His name,” it is added, “is scarce ever
mentioned since his death without particular accents
of singular respect. .. And all that knew him
well do still speak of him as one of the most perfect
patterns of religion and virtue.” In a word, his
eulogy is thus pronounced by one who had both the
means and the ability to judge: “Sir Matthew Hale
was one of the greatest patterns this age has afforded,





76 Sowing unto God.

whether in his private deportment as a Christian, or
in his public employments, either at the bar, or on
the bench.”

And thus briefly do we see again how sowing well
is the sure prelude to reaping well. He who under-
takes to be as the dew unto Israel, watches over the
seed; it springs up, and the fruit is unto holiness.
In some it may bear sixty-fold, and in some an
hundred; but in either case, there can be no lack to
them that fear God as Matthew Hale so long and
wisely feared Him. His case proclaims aloud that
godliness the most strict, and piety the most practical,
form no barrier in the way to success even upon
earth. Nay, even licentious men like Charles II.
are sometimes constrained to offer homage to a man
like Hale. They are awe-struck by the grandeur of
such a character, though they may not learn to copy
it, and sometimes wait to

“ Catch the rapture of his parting breath.”

From this case youth may understand, that if they
would ascend to eminence, if they would take their
place among the benefactors or the ornaments of
humanity, if they would be enrolled among those
whose memory men do not willingly let die, they
should adopt the maxims and walk in the footsteps
of Sir Matthew Hale: In the rich and expressive
language of Scripture, “their barns would then be



Judge Hale and Judge Jeffreys. 71

filled with plenty,” “they would come again rejoicing,
bringing their sheaves with them.”

But, about the same period as Matthew Hale, there
lived another judge in England—the truculent
Jeffreys. His atrocities are now proverbial, for his
wholesale butcheries make the ears of them that
hear of them to tingle. His coarse and oppressive
treatment of those whom he had caught in his wolf-
like grasp, is recorded to his perpetual infamy.
The way in which he pandered to the taste of a
degraded royalty betokens the despicable lowness of
the legal assassin; in short, his name is a hissing
and a byword in the mouths of all good men, Now,
how instructive the contrast between Judge Hale
and Judge Jeffreys! The one tramples religion in
the dust; the other makes it his pole-star, or the
man of his right hand. The one sacrifices men in
hundreds to his brutal passion ; the other trembles
in the sight of God lest he should, even in ignorance,
inflict an injury upon any. The one is hated as a
monster, and rarely mentioned but with an epithet
of execration or ignominy; the other is held up as
one of the purest patterns of all that is good. The
one died regretted and revered by a nation; the
other was detected when lurking in disguise, by one
whom he had insulted, and was cast amid contumely
into prison. Now, whence this difference in the lot
of these two judges? Because they sowed so differ-



78 Paradise Restored.

ently, and because there is a God that judgeth in the
earth. Jeffreys sowed to his own fierce passions,
and he reaped the whirwind at last. Hale sowed
unto God, and it was returned into his own bosom
an hundred-fold increased. Oh, were youth to learn
wisdom from the contrast, they would find how good
and how pleasant it is to follow the Lord fully.
‘They would discover that paradise is not utterly
lost, or at least that, in the Saviour, its riches and
beauty may be restored. Even here below they
might gather the first-fruits of the tree whose leaves
are for the healing of the nations.









VIIL
The Hoble.

Siq\E are told in history that Plato the philo-

sopher was crooked and deformed—that
Aristotle had a stammer in his speech—
that Alexander the Great had a wry neck and a
screeching voice—and that their deformities or
defects were often imitated by the flatterers of these
great men. Their learning or their noble deeds,
men, for the most part, could not imitate, but some
peculiarity in conduct, or some grotesque habit, all
could copy; and there gathered round the men who
have been mentioned, and many besides, a crowd
of sycophants anxious to appropriate their very
imperfections.

We are now to invite the attention of the young



to the case of a nobleman whose habits were too
widely copied in his day. And even in our day,
some may be disposed to take encouragement from
his sins, rather than learn a lesson from his change
of heart and habit. Yet, as men erect beacons upon



80 The Fowler's Snare.

rocks, or give warning at the approach of danger,
we would hold up the case of a once infatuated noble-
man as a beacon and a warning to the young. We
were once wandering on the banks of the Tiber, in
the dreary Campagna to the north-west of Rome.
From the summit of a rising ground we noticed a
company of fowlers, plying all their wiles and all
their ingenuity to insnare the birds which flitted
around them. Decoy birds, and invisible nets and
traps, and many other devices, were employed to
catch the prey—but the prey was wary. There
might be some silly birds which fell into the snare,
but the main flock always fled timorously away at
the sight of the snares—they flitted from scene to
scene, and left their pursuers bewildered and
chagrined. Now, the Bible takes up the figure, and
says, “Surely in vain is the net spread in the sight
of any bird.” It adds, “Our soul is escaped as a
bird out of the snare of the fowler; the snare is
broken, and we are escaped.” Will the young, then,
flee from the snare, while we now describe one who
was caught in it, and whose body at least perished
miserably there?

Joun Wumor, Earl of Rochester, was born in
the year 1648. His father was a stanch friend to
Charles II.; he fought battles for him, and assisted
him at last to escape into France. His family was
in consequence high in favour with that dissolute



The Perils of a Court. 81

monarch, when he was afterwards restored to his
throne.

The young earl was possessed of great ability:
even in early life he was an extraordinary scholar,
and displayed those great powers of mind which
became a snare, because they were grossly perverted,
or even a curse, because they were not directed
according to the holy mind of God. When young
Rochester went to the university, he began to indulge
in those habits which grew with his growth, and at
last became his tormentors as well as the cause of
his death. Listening to the evil which was in his
heart, rather than the counsels of those who loved
him, especially the counsels of his God, he soon
plunged into sin—he sowed iniquity, he reaped
wretchedness, and out of his sad example the young
may learn wisdom, as Samson, according to his
riddle, found honey in the carcass of the lion.

‘The Earl of Rochester went early abroad to travel,
and though some attempts were then made to reclaim
him from the ways on which he had entered, they
were not attended with very much success. On his
return, in his eighteenth year, he frequented the
court of King Charles, where his brilliant wit, his
graceful person, with his high breeding and attain-
ments, soon made him a favourite. One who knew
him well has said, that had such excellent seeds
fallen upon good ground instead of being perverted

a) 6



82 The Downward Career.

by base and degrading passions, psalms and hymns
and spiritual songs might have been the result,
whereas they only helped to lay him lower than the
beasts that perish, ‘I am sure,” he says, “his gifts
were but miserable comforters, since they only
ministered to his sins, and made his example the
more fatal and dangerous.” Now, here we may
notice what it was that confirmed the ruin of this
nobleman: it was his appearance at the court of his
king. Dazzled by the brilliance of such a scene,
the young are ready to suppose that all happiness is
there, that every wish must be gratified, and man
made perfectly blessed under the smile of royalty,
or in the shadow of a throne. But let them read
the history of Rochester, and be undeceived. The
court to which he went was one of the most wicked
upon earth. Licentiousness reigned there with far
more power than royalty. All that was decent was
banished. Sin was reduced to a system. Guilty
pleasures were the only pleasures known, for the
prince and the peer vied in their excesses till virtue
fled in disgust from their neighbourhood.

It was there, then, that young Rochester chiefly
dwelt. For a time, indeed, he went to sea, and in
an engagement with the Dutch he showed that his
heroism was equal to his wickedness. Withal,
however, he was gradually ripening in iniquity; and
so mad was this youth on self-indulgence, that he



A Martyr to Sin, 83

subsequently confessed to a minister of religion that
“for five years together he was continually drunk :
not all the while under the visible effects of it, but
his blood was so inflamed that he was not in all that
time cool enough to be perfectly master of himself.”
Gross sensuality, or mad adventures, often at the
hazard of his life, were all the result of Rochester's
fine accomplishments, because what God had given
him was perverted and abused. He, above most
men, sowed to the flesh; his whole youth was like
one long act of shameless iniquity, and we shall soon
see how he reaped, or how he was filled with the
fruit of his own devices.

No doubt, amid all this, as we read in his life, he
had frequent intervals of sad and gloomy reflection.
Conscience was not always silent. His bones were
not of iron, nor his sinews of brass. He could not
always wallow in pollution without feeling degraded,
and some sickening hours he spent. At length, how-
ever, he succeeded in fortifying himself against all
such thoughts. Religion was banished from his
mind—nothingremained to control him ; and asahorse
rushes into the battle, this youth rushed upon ruin.
The king, indeed, more than once banished him
from court, but his wit was requisite for the amuse-
ment of a monarch who was as licentious and
criminal as that nobleman could be, and they were
soon reconciled—they added fresh fuel to each



84 The Sinner’s Portrait.

other’s passion, or mutually helped to treasure up
woe.

The biographer of Rochester tells that he could
not describe many of his proceedings. They were
so revolting or so offensive that he could not even
name them; and it must be enough to say, that so
confirmed was he in sin that he sometimes nearly
died a martyr to it. He who is a just God, and an
holy, left him to reap as he had sowed, and he found
it to be very bitter. But though we do not dwell on
particular acts, we may glance at the general princi-
ples of this self-ruined youth.

In regard to morality, or duty between man and
man, Rochester confessed that he and his compan-
ions regarded it only as a decent pretence. He cared
not for it, and was under no restraint, or felt no com-
punction for violating the most sacred obligations
that can bind man to man. Malice, revenge, and
all that could either injure the good name or pain
the hearts of others, were cultivated as if upon
system ; and in reading the life of this profligate but
accomplished youth, we are forcibly reminded of the
words of Paul—the moral portrait of the heart of
man—* As they did not like to retain God in their
knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind
to do those things which are not convenient; being
filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wicked-
ness covetousness, maliciousness ; full of envy, murder,



The Lowest Deep. 85

debate, deceit, malignity ; whisperers, backbiters, haters
of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil
things, disobedient to parents, without understanding,
covenant-breakers, without natural affection, im-
placable, unmerciful: who knowing the judgment of
God, that they which cornmit such things are worthy
of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in
them that do them.”

So fully was that dark but truthful picture realized
in this noble youth, that his sins are said to have
been “all high, and extraordinary.” He seemed to
delight in something singular and extravagant in his
impieties. He wrought iniquity “with greediness,”
and laboured systematically to corrupt others, as he
was himself debased. Indeed, a glimpse at his
character and moral conduct is a perfect commentary
on the Word of God regarding the height and the
depth of the iniquity of man’s heart. “ This was the
heightening and amazing circumstance of his sins,”
writes one who thoroughly knew him, “ that he was
so diligent and industrious to recommend and pro-
pagate them; not like those of old who hated the
light, but those the prophet mentions ‘who declare
their sin as Sodom, and hide it not; who take it upon
their shoulders, and bind it to them as acrown.’ He
framed arguments for sin; he made proselytes to it,
and wrote panegyrics upon vice.”

So self-degraded did Rochester thus become, and



86 The Unknown God.

so blinded by sin, that he lost the power of discri-
minating between right and wrong. Vice was so
familiar to him, that he could scarcely recognise its
opposite, and he became among men what the vul-
ture is said to be among birds—it banquets upon
carrion, but sickens at a perfume. All checks
upon sin the most gross and licentious “he thought
unreasonable impositions on the freedom of man-
kind.”

And as these were his views of duty from man to
man, what were his views of the creature’s duty to the
Creator? He deemed it all a pretence. He thought
that studying a problem in Euclid, or writing poetry,
or any similar exercise of mind, would do men as
much good as. prayer, or communion with God,
or other things which enter into true religion, that
is, the religion which God’s Holy Spirit teaches.

Rochester confessed, indeed, that they were happy
who felt such impressions as religion produces. But
as he thought of God only “as a vast power,” and
not as a heavenly Father, a Counsellor, and Friend,
he never felt the blessedness of resting upon Him.
God was an unknown God to this deluded youth ; and
his very religion, if we may apply that title to it, was
alie. “To love God seemed to him a presumptuous
thing,” and need we say more to show the very
youngest mind how deep were the delusions into
which this gifted nobleman had sunk? Too true it is,



The Atheist Convicted, 87

Oe Se.as His time of power was spent
In idly watering weeds.”

But Lord Rochester’s last years were spent in yet
more systematic efforts to do what was equivalent to
selfruin. Versed as he was in the secret mysteries
of sin, he strove to efface every vestige of the pure.
Poems which were disgusting—satires where malice
and hatred against all that is lovely and of good report
were rife—collections of pictures in his abode which
we cannot venture to characterize—these were among
the means which this profane man employed to cor-
rupt all whom he could influence. Nay, on one
occasion he adopted a still bolder course. Not
satisfied with corrupting his fellowmen, he proceeded
to blaspheme, or to deny his God; but his own words
shall describe the scene: “ At an atheistical meeting
at a person of quality’s, I undertook,” he says, “to
manage the cause, and was the principal disputant
against God and piety, and for my performances re-
ceived the applause of the whole company; upon
which my mind was terribly struck, and I immediately
replied thus to myself: ‘Good God! that a man that
walks upright, that sees the wonderful works of God,
and has the use of his senses and reason, should use
them to the defying of his Creator!’” The blasphemy
involved in such a course was too much even for
Lord Rochester, and an outraged conscience recoiled
appalled at what was done.



8S The Reaping-Time.

Such, then, was the early life of this gifted but dis-
solute nobleman. Sin in every form was his delight.
Evil was the only good that he knew. For the sake
of an earthly monarch’s smile, or the applause of a
fellow-sinner, he took pains to promote his own
wretchedness and ruin. Plunging into the vortex of
sin, he dragged others along with him. Without re-
straint, and without a check, he drank up iniquity as
the ox drinks up water.

But having seen how Rochester sowed, let us
next consider how he reaped. We have examined
his work—look next at his wages. We have heard
him denying his God—did he perpetrate that and
prosper?

Nay, his reaping-time began quite early, and never
was there a better illustration of these words of truth,
“What a man sows, that shall he also reap.” The
horror which sometimes seized upon him, even amid
his wicked courses, gave too sure a token of what
was in store; and though he rushed the more on that
account into sin, he was taught to feel that fighting
against God and wretchedness are but different names
for the same thing. Great remorse sometimes preyed
upon him, and when sickness came, and dragged
him from the whirl of indulged passions in which he
lived, he felt the agony of such ways as his. He
tried, indeed, to flee from solemn thought, but it
haunted and overpowered him, He was made



The Prodigal Returning. 89

‘ashamed of his former practices, rather because he
had made himself a beast, and had brought pain and
sickness on his body, and had suffered much in his
reputation, than from any deep sense of a Supreme
Being, or another state.” ‘The folly and madness
of vice” now became too apparent: it was like a fire
in his bones, wasting and consuming him. He was
now convinced that there is a God, for he felt the
grasp of that God upon him. He was beset by
many diseases, the result of many sins—he was racked
by pain—at times he was tortured by remorse, and
confessed, at length, that “he would give all he was
master of,” could he enjoy the solace which the re-
ligious possess. He had travelled the whole circle
of what the world calls pleasure. He had drained
the cup which realized the fable of Circe, and turned
him into a beast: “ Whatsoever his eyes desired, he
kept not from them, and withheld his heart from no
joy.” But when he looked back on time mis-spent
—on the body wasted, and the soul entombed in
iniquity, he saw that impiety is as hostile to man
and society, as wild beasts let loose on them would
be; and though his body was racked with extreme
pain for weeks together, Rochester confessed that
the agonies of his mind sometimes swallowed up the
sense of bodily suffering. “ All the pleasures he had
ever known in sin,” we quote again, “ were not worth
that torture he had felt in his mind.” The horrors,



go 4 Monument of Mer



in short, through which he passed were as deep as
his pleasures had been exciting—the religion which
he had formerly despised became an object of anxious
search at last—that is, in the evil day he began
to consider—“O blessed God, can such a horrid
creature as I am be accepted of Thee—who have
denied thy being, and contemned thy power?” “Can
there be mercy and pardon for me? Will God own
such a wretch as I?” These were some of this
deluded man’s exclamations, when he began to feel
the misery which ever clings to sin. Nay more: the
convicted voluptuary—the man who, according to
the Word of God, “drew sin with a cart-rope,” was
heard “ crying out that he was the vilest wretch and
dog that the sun shined upon, or the earth bore:” he
“wished he had been a starving leper, crawling in a
ditch; that he had been a link-boy or a beggar, rather
than to have sinned against God as he had done.”
“The language of fiends, which was so familiar to
me, hangs yet about me,” was his sad confession. A
premature old age, with crowding diseases, crept over
him, so that one who might have been one of the
glories of his age was one of its greatest reproaches
—so corrupted, so debase | had he become.

To the praise of the glory of the grace of God, the
Earl of Rochester became a monument of mercy, a
brand plucked from the burning. The fifty-third
chapter of Isaiah was the portion of the Word of



4 Death-Bed Warning. 91

God which first found its way to the conscience and
the heart of this misguided profligate, and it came
upon him with a power which he could not resist.*
But that brand bore through life the marks of the
fire; and Rochester passed into eternity, humbled
to the dust at the remembrance of what he had been
—of mercies abused—of God forgotten—and a
Redeemer blasphemed.

But perhaps his own words to one who came to
visit him on his death-bed will enable the young
most easily to see into his heart. “O remember
that you contemn God no more!” he passionately
exclaimed. “He is an avenging God, and will visit
you for your sins; he will, in mercy, I hope, touch
your conscience sooner or later, as he has done
mine. You and I have been friends and sinners to-
gether a great while, and I am the more free with
you. We have been all mistaken in our conceits and
opinions. Our persuasions must be false and ground-
less; therefore God grant you repentance.” +

“ Our persuasions must be false and groundless.”—
These, as we have just seen, were the words of this
penitent to his former companion in guilt, and will

* The young should read the Life and Death of the Earl of Rochester,
by Bishop Burnet. The death-bed of the penitent is there described in a
very instructive way.

+ In Rochester's day, Popery was making keen struggles to throw back
the Reformation. ‘The profligate court of Charles IT. was just the hot-bed
in which that system would grow. And nothing is more remarkable than
Rochester's hatred of Popery as soon as he felt what sin is, and the danger
of perdition because of it.





92 The Apples of Sodom.

they not, sooner or later, be the words of every
sinner? Here surely is a preacher whose words
cannot be mistaken. His brow is encircled by a
coronet. Wit sparkles in all he says. He is the
centre of a wide circle of admiring followers. His
very king depends upon him for mirth—he cannot be
happy if Rochester be long absent. But does all
that make Rochester himself happy? Is it enough
to bask in the smile of a king, or stand at the right
hand of athrone? Ah, no! As soon as Rochester's
sin finds him out—that is, as soon as he knows his
true condition—racking pain, the agony of remorse,
together with the pangs of bodily disease, take hold
of him, and he finds only labour and sorrow. How
different now from the man of pleasure, who seemed
to be born only to enjoy! tossed upon the heaving waters—a melancholy moral
ruin—that was the Earl of Rochester, in the thirty-
third year of his age. And never, among the sons
of men, never was there one whose history more
plainly proves the connection between sin and
misery—between sowing to self, in defiance of God’s
merciful warning, and reaping the wretchedness
which must result from man’s conflict with the
Almighty. He went down to the grave prematurely
aged, and, as to the body, self-destroyed. His vin-
tage yielded only the grapes of Gomorrah, or the
apples of Sodom.



A Voice from the Tomb. 93

But we close our lessons for the young from the
life of this greatly deluded man, with his dying re-
monstrance, formally attested, subscribed, and ad-
dressed to his former companions in guilt :—

“For the benefit of all those,” he solemnly says,
“whom I may have drawn into sin by my example
and encouragement, I leave to the world this my last
declaration, which I deliver in the presence of the
great God, who knows the secrets of all hearts, and
before whom I am now appearing to be judged—

“That from the bottom of my soul I detest and
abhor the whole course of my former wicked life.

“That I think I can never sufficiently admire the
goodness of God, who has given me a true sense of
my pernicious opinions and vile practices, by which
I have hitherto lived without hope and without God
in the world, have been an open enemy to Jesus
Christ, doing the utmost despite to the Holy Spirit
of grace.

“And that the greatest testimony of my love to
such is to warn them, in the name of God, and as
they regard the welfare of their immortal souls, no
more to deny his being, or his providence, or despise
his goodness ; no more to make a mock of sin, or
contemn the pure and excellent religion of my ever-
blessed Redeemer ; through whose merits alone, I,
one of the greatest sinners, do yet hope for mercy
and forgiveness. Amen.”



Full Text


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SEED-TIME AND HARVEST;
SOW WELL AND REAP WELL,

A Book for the Young.

By

THE LATE REV. W. K. TWEEDIE, D.D.,

Edinburgh,

* Be not deceived ; Goud is not mocked: for whatsoover a nan soweth
‘hat shall he also reap.””—Gat, vi. 7

LONDON:
1, NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
3} AND NEW YORK.



1873,




HEN Sir Walter Scott was preparing his
¥} “Letters from a Grandfather,” to instruct



a young relative in the history of Scotland,
he reckoned it needful to commence his work in a
style of great simplicity, adapted, as he supposed, to
the attainments of the boy. He soon discovered,
however, that he had under-rated at once the capacity
and the taste of his grandson, and had accordingly
to elevate the style of the subsequent portions of his
work. Everything akin to the puerile was discarded,
and a mode of writing was adopted, less stately, or
less measured, perhaps, than the style which is com-
monly employed in history; but, at the same time,
considerably raised above what Sir Walter had at
first supposed to be needful in a work addressed to

youth.
We have often thought that the mistake into which
iv Preface,

he fell is repeated in many of our books for the young.
If these books were to be confined exclusively to the
nursery and its inmates, their character and contents
would correspond with their object; but if they are
designed for those who are somewhat more advanced,
many of the works to which we have referred cannot
but fail in their attempts to elevate and improve.
To a large extent they find youth infantine, and tend
to keep it so. Few of them brace the mind. There
is nothing placed before the young at such an eleva-
tion as to necessitate some endeavour to feach it,
without being so high as to make the reaching of it
hopeless. It is intelligence lowered, rather than the
intelligent being elevated; and under such training,
the young mind must necessarily be continued in a
state of prolonged juvenility.

In the following pages an attempt has been made
to induce youth to think—that is, to connect events
with their causes—to trace the character, when fully
formed, up to its origin in youthful tendencies and
habits, and to notice how much may depend upon a
single principle adopted, or a single deed done. In
short, our little volume is designed to hold a middle
place between tales for nurseries and works for those
whose principles are mature and whose character is
Preface. 7

formed ; and we shall greatly



oice if the young be
thus helped to read, mark, and inwardly digest the
important truth—that if they would reap well, they
must sow well; if they would enjoy an old age of
honour, they must be trained in youth to virtue; if
they would prepare for an eternity of glory, it must
be by walking in the footsteps of the wise and the
good—of those who loved the truth, and were pre-
pared to sacrifice all rather than forsake it. In God’s
world there is no law more sure in its operation than
that “what a man soweth that shall he also reap”
and to stamp that law upon the minds of the young,
forms the leading object of this little volume.




Contents.









Pace

1. INTRODUCTORY, n oon . %
I, TIE HEBREW CAPTIVE, ee 8
ML, THE HEATHEN’S SON, eee 8
Iv, THE BISHOP, sm EN Oe een ine 3S
V. THE MONK, ae has eigen ee eeee
VI. THE KING, ie. hee Cae a a
VIL, THE vac! SEO ade Rae:
VII. THE NOBLE, ease ee oD
IX, THE SOLDIE aoe . o - 4
X, THE PRILOSOPHER, eS
@HE SAILOR,
XIE THE PHILANTHROPIST, . st
XIIT, THE MISSIONARY, : ee hac. 4.8 ee
XIV. THE POET, : - se aed a 187
XV. THE DIVINE, ewe ee 20
XVL THE STATESMAN. see cee
XVI THE PASTOR, sents eweE
XVIII, THE MERCIAN, « ye” cee ea







SEED-TIME AND HARVEST.

n=
L
antroductory.

E have wandered by the margin of a little
brook which glided silently along through



a verdant belt, where it spread fertility and
freshness around it. Welling up on the mountain
side, it seemed to promise a long and an expanding
career ; and it was not difficult for fancy to picture
it widening, and deepening, and enlarging as it
flowed, till it fertilized half a continent, or bore on
its bosom the navy of an empire, or wafted the
wealth of the Indies to its havens. But that little
brook had not advanced far when its course was
impeded by noxious marshes, where bleak sterility
reigned around, and where its transparent waters
were speedily lost amid stagnant corruption. These
waters, no doubt, found their way to the ocean at
last, but it was by some dark and subterraneous
10 The Fitting Brook.

passage, where they shed no visible fertility, and
imparted no beauty to the scene.

Is not that an emblem of what often befalls in
infancy and youth? A little child, the object of a
thousand solicitudes and tender cares, starts on his
career of life. For a season he appears to be beau-
tiful exceedingly, and the hearts of hundreds are
linked to’ him in closest affection, for they see him
only as surrounded by the halo of hope. But time
steals on. The child becomes the boy. . The boy
becomes the youth. The youth becomes the man ;
and close-handed worldliness has blighted all that
once seemed fair and promising—perhaps unblush-
ing crime now stains what once appeared so innocent
and beautiful, and the heart of a father or a mother
is broken, at the thought of —

“ Hope's honey left within the withering bell.”

‘The flitting brook, or the weeping willow, may thus
be the type of man.

We have walked in the garden in spring, when
all was beauty to the eye and music to the ear, and
noticed with delight how the rich blossoms gave
promise first of the plenitude of summer, and then
of the mellow autumn. In its wondrous laboratory
prolific nature seemed to be preparing the bounties
of Him who is the author of every good and per-
fect gift, to make glad the hearts of hundreds; and
The Withered Blossoms. 11

fancy revelled without an effort in the stores which
appeared to be in progress. But on the morrow we
revisited the scene, and it was now one of desolation
—like death, a killing frost had nipped in a night all
the promise of yesterday, and blackness, corruption,
and blight, now reigned where beauty was so recently
conspicuous.

And is not that another emblem of what often hap-
pens in youth? Its blossoms “ go up like dust.” To-
day all promise—to-morrow all disappointment. To-
day cherished with fondness, as the hope of many
hearts—in a brief period only illustrating the truth,
“Iniquity is bound up in the heart of a child!”
Though the earth be often spanned by the rain-
bow, it may be true all the while that a tempest is
raging.

We have passed by the fields of the husbandman
when they were prepared in spring for the seed—when
that seed was committed to their ample bosom, and
when the dews of heaven, with the early and the
latter rain, were expected to impart fertility at the
bidding of Him who “ visits the earth, and waters it;
who greatly enriches it with the river of God, which
is full of water; who prepares them corn when he
has so provided for it; who waters the ridges thereof
abundantly; who settles the furrows thereof; who
makes it soft with showers; who blesses the spring-
ing thereof.”
12 Habakkuk's Hymn.

But all was deceitful. A withering mildew came,
like the locusts of old, and the hope of the husband-
man perished. He had to betake himself, whether
he would or no, to Habakkuk’s hymn: “Although
the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be
in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and
the fields shall yield no meat ; the flock shall be cut
off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the
stalls: yet I will rejoice in the Lord, T will joy in the
God of my salvation.”

And is not that. also an emblem of what often
happens in youth? All is done that human care
could do, to nurture in wisdom, and lead in the
paths of pleasantness and peace.

« Parents first season us; then schoolmaster
Deliver us to laws; they send us bound.

‘To rules of reason, holy messengers,
Pulpits and Sundays ;”

but all is like water spilt upon the ground. He that
is unholy continues unholy still. Reason, conscience,
hope, and fear, are all swept away by the whirlwind
gust, or slowly sapped by the corrupting power of
passion. Like the unwary bee, drenched in the
nectar of the foxglove, and unable to fly to its hive,
such youths are clogged and ruined by the fancied
joys at which they grasp.

We have seen a princely pile of building reared
half way, and there left a monument of man’s folly
Blighted Hopes. 13

or ambition, or both. Marble gleamed there—the
East and the West sent their riches to adorn it, while
Art had done its utmost to lend beauty to the struc-
ture, and men hurried from far and near to study its
grandeur, or measure its proportions. But the am-
bition of the owner transcended his resources, and the
pile now serves only as his monument or mausoleum.

It isan emblem again of youth! Mighty projects,
airy hopes, sanguine anticipations, and a life of sun-
shine without a cloud, form the fancy picture of many
a young aspirant. But that picture vanishes like the
mirage of the desert, and, like the half-finished fabric
of the ambitious builder, that youth perhaps finds a
grave amid the ruins of his hopes.

We knew a youth of more than common promise,
and he was cherished by all who knew him as an
object of more than common love. In opening
manhood he would become a soldier, and lend him-
self to the butchery, or the pillage, on a national
scale, which men call glorious war. In an attack he
led his detachment to the muzzles of the enemy’s
guns, paused for a breath ere he should say
“Charge!” and that breath was his last—he was
stretched on the cold earth a corpse. Need we
add that this also is an emblem of what is too
often the doom of youth—

“ When warped into the labyrinth of lies,
Which babblers called philosophers devise 2”
14 The Companion of the Fool.

Allured by some factitious joy into a path which
promised pleasure, wealth, or fame, they perish in
the act of grasping at these shadows. ‘They sow the
wind, and reap the whirlwind—an -early grave, or a
corpse scarce buried in a foreign land, is all that re-
mains to wounded and bleeding affection. Over
such youths the ancient cry, “ Woe, woe, woe!” may
be dolefully renewed.

We have seen a child of promise glancing through
his home for some of his earliest years, the delight
of all who dwelt there, and occasioning a joy as
exuberant as his glee. His mind was quite preco-
ciously developed ; and some in reality, others from
courtesy, marvelled at his early powers. But disease
laid its hand upon that centre of many hearts, and
those who loved the child so prematurely wise, would
gladly have scen him as little gifted as vulgar chil-
dren are, could that have stayed the ravages of dis-
ease. And does not that also find a parallel in the
history of many a youthful soul? Trained at first
with utmost painstaking, he is perhaps admired,
caressed, and doted on by those whom affection
blinds. But the latent moral disease at length
breaks out ; it gives—

« Prayer to the winds, and caution to the waves.”
Evil communications. corrupt good morals. The
companion of the fool is destroyed—nay, he destroys
himself; and you may perhaps trace his pathway
The Redeemer's Love. 15

through life to the tomb, by the tears which are shed
by those who follow him thither. Like the bones
which lie scattered by the grave’s edge, speaking so
eloquently of the littleness and decay of man, these
moral wrecks proclaim how poor and abject man is,
even in his best estate—

“ Poor child of dust and death, his hopes are built on sand.”

How different is it with those who, under the watch-
ful care of some pious father or guardian, learn in their
youth those lessons of love and faithfulness and devo-
tion which alone can keep the soul free from the con-
tamination of the world! Pleasant it is to see them
bending over the holy Book, and gathering from each
other’s lips encouragement to persevere in its study!
We know that upon such study the blessing of Heaven
will be outpoured; and that childhood is very dear in
the sightof God. The Saviour’s loving soul has let forth
all its affection regarding that period of life, when—

« Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees.”

One of the tenderest of his sayings has reference to
the young, and it seems like a gleam of the very
light of heaven to hear the Saviour say: “Suffer the
little children to come unto me, and forbid them not;
for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” And then,
Wisdom—the Redeemer’s emblem, or the Redeemer
himself—walks forth among the erring sons of men,
and in winning words exclaims, “They that seek me
16 The Geily Youth.

early shall find me.” It is not merely by such gene-
ral maxims as, “ What a man soweth that shall he
also reap,” that the young are warned and allured
towards what is pure, and good, and true. By line
upon line, and precept upon precept, the wisdom of
Heaven manifests its solicitude for them: “ Even a
child is known by his doings, whether his work be
pure, and whether it be right,” is one of its an-
nouncements. “A wise son maketh a glad father,
but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother,” is
another. “The eye that mocketh at his father, and
despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the val-
ley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat
it,” is a third. The Book of Proverbs, containing
the wisdom of the wisest man on whom our sun ever
shone, is full of instruction regarding youth; and
nothing is needed but the grace of God to bless its
deep though simple sayings, to make even the young
wise unto salvation, to keep them from the paths of
the destroyer, and lead them up to a Father's home
on high.

And while the Word of the Holy One teaches us
by lessons, it is careful to instruct us also by exam-
ples. There is a little child who has begun betimes
to sow the good seed. He had a godly mother,
who said regarding him, “I have lent him to the
Lord ; as long as he liveth he shall be lent to the
Lord ;” and it was done according to her vow. The


THE YOUNG STUDENT
Josiah the King. 7

child “ministered before the Lord.” “He grew be-
fore the Lord.” “The Lord communed with him”
as with the holy prophets ; and the boy grew in god-
liness, a blessing and a joy to all around. It was
the child Samuel, who sought God early, who found
him, and concerning whom we read in that word of
the Lord which “endureth for ever”—“ Samuel
grew, and the Lord was with him, and did let none
of his words fall to the ground.” p

Or, there is another youth. ‘The people made
him king over a great nation when he was only eight
years of age. Yet, surrounded as he was with the
allurements and the dangers of a court, he “did what
was right in the sight of the Lord,” #and turned not
aside to the right hand or to the left.” He was
careful to rebuild the ruined temple of his country.
He removed every vestige of idolatry, and swept the
land clean of all that had defiled it. The Spirit of
God was his guide, and he would endure no wicked
thing before his eyes. ‘That was Josiah, who, though
only a stripling king, was yet a mighty man for God;
and as he honoured the Lord, he was honoured by
him. “He tuned to the Lord with all his heart,
and with all his soul, and with all his might ;” and
he was largely blessed in his deed.

Seeing, then, that reason combines with revelation,
and daily experience with all past history, to pro-
claim the importance of youth, let us try, in a few

wo 2


18 : The Warning.

chapters, to win and warn the young to be wise in
early years. As is their seed-time, so must their
harvest be: “Sow well, and you will reap well,” is a
maxim which is universally true. But neglect such
sowing, and the winter of life will overtake you, as
want overtakes the sluggard. Our little book is
meant especially for the young, and it goes forth to
address them, followed by the prayer, that He who
loved little children, and whose Spirit made Samuel
so early holy, and Josiah so early bold for God, may
bless it to teach them to sow well that they may reap
well; so that they themselves may at last be gathered
home to the garner of the Lord, like a shock of corn
when it is fully ripe.

oe

CEES


IL

The Hebrew Captive.

HE heart of man is like the daughters of the
horse-leech, ever crying, “Give, give.” It
was designed to be happy in God; and
unless it be restored to his favour, it would be un-
happy and restless though the whole world were its
portion. Youth forgets all that, and is reluctant to
be undeceived. It expects happiness where man
finds only disappointment ; it turns away from God
—nay, He is often a weariness to youth, and yet it
hopes to be happy. But to correct that tendency,
let us study the history of a youth whom God



himself had taught where to find his joy.—At one
period there sat on the throne of Israel a king of
distinguished wickedness, whose name was Jehoiakim.
A single incident in his life will show how depraved
and how godless he was. It was in his reign that
Jeremiah the prophet lived, and some of his pro-



phecies were conveyed to the king for his warning

Ss

and guidance. And how did the king proceed?
20 The Pitfall.

Did he welcome the message, and reverently listen
to the lessons which it brought? Nay; the haughty
persecutor took the scroll which the prophet sent,
he cut it-to pieces with a knife, and cast the frag-
ments into the fire. The word of God was hateful
to that unholy man, as it is offensive to all who live
in sin; and just as wicked men have always perse-
cuted the holy when they had the power, the king
of Israel tried to bum and destroy the word of the
iving God. He did just what Popery is doing still,
and what all men would do whose hearts are not
right with God.

But when that king had destroyed the word of
God, like “the cowled demons of the inquisitorial
cell,” did he escape from “ the sword of the Spirit?”
It seemed a weak and a contemptible thing, and
the bold sinner could easily cut it to pieces, or con-
but when he had done all




sume it in the flames
that, did he escape from God himself—could those
flames destroy the truth of God, or turn it into a lie!
Nay; all that the proud sinner could accomplish in
his wrath only helped to hasten forward the fulfil-
ment of every recorded word. It was predicted that
that persecutor should be ignobly “ buried with the
burial of an ass.” No man was to lament for him,
saying, “Ab, my brother! or, Ah, sister!” “Ah,
lord! or, Ah, his glory!” Shame and degradation
were to be his lot: he had torn and destroyed the


The Hebrew Boy. au

word of God; and the destruction which it threatened
was the lot of that destroyer. That sinner dug a
pitfall, and was taken in it himself.

Now, it was during his reign that Nebuchadnezzar
—-the Bonaparte of his day—besieged and took
Jerusalem, and carried away a part of its sacred
vessels to place them in the house of his gods. At
the same time, he carried away Daniel the prophet
as a captive; and it may teach the young both how
to sow well, and how to reap well, or how a busy
seed-time tends to produce a plenteous harvest, if
we study for a little the conduct of that captive
Hebrew.

Daniel was but a youth when he was carried to
Babylon to grace the triumph of the conqueror.
Some compute that he was not more than twelve
years of age, while none suppose that he was more
than fourteen. In either case, he was only a boy,
unfriended and alone; and let us follow him to
Babylon, and there learn lessons from his life. Or
the banks of the Euphrates there stood a gorgeous
palace. It was the home of a mighty king—the
conqueror of kings—and into its capacious halls the
spoils of fallen empires were collected. Daniel is
there, a slave to man, but already “made free” by
his God. He had been cradled in sorrow—for a
persecutor sat on the throne of his country. He
had seen Jerusalem besieged and sacked; he had
22 The True Refuge.

been torn from the land of his fathers, and dragged,
perhaps in chains, to a distant house of bondage.
He had to shed many tears—

“ Tears for the dead who die in sin,
And tears for living crime.”

He was, perhaps, of royal lineage too ; but the more
on that account must he be made a captive, for it
was the purpose of Nebuchadnezzar to humble the
pride of Jerusalem.

But did all this mar the godliness of the captive
boy.? Did he swerve from his purpose, or, having
begun well, did he wickedly fall away? Nay, all
that happened to Daniel only pressed him nearer
to his God—only made him more devoted to His
service—only urged him to cling the closer to the
arm which could uphold him. In truth, Daniel at
Babylon became one of the holiest of all the servants
of the Holy One—“a man greatly beloved.” He
was driven to the true Refuge, for he had no human
help. He sought an asylum under the Rock that is
higher than we ; and, youthful as he was, he was
strong in the Lord and the power of his might. ‘The
truth in his soul bore fruit unto holiness ; God was
glorified, and that boy was blessed.

And mark some of the stages by which Daniel,
even while a boy, became thus signalized. He was
ordered to be fed with a portion of the king’s food,
and to drink a portion of the king’s wine. But to
The Right Standard. 23

Daniel, as 2 “Lebrew, that was pollution. He could
taste nothing that had been consecrated to an idol.
He could touch no kind of food that was forbidden
by the law of Moses, and he therefore resolved, cost
what it might, “not to defile himself with the king’s
food.” The sovereign might command, but the
captive would not obey. Daniel knew something
more authoritative than the, word of an earthly
monarch, or more attractive than his smile ; and the
firm purpose of the stripling, therefore, was to avoid
the contamination of the palace of Babylon. In
doing so, he might oppose the will of the mightiest
monarch then upon the earth; but what of that,
when he was obeying the King Eternal? He might
be endangering his own life, or he might cause his
fetters to be more tightly rivetted ; but what of that,
if his conscience was kept free? Such fears, then,
and such temptations, had no weight with Daniel.
Nay, he feared God, and had no other fear. It
was not the voice of man, it was the voice of con-
science; it was not the smile of a creature, it was
the smile of God; it was not the prevailing custom
where he dwelt, it was Jehovah's unerring standard,
that that believing boy had madesupreme: and, guided
by that standard, he was steadfast and unmovable
amid all that could befall him. Alone, unfriended, a
captive or a slave, he resolved to brave all that could
happen, rather than defile his conscience by a sin,
24 The Hero Rewarded.

But Daniel’s heroism in doing right has not yet
been all described. He might have courted the
world’s smile: he might have shrunk from its frown:
lie might have tampered with its iniquity; and, as
the reward, he might have secured worldly prosperity
at the expense of Jehovah’s withering frown. Man-
hood spent in the service of Mammon might have
ended in an old age that was blighted, without one
real blessing, or one solid hope. But, far from that,
Daniel’s godliness was decided at every step. When
he proposed to abstain from the king’s food, the
courtier who had charge of the boy saw nothing but -
disaster in the proposal. Danger rose above danger,
till it appeared that death would be the sure result.
Were the young captive to adopt the course which
conscience said was right, confusion and every evil
work would be the issue. So reasoned the courtly
hpenaz ; he never asked, what is right? or, what
duty? or, what saith the Lord? but only, what is
safe? Daniel, however, was not to be moved. Nay,
as he trusted in. God, he would put the matter to the
proof : he was ready to use only prisoners’ fare, assured
that if he did so in faith, he would not be put to shame.
Feed me on pulse and water ; feed another with the
royal dainties ;—and see which shall be the fairest in
the end. ‘That was the stripling’s challenge, for he
knew that better is a dinner of herbs, where God's love
is, than a stalled ox, and strife with the Holy One.






DANIEL PRAYING
Reaping in Joy. 25

It was thus, then, that Daniel sowed, and how
did he reap? ‘The holy God was his fear and his
dread ; he did not fear the face of man, and what
was the result of his heroism? It can be briefly
told. In an age and amid scenes where luxury and
ungodliness were rampant, Daniel held fast his
integrity, and friend after friend was raised up—
heart after heart was opened before him. In the
wondrous providence of that God whom Daniel
feared, Nebuchadnezzar himself became the fast
friend of that youth. Three times did that warlike
king take Jerusalem in war. He overthrew Nineveh
—he destroyed Tyre—he subdued Egypt—he van-
quished the Medes, and carried his arms in the west
even into Spain, in the east to the banks of the
Indus. Yet that mighty prince and warrior became
the friend and protector of this captive boy. And
not only was Nebuchadnezzar the friend of Daniel.
Darius, another conquering king of the Medes, set
his affection upon the prophet. The victorious
Cyrus did the same; in short, the youth had honoured
God, and was not put to shame. He might sow in
tears, but he reaped in joy. He who holds the
hearts of all men in his hands, turned them to favour
Daniel ; for “ when a man’s ways please the Lord,
he makes even his enemies to be at peace with
him.” By one resolute purpose—by opposing the
beginning of sin—by simply believing in God—-


26 A Pure Conscience—

by declining to move by a single hair’s-breadth from
the path to which conscience pointed, Daniel cleared
away a thousand obstructions, and escaped from a
thousand snares. It was with him as it had been
with David: “ He went on, and grew great, and the
Lord was with him.” Like Joseph, “he was a pros-
perous man ;” and the reason was, that his God
was for him, Learning, honour, and power, under
sovereign after sovereign, for threescore years and
ten at least, were the lot of the devoted—the resolute
—the God-fearing Daniel. When he fed on pulse,
he seemed fairer by far than those who fared sump-
tuously every day. The countenance beamed with
joy, for the conscience was not defiled. The eye
was radiant with gladness, and told of the serenity
which reigned within—a joy which all may share
when they have learned with David to say, “God is
our refuge and our strength—a very present help in
trouble ;” “ God shall help us, and that right early.”
‘The worm Jacob can thrash the mountains when he
clings in faith to the arm of the Omnipotent. In
the caim of a pure conscience, and the smile of an
approving God, such a man, both in youth and age,
enjoys a reward which gems and jewel mines could
not buy. Some sow the wind and reap the whiri-
wind ; but they whom God has blessed, sow to the
Spirit, and of the Spirit reap life everlasting.

“0 dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,”
Its Reward. 27

is the dirge which may be uttered over those who
trample upon conscience, or ignore the righteous
claims of the Holy One. “Thy name shall be
Israel, for as a prince hast thou power with God and
with men, and hast prevailed,” is the eulogy of the
youth who fears his God, and has no other fear,
But can he have a sound mind who prefers man’s
smile to God’s ?—who lives for the pleasures which
“sting like a serpent, and bite like an adder?”—
who, with his own hand, and in spite of every warning,
sows tares, and expects to reap a rich and golden
harvest who plunges into sin, and expects to bring
up the pearl of great price?








III.

The Geathen’s Son.

JEW things in the history of man are more
iS painfully touching than the ruin and the
se ei misery occasioned by the misdeeds of
children. There is a widowed mother: she sits in her
loneliness and weeps—or perhaps her burning eye-
balls are too parched to yield the sad relief of tears.
She once wept before, but it was when the delight
of her eyes was taken away with a stroke. They
were the tears of affection shed beside a husband’s
grave ; and though numerous, they were not scalding.
But now she laments, perhaps, over the reckless
waywardness of an only son, who has forfeited his
life to the laws of his country, and appears not un-
likely to die the death of one hardened in crime.

Or there is a father: his strong soul is bowed to
the earth like a willow before the blast—and why is
he so utterly overwhelmed? It is because one whom
he had fondly cherished, and for whom he had as
fondly hoped well, has become the companion of
Sorrow from those we Love. 29

fools, and, by guilt added to guilt, is compelling his
stricken parent in agony to cry with David—* O my
son Absalom! my son, my son Absalom! would God
Ihad died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!”
or with the older patriarch—* My gray hairs are
brought in sorrow to the grave.”

Or there are an aged pair, far advanced in the pil-
grimage of life, and misery seems to accumulate as
they proceed. They were once in affluence, and the
sun rose and set in gladness on their happy home.
But now all that has vanished away—home, and
happiness, and substance—all have disappeared like
the summer brook. They are tottering forward to
the grave, the inmates of an asylum for the indigent,
pensioners on what is often the cold hand of
charity. And what brought them to that condition
of woe? Itwwas the misdeeds of a once cherished
boy. We see before us still such an aged heart
broken parent, though twenty years have rolled away
since he was laid in the grave. He is wasted, hag-
gard, and at times scarcely coherent. Ever and
anon he mutters the once favourite name of his boy,
but the sentiments which it awakens are dashed by
the feeling of anguish of which it has become the
very prolific origin. We repeat it: of all the woe to
which man is the heir, none can be more poignant,
more crushing, or more deadly, than that which
originates in the misdeeds of children.



or






30 The Young Disciple

But while many have thus to endure the sore an
guish of Eli, others are permitted to rejoice in spirit
over the second birth of those whom they love, and
to hail them as members of that great family which
is named, in heaven and on earth, after Jesus Christ.
‘There dwelt, for example, in the Holy Land, eighteen
hundred years ago, a boy, who knew what it was
both to sow well and reap well. As to the first, or
the sowing, he enjoyed none of the advantages which:
children in our day enjoy. There were then no
attractive books for the young, no royal road to
knowledge, no decorated books to allure, and no
illustrated books to simplify. ‘There was no printing
to make learning common—all had to be copied
with the hand of man ; and, at a period long subse-
quent to that, some of these written volumes were
as valuable as a whole estate, or would have cost
the income of a parish. But the ardour of that boy
overcame every obstacle, and ‘Timothy, the son and
disciple of the apostle Paul—for it is of Timothy
that we speak—did learn to read. It requires little
effort of the fancy to picture the little group with
which the Scriptures make us acquainted when they
are telling of that boy. His father was a Greek—
that is, a pagan—and perhaps took little interest in
the godly training of his child; but the young Chris-
tian of Derbe had others to care for him. His
grandmother, Lois, was his early teacher, and it was
The Sacred Primer. 3r

in the wisdom of God’s word that she trained him.
His mother, Eunice, was no less zealous in the same
good work, so that Paul had reason cordially to
speak of “the unfeigned faith that was in Timothy,
which dwelt first in his grandmother, Lois, and his
mother, Eunice.” The result was, that “from ¢
child,” that favoured boy “knew the Holy Scrip-
tures, which are able to make us wise unto salvation,
through faith which is in Christ Jesus.” Through
three generations grace was thus triumphant. The
grandmother, the mother, and the boy, had all
gathered wisdom from the heavenly store; they
had sat down at the feet of the heavenly Teacher,
and experienced the truth of Elihu’s exclamation :
“Who teacheth like God ?”

But how dd Timothy learn to read? In some
parts of Ireland, where books were not common in
years gone by, it was the custom to teach children
to read in the grave-yards, with the tomb-stones for
their primer, and the chiselled epitaphs for their
lesson. And missionaries have been known to teach
their savage flocks the letters of the alphabet by
tracing them on sand or clay, and making that rude
material serve as a substitute for books. ‘Timothy
and his godly teachers had no such difficulty to sur-
mount, yet his way to learning was by no means
smooth. We must think of him as “a child,”
stretched, perhaps, on the roof of his home at




32 The Gain of Godliness.

Derbe, in the oriental fashion. Eunice, or Lois, is
beside him. He has a roll unfolded before him
containing the Hebrew Scriptures, or perhaps it is
the Septuagint translation of the Old Testament in
Greek, and he is busy deciphering first the letters,
then the words, and then the rich full meaning of
the book which made him, and has made millions
besides him, wise unto salvation. And we can
easily picture how that devout boy would be en-
couraged and made glad as he read of Joseph, who
sat at Pharaoh’s right hand; or Samuel, the prophet ;
or David, who, while a stripling, slew Goliath, and
when a man, ascended a throne. Little did that
boy then dream that his own name was to take so
conspicuous a place among those who shine as the
stars for ever and ever! But godliness has “the
promise of the life that now is, as well as of that
which is to come ;” and Timothy found that to seek
wisdom early, according to the word of God, is the
sure path to the reality of glory, honour, and immor-
tality; while those who despise that wisdom find only
the counterfeit and shadow. ”

And having thus sowed weil “from a child,” how
did Timothy reap? He became the attendant of
the apostle Paul, and again and again did that re-
markable man rank Timothy side by side with him-
self in his holy epistles. He was the apostle’s com-
panion in preaching the gospel. He was Paul's
The Martyr's Death. 33

“son Timothy,” or Paul’s “own son in the faith.”
He was the apostle’s “beloved son,” his “ work-
fellow,” his “brother,” his very second self. He
was, moreover, the apostle’s companion in bonds,
when they were called to suffer for the truth’s sake.
‘They shared, it would appear, the prisoner's fare,
and wore together the prisoner’s chain ; so that two
of the strongest ties which link man to man—a com:
mon faith, and common suffering for that faith—knit
these two men to each other, and made them like one
soul. Nor were they far divided in their death.
‘The tradition is that Paul was beheaded at Rome
for his adherence to the truth; and from the same
source we learn that Timothy suffered martyrdom at
Ephesus—the death of glory, for which thousands in
early ages panted.

But Timothy reaped something better still than
the martyrs crown. The letters which Paul ad-
dressed to him, rank among the most touching por-
tions of the Word of God. Through the son of
Eunice there has come down to each successive
generation of ministers, for eighteen hundred years,
the instructions which the Holy Spirit designed
should fit them for their holy calling ; so that even
among the sons of men, the promised “ brightness of
the firmament,” which is to encircle the godly for
ever, has long encircled him who knew the Holy
Scriptures from a child, and whom these Scriptures

wo 3
34 The Infidel—

made wise unto salvation. Paul once described
Timothy as “faithful in the Lord ;” and he stands
out before us now a monument of the Lord’s faith-
fulness to those who trust in him before the sons of
men.

But a contrast may here help us to understand
more clearly the close connection which exists be-
tween sowing well and reaping well. David Hume
is well known as one of the despisers of God’s truth.
He prostituted the powers which God had given
him to the impious purpose of making God a liar.
He denied the Holy Word, though he confessed that
he had never read it; and he reaped his reward in
the plaudits of men who loved, and therefore longed,
to see the Bible proved untrue, or man left without
a Saviour and therefore without a hope.

And while pursuing that career, what were the
opinions which Hume espoused and defended as
better to him than the truth of the Scriptures?’ He
is called a philosopher. What did his philosophy
teach him? What did he sow? what did he reap!
We give a single example. Hume taught that self-
murder “is but turning a few ounces of blood from
its natural channel ;”—in other words, there is no
great harm in destroying ourselves. To swallow
poison, or bleed ourselves to death, or blow out our
brains, is not very wrong ;—and that is the man
whom some have praised as a better preacher than
A Contrast. 35

the Bible! Timothy was wise unto salvation ; Hume
only to the extent of pleading for self-murder, or ex-
tenuating its guilt. Timothy sought to turn many
to righteousness; Hume argued to make them
grossly polluted. Timothy sought to throw the
wood of the healing tree into the bitter waters of
life ; Hume spent his days and his nights in making
them more bitter still. Now, which of these was the
true philanthropist? Which the soundest philoso-
pher? Which the most rational, happy, and noble-
minded man—the youth who lived for God, or the
man who spoke of his fellow-mortals as if they were
valueless like brutes? Could we follow them into
the world of spirits, where all is truth and earnest-
ness, and where infidelity is for ever at an end,
what would be our estimate of their sowing and
their reaping #



pag |






Iv.

The Bishop.

HEN Philip Doddridge was born, he was
supposed to be without life, and accord-
ingly put aside for burial. In a little

time, however, some symptoms of animation were



accidentally noticed, and means were adopted to in-
vigorate the infant. Sickly and feeble as he was,
these means were crowned with success ; and though
he carried with him through life a delicacy of con-
stitution which might often remind him of his feeble
beginning, we know what he lived, and what he was
blessed, to accomplish. ‘To name no more, he was
the author of “The Rise and Progress of Religion
in the Soul,’—a book which has been translated into
most of the modern languages, and been the means
of converting more souls to Christ than perhaps any
other book that could be named, except the Word of
God. It has roused some. It has warned others.
It has enlightened thousands, and helped to guide or
to cheer the earthly pilgrimage of many now in glory.
Augustine, 37

Now, what happened to the feeble infant, Philip
Doddridge, takes place in regard to many a soul.
For years, it is not merely pining and feeble ; it is
dead—dead to God, or dead in trespasses and sins.
It is as completely cut off from the enjoyment of
God, and from all that constitutes the true dignity,
or the true blessedness of man, as they that are dead
and buried are cut off from the business of life.
When Lazarus lay in the tomb, and when decay had
begun to do its loathsome work, who would have
denied that he was separated by a wide or an im-
passable gulf from the world of living men? And it
is the same with the soul as it is born into the world.
‘The God who made it declares that it is “dead in
sin.”

But as Lazarus was raised from the tomb by an
almighty word, so may the soul be quickened by an
energy from heaven. It may be made a child of
God by the power of the Holy Spirit ; and we are
about to draw attention to a case which illustrates
that most striking change.

AvRELIus AuGuSTINE, afterwards Bishop of Hippo,
was born in the year 354, at Tagaste, a town in
Numidia. His father was a heathen; but his mother
was a Christian, and a woman remarkable for her
faith and piety. She did all that affection could
suggest to promote the best interests of her boy ; and
neither example, nor assiduity, nor many prayers,
38 The Voice of Conscience.

were wanting to impress him early with a love of
the truth, and with the fear of God. She was
doomed, however, to many years of harassing and
heart-breaking disappointment. It is true, as that
boy lived to confess, that in his early years he was
sometimes haunted by fear, in consequence of his
ungodly ways. Conscience was not wholly dead,
nor wholly silenced ; and it sometimes spoke out for
God in a way which showed at once the sinner's
determination to sin in spite of it, and the misery
which he was preparing for himself by such a career.
But in spite of conscience, Augustine tells us that
he spurned at all restraints, and grew up in a
wickedness such as few have surpassed. Bloody
games and exhibitions were then common. He
loved such things with the force of a passion, and
there fomented those evil desires which made his
mother wretched on his account, and which, in the
end, rendered Augustine himself more wretched
still. Neither her prayers nor her tears were
heeded; but, goaded onward by his mad love of
sin, he walked to the enjoyment of it over a mother’s
bleeding heart, and a mother’s wounded spirit. So
blinded was he, that he would have blushed, as he
records, to be thought less wicked than his com-
panions. He even invented false stories of his
sinful exploits, to obtain their applause. He thus
made such progress in vice as to shut himself up in
The Theatre. 39

the darkness of sin, and debar God’s truth from
entering his soul.*

The theatre became one of Augustine’s favourite
haunts, and there he was more deeply drenched in
guilt than ever. What he calls “the fomentations
of his fire” were there increased, till he grewhackneyed
in crime. He saw sin turned into mockery, and
made a topic of mirth, while all the decorations of
art, and eloquence, ar” poetry, and music helped to
make perdition more pleasing and more welcome.
His early compunctions for sin were soon effaced
amid such scenes. The death of his soul ceased to
give Augustine any concern ; and for nine years, he
says, he rolled in the slime of sin, sometimes attempt-
ing to rise, but only sinking deeper and deeper into
guilt. “He rushed,” as he confesses, “ into the sins
by which he desired to be enslaved.” Pride and
arrogance, and the gaudy inanities of his profession,
as a teacher of Rhetoric, inflated his soul. He loved
“ gratuitous wickedness,” or wickedness for its own
sake, apart from its fancied profits or pleasures ; and
his own picture of himself while in that condition is
as powerful as it is dark. “The avidity of doing
mischief from sport, the pleasure of making others
suffer, and that without any distinct workings either
of avarice or revenge”—these things prove how far
Augustine had fallen, how debased he was by iniquity.

* Augustini Conf. lib. ii,
40 The Wages of Iniquity.

Much of this had taken place when that youth was
only about fifteen or sixteen years of age. In that
brief period he had grown mature in sin; and though
superstitious fear goaded him at times, he rushed
on without a check. He prayed, but it was in this
spirit— Free me from sin, but not yet;” that is, he
wished to sink deeper and deeper into woe before he
was delivered from it—to swallow another draught
of poison ere he applied for an antidote against what
he had already drunk; and with that madness which
makes the sinner hug the very cause of his wretched-
ness, or drag it with him to the edge of the grave,
did Augustine, while little more than a boy, hasten
along the broad road. He was the bold companion
of fools—the victim of his own unsubdued passions
—the sport, as he confesses, of sin in every form.
He was sowing sin, and, by God’s decree, the fruit
of sin is woe and the second death.

Such, then, was the seed-time of this youth, He
was busy sowing tares. Night and day he was occu-
pied in fostering all that is noxious to the soul. What
he cultivated was the deadly nightshade. Instead of
rearing, he tried to extirpate, everything that was
good for food or pleasant to the eye. And as that
was the character of Augustine during the spring-
time of his life, what was his condition in the harvest?
Was his case any exception to the remark, “ What a
man soweth, that shall he also reap"? Did he
“ The Way of Transgressors is Hard.” 4n

“gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles”!
He himself shall reply.

Woe and tribulation, bitterness and sorrow were
his lot. He discovered at length that he had sunk
into an horrible pit. ‘He was excluded,” he says,
“even from the husks which the swine did eat.”
“ He was inflamed,” he writes, “in his youth, to be
satiated with infernal fires.” He found out that he
had turned’ “his back to the light, and to those
things which really illuminate the face.” This man
of genius, of learning, and most subtle mind, once
envied a poor beggar—he bewailed to his friends
the pains and toils, the labour and vexation of his
own lot, compared with that of him who basked by
the wayside, and begged a bit of bread. ‘I found
myself miserable and grieved,” is Augustine’s cheer-
less confession. “I doubled that misery; so that if
anything prosperous smiled upon me, I was reluctant



to lay hold of it, because it flew away almost as soon
as I could seize it.” Nay, more cheerless still; even
when he began to groan under the burden of sin, and
seek deliverance from it, the truth eluded his grasp,
and his wretchedness was augmented from day to
day. He found himself in darkness, and said with
sighs, How long? Still, however, he followed after
objects with which he was now dissatisfied, because
he knew nothing better to substitute in their place,
‘The fetters which his former ways had rivetted tightly
42 The Sinner’s Anguish.

on his soul now galled and impeded him. He felt
that he should give himself to seek God with heart
and soul; yet thoughts of which sin is both the
parent and the nurse haunted the sinner. “What
if death be the extinction of my being?” was one form
of temptation which assailed him; and though he
repelled that and all similar thoug1ts, it tended to
fasten him down a little longer to the earth ; like the
little bird which flutters to be free that it may soar
and sing in the sky, but finds itself a prisoner to the
devices of some wanton boy.

Augustine thus sought happiness, yet fled from it.
In quest of what he sought, he plunged afresh into
his old sins,* became more miserable than ever in
the mire of pollution, and verified to the letter the
saying of Solomon, when he speaks of sin as biting
like a serpent, or stinging like an adder. This youth
was now “like one that lies down in the midst of
the sea for rest, or like him that lieth upon the top
of a mast.” “They have stricken me, and I was
not sick; they have beaten me, and I felt it not:
when shall I awake? I will seek it yet again’—was
his condition. “What were the groanings, the
labours of my heart!’—is his touching outcry.
“When I silently inquired, I was so distressed and
confounded, that the bitterness of my soul no man
could comprehend by any description I could give.”

* Augustini Conf, tib. vi
The Sure Decree, 43,

Learned as he was, he was forced to exclaim to a
friend—“ Illiterate men rise and seize heaven, while
we, with all our learning, are rolling in the filth of
sin.” His sorrownowreached a crisis ; and when hecol-
‘lected all his misery into one view, “a great gloom,”
he says, “arose, producing a large flood of tears.”

Such is a glimpse, and only a glimpse, of the early
career of Augustine. There are things recorded
concerning him which should not once be named—
and we pass them by in silence. But enough has
been said to illustrate once more the truth, that what
a man sows that shall he also reap. This young
man “rejoiced in his youth; his heart cheered him
in the days of his youth; he walked in the ways of
his heart, and in the sight of his own eyes;” but he
forgot what follows—“ know thou that for all these
things God will bring thee into judgment.” He
forgot that God has linked suffering to sin, by a law
as sure as that which links shadow to substance in
sunshine. It is, we repeat, the irreversible decree
of the holy God, that a sinner shall be a sufferer ; and
the young may as well attempt to lacerate the body
and give it pleasure, or feed it on poison and yet
keep it alive, or plunge it into the depths of the
ocean and yet make it prosper and be in health, as
oppose the holy will of God, and be blessed in their
deed. Augustine felt, to his bitter experience, that
“the wages of sin is Geath;” and what had been
44 The Great Change.

earned was paid. “Be sure your sin will find you
out,” is the decree of the unchanging God; and
Augustine found, as every sinner must sooner or later
feel, that that decree will be carried into effect as
surely as God is true, and “ the same yesterday, to-
day, and for ever.” Would youth be happy? Then
be God the guide of our youth. Would old age be
honoured? ‘Then till hoary hairs let God be He.....
If we consecrate’ our earliest days to Him, our latest
will be our best.

But Augustine at last became a signal monument
of mercy. Like a brand he was plucked from the
burning. The grace of God visited and redeemed
him, and he could say at last, “I ascribe it to Thy
grace that Thou hast melted my sins as ice is
melted.” Serenity came after the storm, and the
man once infatuated or spell-bound learned to say,
“ My mind was set free from corroding cares, and I
communed in playful ease with Thee, my Light,
my Riches, my Saviour, and my God.”—“ Thy
truth was distilled into my heart; the flame of piety
was kindled, and my tears flowed for joy.” He lived
under the guidance of that Spirit whom he called
“the inner Master of the inner man;” yet he always
bore about with him, and carried to the grave, the
scars of his former fighting against God, or the marks
of his former chains. ‘There still lived in his memory
the images of evils to which he had been habituated.
Monica. 45

They occurred to him even in his sleep; so that
Augustine, the converted man, the self-sacrificing
pastor, the learned doctor, whose influence has now
spread over fifteen centuries, had to pass up to his
place among the pardoned through a cloud of grievous
affliction. He had long panted for heaven—for he
lived till he was seventy-six years of age—and his
longings to depart were quickened by a bitter taste
of the evils of a world whose sins, for a season, he
had so zealously helped to augument. God will be
true, and every man a liar; and Augustine, converted
and unconverted, alike warns us to sow well, if we
would reap well—to give our youth to God, if we
would spend our time in happiness, our eternity in
heaven.



No better opportunity can occur for showing to
the young the power of a mother’s example, or the
ascendency of a mother’s influence, than is afforded
by the case of Augustine and his mother, Monica.
It was the saying of West the painter, in reference
to a kiss which his mother gave him for one of his
juvenile works—“ That kiss made me a painter.”
Her smile attached the mind of the boy to that
pursuit on which he was predisposed to enter ; it was
a bland persuasive, and the young artist yielded to
its gentle, dew-like power. And the same may be
said of a mother’s influence in other spheres. Amid



all the waywardness of Augustine, Monica never
46 A Mother's Power.

forsook either him or the throne of grace on his
behalf. She followed him from place to place, to be
his guardian angel everywhere; and though he often
deceived her, that he might rush unchecked into sin,
or revel in iniquity, she never wearied—only once
did she waver. But when conversing with a minister
of Christ regarding the wayward object of her affec-
tion, she was encouraged by his reply to persevere,
and lived to see at last that her prayers were answered,
the prodigal was reclaimed, and the son that had
been lost was found. She had taken hold of Omni-
potence on his behalf, and he was at last delivered,
While his guilt was immeasurably increased by the
conduct which trifled with a widowed mother’s affec-
tions, and walked to sin over her very heart, the
triumph of faith was on that account the more signal
and complete. While many a parent, in effect,
causes his child to pass through the fire, by training
him for the world, Monica rescued her son from the
fearful pit, by “giving God no rest” on his behalf,
And surely, if a mother might address her dying
child as she closed his fading eye, with the words,
“T wish you joy, my darling,” the mother of Augustine
might exult in a similar spirit, when she saw him an
unfettered slave, standing fast in the liberty which
Christ bestows—a tree of the Lord’s planting, and

bearing fruit unto holiness, to the praise of the grace
of his God.


The Monk.

HE TOKEN OF A MOTHER'S Love.” Such is
the inscription which may be read on the
tombstone of a departed son. It stands

on a lovely spot near the monument of Francis

Jeffrey, and is surrounded by a glorious panorama of

sea, and city, and mountains far and near. Yet

none of these material things affect one so deeply as
the simple words, “The token of a mother’s love.”

They remind us of the saying of Luther, that there

is nought on earth so lovely as a woman’s heart, with

God’s grace to guide its love; and oh, how much

can a heart so loving, and so guided, achieve? or

rather, what can it not accomplish? No doubt some,
the basest, and the furthest fallen of men, caz trample
on a mother’s heart, and disregard her deepest feel-

ings; but if aught but Omnipotence could arrest a

sinner on the way to ruin, or win him back to God,

it would be the power of a mother’s affection, armed
as it is with a might which nothing but the extreme




43 The Miner's Son.

of degradation can resist. We are now about to
trace the history of one who owed not a little to his



mother,—we mean the reformer LurHer ;—and let
us view him, first, in the season of sowing; and,
secondly, in the season of reaping; or the spring and
the autumn of his earthly existence.

On the plains of Mansfeld, and by the banks of
the Wipper, about the year 1488, a boy might be
seen at play, who was destined to rank among the
greatest of the sons of men. He was then about
five years of age, and the poverty of his parents soon
obliged him to forsake his sports, and adopt some
means of procuring a livelihood for himself. He
was early trained in the fear of God ; and his father,
who was intelligent, though poor, resolved to attempt
to make his son Martin a scholar. He often prayed
by the boy’s bedside, and at last, after invoking the
Divine blessing upon him, sent him away to a school,
where, though he was grave and attentive, “his
master one morning beat him fifteen times in succes-
sion.” The impetuosity of his temper exposed
Martin Luther to temptation; and the rule then was,
to restrain by force and pain rather than by kindness.
Even his mother once corrected him about a filbert
till the blood came. Though it has been said of her
that “she patterned the widow of Sarepta, and trained
her son in- the fear of the Lord,” she too literally
obeyed the maxim of not sparing the rod. No
The Yoke Borne in Youth, 49

wonder, then, that fear became a ruling passion in
that keen boy’s mind. We read that, even when he
heard the name of the gentle Saviour, he grew pale
with terror. The compassionate Redeemer had been
described to young Luther as an angry Judge; for
Popery thus perverts the history of Him who will not
break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking
flax.

When this ardent boy was about fourteen years of
age, he was accustomed to sing from house to house
to procure a morsel of bread. He has himself told
us that he had to beg. Providence, however, found
for him a home in the bosom of a Christian family,
where his powers expanded, and his heart began to
beat with life, and happiness, and joy. Once a
begging boy, he is on the way to eminence, because
he is cultivating the powers which God had given
him; and when his teacher, Trebonius, uncovered
his head and made his bow, as he always did, in the
presence of his boys, he had more reason to do
obeisance than he at all supposed, at least in regard
to the class in which young Martin Luther stood.

At an early period he had serious thoughts of God.
He felt his dependence upon Him. He often fer-
vently asked the Divine blessing on what he did.
He began each day with prayer, then proceeded to
church, then hastened to study, and, throughout the
day, assiduously employed every waking hour. But

w 4
50 Earnest, but not Converted.

he was not yet a child of God. Conscience might
be quick, fear might be strong, prayer might be
ardent, but nature could make Luther all that; it
might not be the work of the Holy Spirit, and conse-
quently it was not Christian. In the library at Erfurt,
however, a discovery was made which was to change
the whole tenor of his being. One of the volumes
which he opened there was a Bible. It was the first
he had ever seen, for Popery hides the Word of God
alike from young and old. Luther read, he marked,
he read again ; and now the spell is broken, his soul
will soon be on the wing! Sickness came in his
case, as in that of the modern Luther, Thomas
Chalmers, to deepen these impressions and solemnize
the soul; and though no one who knows what con-
yersion is would say that Luther was yet converted,
impressions are made which it will not be easy for
him to erase,—a hand has taken hold of him from
which it will not be easy to escape. ‘The favour of
God now became the one thing needful. Conscience
wa



s roused. He trembled as before the Judge; and
when the question rose from his heart to his lip,
“Am I sure that I enjoy the favour of God?” con-
science loudly answered, No. He lost a friend by
the hand of an assassin, and now the inquiry was,—-
What would be my lot were I suddenly cut down as
Alexis was? Next, a thunder-storm overtakes Luther;
he is terrified, and vows to enter a convent. ‘There,
A Convent, not Christ, fled to. 51

he thinks, he will escape from sin; he will become
holy, and so prepare himself for heaven. Mortifica
tion, fastings, vigils, penance, self-inflicted woe, are
to do again what the death of the Son of God had
done already! Self-salvation, self-righteousness, the
Redeemer dethroned, and man in his place—behold
the objects aimed at by Luther, and by crowds
besides, in entering a convent! ‘The menial offices
which he performed, the drudgery to which he sub-
mitted, and the insolence which he endured from
stupid monks, were all like a price offered to Him
who invites us to come “without money and without
price” at all. Young Luther was not yet a Christian.
He did not know that it is not a convent, but Christ,
that saves the soul.

At length, however, the Word of God began to
assert its own supremacy. In his convent Luther
found another Bible, fastened by a chain to a parti-
cular spot, and that was his place of frequent resort
Still he did not savingly understand the Scriptures.
He read like the blind groping for the wall; he
scarcely even saw men like trees walking; he was
still a monk of the intensest kind; and he has care-
fully recorded, that “if ever a monk had got to
heaven by monkery, Luther would have been he.”
Yet fear haunted him still. His conscience grew
more enlightened ; its condemnation was therefore
more loud; and the young monk sank into despair
52 “Vain is the Help of Man.”

when he could find no righteousness within, and
knew of no righteousness without. A moral tempest
swept over his soul, and Luther was driven of the
wind and tossed. The smallest faults were now
regarded as great sins. In a word, he says, “I
tormented myself to death to procure peace with
God; but, surrounded with fearful darkness, I nowhere
found it.” How could he find it, when he was not
seeking it where alone it can be found—in the
Saviour of the lost? But God was thus training
Luther for his future work. He was to know that
vain is the help of man, that a retreat into a cloister
is not conversion, that self-inflicted torture is but
another form of sin: he must either get possession
of something higher and better, or perish in his
unrelieved misery.

And at length deliverance came. A man of
wisdom and of experience—in short, a Christian—
visited Luther's convent, and soon discovered
Luther's condition. “Instead of making a martyr
of thyself for thy faults,” this visitor said, “throw
thyself into the arms of the Redeemer. Confide in
Him, in the righteousness of his life, and the
expiation of his death. Keep not back. God is not
angry with thee—it is thou who art angry with God,”
were his wise and soothing words. Such counsels
proved the balm of Gilead to that wounded spirit ;
and the Scriptures, so dark or so terrifying before,
Luther's Reaping Time. 53

became “an agreeable sport, and the most delightful
recreation.” He had found Christ in them, and that
made him leap for joy. “Oh, my sin, my sin, my
sin!” exclaimed the monk.* “Know that Jesus
Christ is the Saviour even of those who are great,
real sinners,” rejoined the brother born for adversity.
Luther now saw light in God’s light, and his soul
began to magnify the God of his salvation. “It i
impossible to comprehend God out of Jesus Chri




and that truth received into his heart, filled it with
peace and joy in believing. Luther was now a
Christian. The Spirit of God had showed him the
thiggs of Christ, and Christ had become “all his
salvation.”

Thus, then, did Luther sow in tears; now hoping,
and again despairing ; now seeking to lean on some
creature for help, and then driven by the law of God
from that refuge of lies. But consider next how he
reaped, after his days and nights of toil. Never
a more abundant harvest on earth than his. He
grasped the Word of God, he laid it up in his heart,
and it literally became the seed of the kingdom in





his soul. He became a man whose word made the

* It proves the presence of the “one Spirit” to notice how identical are
the feelings of men of every class and country when convinced of sin, An
aged Kaflir, named Genote, once employed the very language of Luther
when in similar circumstances. “Oh, my sins, my sins!” he said to a
“The greatness of my sins makes my heart as heavy as a
mountain of lead.” Itis the meeting of extremes—the greatly gifted Luther,
and the naturally imbruted Kafir.





54 Kings of the Earth

world resound, and who shook even the terrible
Papacy to its basis. It is true, Luther once begged
for a bit of bread, but it is as true that God chooses
weak things to confound the mighty. To be great
we must begin with being little, and God set this
man among princes at last. Having taken into his
heart the great central truth, that Christ, and Christ
alone, is the Saviour of sinners—a truth almost wholly
Luther



buried under the corruptions of Popery-
went forth conquering and to conquer, and never
halted till he had subdued a large portion of
Europe by that truth. Joyous, hearty, and happy
amid all his trials, he burned the Pope's bulls, he
denied the Pope’s power, he opposed the Pope’s
emissaries ; in particular, he resisted one who had
been sent out from Rome to sell to the Germans
Indulgences in sin, and, in that holy war, he eman-
cipated millions in Christendom. By the blessing
of God, Luther, in short, accomplished what no man
since the days of the apostle Paul had achieved.
There is a brilliant assemblage convened at
Worms; it is designed to suppress the progress of
Luther's triumphs. All that is reckoned great and
gorgeous on earth was there. An emperor, Charles
V., in wh
six electors of his empire were present; twenty-four

¢ dominions the sun never set, presided ;



dukes were there, with thirty archbishops and
bishops; seven ambassadors ; and among them one
Combined against the Truth. 55

from England. ‘The nuncios of the Pope swelled the
lordly crowd, till two hundred and four personages,
with an emperor at their head, formed the tribunal
before which Martin Luther, the poor and solitary
monk, was to appear for God and truth. And was
he put to shame? Nay. “Advance in the name
of God,” whispered one to him, “and fear nothing
—God will not forsake you ;”—and Luther advanced.
‘The Pope had condemned him, but God stood by
him, Luther was under the ban of Antichrist; but
He who is a sun and shield was near him to shelter.
‘The Pope had doomed him to perpetual silence ;
Luther was about to speak to hundreds of assembled
princes. One of these very princes said to him,
“Fear not them who can kill the body, but cannot
kill the soul”—and he was comforted. Startled for
a breath before such an assemblage, but soon calm
again, because “stayed upon God,” Luther did his
duty, and feared no evil. “OGod! O God! O thou
my God!” was a clause in his prayer at one of these



appearances.
the world... .. The cause is thine; and it i
everlasting. O Lord, be my help. Faithful God,

“Assist me against all the wisdom of



just and

immutable God, I trust not in man..... Stand by
my side, for the sake of thy well-beloved Son, Jesus
Christ, who is my defence, my buckler, and my
fortress.” As he thus trusted in God, he was helped.
He was, in short, with God; and before the august
56 The Victory of Faith

tribunal he was kept serene and_ self-possessed.
Prayer—at least the answer to it—had made him
great and strong. When asked—would he retract
his views? he replied, without violence, calmly,
meekly, and modestly, but with great firmness, in the
very presence of the emperor—that till he was con-
futed by the writings of the prophets and apostles,
he would not; but were that done, he added, “I will
forthwith retract all my errors, and be the first to
seize my writings and commit them to the flames.”
“T neither can nor will retract anything, for it is not
safe for a Christian to speak against his conscience.”
‘Then, gazing on the assembly before which he stood,
and which held his life in its hands, Luther ex-
claimed—“ Here I Am; I CANNOT DO OTHERWISE ;
Gop HELP ME, AMEN.”

“The writings of the prophets and the apostles,”
—these formed Luther's stronghold. From these he
would not be dislodged; for he felt that God was in
them of a truth. Behind that breastwork he could
cope with and conquer emperors, princes, and poten-
tates of every degree. Before the truth, the power
even of the Papacy quailed. Upheld by it, Luther
fought the good fight of faith at Worms; and through
all his heroic pilgrimage, till he died in peace, he was
kept steadfast by that anchor; he was safe behind
that high tower. He had sowed indeed in tears, and
tears he often shed, both over sin within and sin
The Monk and the Emperor, 57

around him, for few ever strove as he did to keep a
place for God in God’s own world. But, by God’s
grace, Luther succeeded; and in his own day, in our
day, and till time shall be no more, his struggles
will be found to be the means of emancipating, ex-
alting, or purifying the minds of ten thousand times
ten thousand. Such was, such is, and such will be,
Luther's harve: “God help me, for I can retract
nothing.”—Oh, had our youth the grace and the
heroism to imitate that example to hold fast God's
holy Word amid the scoffs and the taunts of godless
companions, how bright would be the prospects of
the future! In the Hall of Worms there was a
mighty emperor, but there was a mightier monk.
And why mightier? Because the Redeemer kept his
word—“ Lg, I am with you alway.” And is he not
present still, to strengthen, to counsel, and to shield
all who place their confidence in him? Was “that
solitary monk who shook the world” an exceptive
case? Nay. Were we like him—as faithful to our
God, and as resolute in clinging to his arm—it would



be seen how rich a harvest we should reap. Is not
God’s wisdom still ample? Is not God’s righteous-
ness still all that we can ask or think? Is not God's
strength still sufficient? Is not his Son still and for
ever his unspeakable gift? And all these are ours, if
we sow as Luther did, to the Spirit, and live as Luther
did, unto God,


VI.

The Hing.



=3'T is not very common to find godliness on a
throne. ‘The Scriptures, indeed, tell kings
to be wise. They assure us that kings

shall yet be the nursing fathers of the Church, and
thus point us forward to the time when at the name
of Jesus every knee shall bow. They say that “not
many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not
many noble, are called;” but, there are some: and,
in the fulness of time, we know, the kingdoms of this
world will yet become the kingdoms of the Lord and
of his Christ.

Let us now glance at the history of a king who
anticipated those days of glory, and, by the grace of
God that was in him, strove to make his kingdom
truly a portion of the kingdom of Christ. It is well
known that that was the character of Edward VI. of
England; and if we consider how well he sowed, and
how abundantly he reaped, the happy lot and life of
a child of God may become more and more ap-


Early Goodnes 59

parent, or be more and more commended to the
young.

That prince was born in the year 1547, and though
his father was the fierce and fiery Henry VIIL., the
youth was early placed under the guardianship of
able and godly instructors. At the age of six, Sir
Anthony Cook, who is described as a sincere friend
to the gospel, became Edward’s tutor; and afterwards
he found a noble counsellor and friend in Archbishop
Cranmer—in that honest and worthy prelate who had
not feared to uplift his testimony to the truth of the
gospel before the nobles and statesmen of England,
though most of them had had their hearts corrupted
by the evil influences of Romanism. Under such
admirable supervision he made a rapid progress, and
when but nine years of age could write letters in
French and Latin. But it is not merely early scholar-
ship ; it is early goodness that signalizes Edward VI.
‘That the Spirit was his teacher, is manifest from much
that he wrote and did; while his reverence for the
Word of £c0d, the fountain of all good, is sufficiently
attested by the well-known fact, that when a Bible
was placed for him to stand on that he might reach
some object which he wished to examine, he declined
to place his foot upon it, remarking that it should
rather be treasured up in his head and his heart.

» When Edward was only in his tenth year his father
died, so that at that tender age this young prince
60 The English Josiah.

ascended a throne amid keen contending factions.
Archbishop Cranmer then reminded him of Josiah’s
youthful zeal in reforming his Church and land,
and urged King Edward to make the King of Israel
his model. Nor was he averse to act on the advice;
and on the very day of his coronation, he showed to
what he looked for guidance. Three swords were
borne before him, emblematic of his three kingdoms ;
but the young monarch wished a fourth—the Sword
of the Spirit, the Word of his God. To that he
traced up all his power; and he told his courtiers,
that “he who rules without the Word of God is not
to be called God's minister, or a king.” The Bible
was accordingly carried before him, as at once the
charter of his rights and the guide of his life.

His correspondence with Cranmer, when only a
child, enables us to see further still into the heart of
Edward. He told that prelate, that “he considered
godliness as a thing to be desired and embraced by
him above all things;” and when one so young
acted resolutely on that maxim, we need not wonder
to hear it said, that at no subsequent time was reli-
gion more generally prevalent in England than in the
days of Edward VI. The country was adorned and
enlightened by the Word of God. The mass, that
Dagon of Popery, began to fall; images were swept
away, and other forms of superstition abolished.
Amid all this, the king, though only eleven years of


CRANMER'S TESTIMONY TO THE TRUTH
Popery and its Struggles. 61

SS

age, was studiously preparing for his kingly functions
by acquiring knowledge regarding his realm; and to
some of the wisest of his subjects the royal boy
appealed for information on such subjects as the
following :—Whether religion, besides promoting the
glory of God, be not also the best means of promot-
ing civil order? Indeed, such solidity of judgment,
and such deference to God in one so youthful, and
surrounded by so many snares, are more like some
embellished legends than simple historical facts ; they
could scarcely be credited, were there not documents
of that period still in existence which prove beyond
a question that Edward VI. was all that we have said.
A foreign divine once told him to “hold it an un-
doubted truth, that true prosperity was to be obtained
by him in no other way than by submitting himself
and his whole kingdom to Christ, the highest Prince ;”
and the monarch of England delighted to act on the
advice.

Nor was the advice unnecessary. The intrigues of
Papists, struggling then as now for power, threatened
to embroil the kingdom. Other plots thickened, so
that, though Edward strove to show that “by God
do kings reign,” he was not without the tribulation
which is the way to the kingdom above, to monarchs
and menials alike.

He was now thirteen years of age, and, compared
with youth of the same age now, King Edward may
62 A Mode.

be classed among men of erudition; while “ the mani-
fold grace of God that was in him” shone more con-
spicuous than even his learning. He wrote to one
of his subjects, at that time in France, to “regard
the Scripture, or some good book, and give no rever-
ence to the mass at all.” In a word, the secular and
the spiritual were beautifully blended in the attain-
ments of King Edward. His kingdom and his soul
were attended to as before God, each in its own
place; and no finer character can attract the regard
of the youthful student of history than that of
Edward, the successor of such a king as the tyranni-
cal Henry VIIL, the predecessor of such a queen as
the bloody Mary.—aAs those of Edward's age roam in
quest of health on the mountain-side, they may have
noticed some gentle little flover—the wood anemone,
forget-me-not, or heart’s-ease—seeking a shelter in
that inclement spot under the shade of some tall
shrub, while overhead the curlew’s plaintive cry may
sound like a wail over the lonely thing. So lonely
was Edward VI. in that high sphere which he graced
so well, but where so many strove to draw him from
his steadfastness. That he held fast his integrity,
however, is certain ;—it is proved by the fact that he
offered John Knox a church in London, though that
bold man had reproved, in a sermon, the misconduct
of the Duke of Northumberland, and the Marquis of
Winchester, even to their face.
Clouds and Darkness. 63

But all this promise was about to be blighted—a
dark portentous cloud was gathering over England
and the Reformation. In 1552, symptoms of con-
sumption began to appear in the king; and as we
have seen how assiduously, and with how many
prayers he sowed, let us now consider how he
reaped. He, if ever one, sought God early—he, if
ever one, employed the seed-time well and wisely;
and what was his reward when his autumn so sud-
denly came?

His anxiety to secure a Protestant successor, in
the event of his own death, perhaps led Edward to
adopt some unwise or impolitic steps; but in as far
as the accounts of his closing hours have reached us,
“they were peace.” He appeared, indeed, to be
cut off in the midst of his days, but no doubt

“ He lived till life's great work was done ;”

and the manner of his death shows how ripe he was
for a better and a brighter crown than that of Eng-
land. He had endowed Christ’s Hospital, in London,
for scholars; St. Bartholomew’s for the sick and the
maimed; Bethlehem for the insane, and allotted
Bridewell for the idle and the dissolute; and when
he attached his signature to the deeds, with a dying
youth’s trembling hand, he thanked God that he had
lived to do it. But he had to address himself to yet
more solemn work—he had to die; and about three
64 The Last Prayer.

hours before his death, the royal boy offered up the
following prayer :—

“Lord God, deliver me out of this miserable and
wretched life, and take me among thy chosen.
Howbeit, not my will, but thine be done. Lord, I
commit my spirit to thee. O Lord, thou knowest
how happy it were for me to be with thee; yet, for
thy chosen’s sake, send me life and health, that I
may truly serve thee. O my Lord God, bless thy
people and save thine inheritance! O Lord God,
save thy chosen people of England. O my Lord
God, defend this realm from Papistry, and maintain
the true religion, that I and my people may praise
thy holy name; for thy Son Jesus Christ’s sake.”

In spite of all his boasted independence, man is
only a climbing plant—a parasite. Left to himself,
he trails along the earth—he grovels in the dust; but
clinging, as the vine-tree clings to the espalier, or the
elm, he mounts and soars till he has reached the
topmost bough, and then you may see his tendrils
still shooting up into space, as if he would mount,
and climb, and soar yet further. Edward VI. was a
plant of this class. He clung close to the Plant of-
Renown, and by its help we have seen how soon he
shot up to the stature of perfection.

Now, were it not a blessed thing were youth in
every sphere to be as early decided as this “ British
Josiah”? ‘Though events occurred in his reign which
A Contrast. 05

all will deplore, Edward was preserved from many
entanglements by his early resolution to be for God,
and not another; and it would be the same with all,
were all decided like him. Surely no one ever re-
gretted being too early saved! Surely, surely no one
ever lamented being too soon ripe for heaven! As
the young tree is easily bent, and the brook at its
spring-head easily turned aside, godliness may be
more easily learned in youth than age; and we give
it as the result of twenty years’ experience, that we
have known few old men converted—we can name
only one in all that time. On the other hand, the
early godliness of Edward VI. seems to beckon the
young to be followers of him in the narrow way; and
if his case do not allure, are there not others which
may well terrify or drive? “I once saw a man
dying,” said a minister of Christ, “ who was a terror
to himself and all who saw him. He was not thought
a very wicked man... . But the king of terrors soon
made him think and tremble. Behind him he saw
nothing but a life spent without love to Christ, and
before him he saw nothing but the wrath of an
angry God; in his body he felt nothing but pain and
weakness, and in his soul nothing but remorse and
despair. He rolled about his wild eyes, and smote
his breast, and wrung his hands. He cried for par.
don, and spoke some dreadful words about eternal

damnation, and then groaned, trembled, and died.”
a 5
66 The Death of a Sinner.

Now, will the young contrast this death-scene with
that of King Edward?

Will they decide which death they would prefer to
die—the death of the royal boy, breathing out his
soul to God who gave it; or of the guilty man,
blaspheming himself into a darker eternity?

Will they answer the question, Is it not madness
to delay?

Entangled in the world, and lost for ever; or
conquerors over the world through the grace which
came by Jesus Christ—which should the young, if
they be wise, prefer!




vu.
The Fudge.

ZN climbing the cone of Mount Vesuvius,
when the volcano is active, streams of



molten lava may sometimes be seen creep-
ing slowly down the slope. When the eruption is
violent, the matter which it discharges either falls
in fiery showers, or rushes down the mountain with
a speed from which it is difficult to escape. But in
calmer states of the volcano, the stream is sluggish,
if it may be called a stream at all.

On the molten matter it is easy to stamp any
impression that may be desired. The contents of
Mount Vesuvius at times so wild and desolating, may
thus be shaped into graceful figures, such as may
ornament the halls of monarchs, or adorn the persons
of their queens. In other words, by management
and care, what would be dangerous and destructive
is converted into a decoration. When the lava is
taken at the proper time, it may be rendered not
merely harmless, but a source of wealth, or of plea-
sure and enjoyment.
68 Sir Matthew Hale.

«nd it is the same in regard to the mind of man.
Take it when tender and impressible, and you may
mould it at pleasure; let it become fixed and rigid,
and it will mock your utmost power. Let us now
study the life of an eminent man who was thus early
impressed.

Sir Matruew Hate, “ the renowned Lord Chief-
Justice of England,” was one of those men who are
raised up from time to time, as if to tell the world,
by a living example, what true Christianity is.
Though he was engaged in a profession which ranked
among the most engrossing of all, and lived in an
age when the minds of men were greatly disturbed
by civil commotions, he still held fast his integrity.
He was a burning and a shining light; and both
Oliver Cromwell and Charles IT. rejoiced to do him
honour. Would the young learn how to be steadfast
and unmovable, or how to fear God, and have no
other fear? Let them study with care the life of
Judge Hale, first in youth, and secondly in manhood
~—or, first in the seed-time, and then in the autumn
of his earthly existence.

He was born in the year 1609, and lost his mother
before he was three years of age, his father before he
was five. He was religiously trained, however, by
some pious relatives, and became an extraordinary
scholar, both at school and at Oxford. As too often
happens, some incidents took place in his youth
The Escape. 69

which, for a time, enticed him from the path on
which he seemed to have entered. He appeared to
choose his portion among some of those whom the
holy God so often declares to be fools. He seemed
to be in training to pour

“ Curses on is heart who stole
‘The gem of truth from his unguarded soul.”

But young Hale was soon set free from these tram-
mels, and adopted resolutions concerning them which
he was enabled to keep throughout his subsequent
career. He also had felt that evil communications
corrupt good manners; and when he experienced
their degrading effects, he broke loose from them at
once, to rejoice in the freedom which can bé enjoyed
only by the holy and the pure.

It was when he was about twenty years of age that
Hale became deeply sensible of the folly of those
paths in which most of the young are prone to walk.
He then abandoned the habits which had been grow-
ing upon him in spite of his early training, and be-
took himself so resolutely to study as a lawyer, that
for many years he read at the rate of sixteen hours
each day. This happy change in the soul of Hale
was wrought by means of a lawyer in London, whom
experience had taught the costly price which man
must pay for sinning. The father of that lawyer had
disinherited him for the vices of his youth, and a
younger and a better brother succeeded to the family
Jo Decision, and its Cause.

estates. Mortified by this, Glanvil began solemnly
to reflect on his conduct, and a thorough revolution
was ere long wrought in his life. When the younger
brother saw the blessed change, he invited his own
and his brother's friends to a feast, and when the
party assembled, there were found under the cover
of the disinherited youth, the titles to his estate, thus
formally restored by his brother! He had done
what he was sure their common parent would have
done, had he lived to see the happy change which
came over that youth, whose own experience thus
fitted him to act as a friend and a counsellor to
Matthew Hale when in danger of yielding to tempta-
tion. That disinherited youth, when he gave way to
vice, had sown the wind, and reaped the whirlwind,
and his case was a warning to all who can reflect.
He could speak because he had felt, and some were
wise to listen.

But young Hale was rendered still more decided
in his religion by an event which happened to one of
his companions. He was suddenly taken ill in
Hale’s presence, and supposed to be dead. As
that youth had brought his illness on himself by his
own hand, Hale immediately withdrew to another
apartment, where he fell upon his knees and cried
for mercy.—It was the deciding point in his history;
and from that event his time was divided between
religion and the duties of his profession. To show
Sabbath Love. qt

how watchful he now became in regard to his soul,
it may be mentioned, that habits were formed at this
period in which he persevered through life, insomuch
that for six-and-thirty years he never was absent fora
single Sabbath-day from the house of God. He
revered that sacred institution as one of Heaven's
most blessed gifts—the very queen of days.

But the plan of life adopted by this youth may
enable us to understand how laboriously he sowed
beside all waters. One of his regulations was, to
renew his covenant with God in Christ from time to
time; and by renewed acts of faith, to receive Christ,
and rejoice over his relation to him, Another was,
to set a sleepless watch over his infirmities and
passions, as well as the snares which were laid in his
way. A third was, to serve God in his ordinary call-
ing, and to “mingle somewhat of God’s” in all that
he did. A fourth regulation was, to review the
evidences of his personal salvation and the state of
his soul from time to time. By these and similar
resolutions, carried out with admirable perseverance,
he reduced his mind to great subordination, and was
able to blend the service of God with his most ordi-
nary studies. Indeed, his common duties were
religion, so that his soul became like a well-watered
garden—“a garden inclosed.” ‘Though careful never
to parade his religion like the hypocrite, he was as
careful not to hide it under a bushel like the man
72 “A Fruitful Bough.”

who is ashamed of Christ. Nay, he sought to de
good unto all as he had opportunity, and was richly
rewarded by Him who judges righteous judgment.

One of Hale’s acquirements deserves tobe specified
as a model—he never wasted time. When weary
with the study of law, or of divinity, he turned for
rest to philosophy, or mathematics, and thus acquired
such knowledge as added many embellishments to
his more solid acquirements. In no respect, per-
haps, have the complaints of men been more deep
or loud, after the Spirit of God has made them wise,
than regarding mis-spent time. As Hale grew up to
manhood, he effectually put away all ground for that
complaint; and it may be safely said, that no man
ever arrived at excellence worthy of the name who
did not act as Hale did.

It was thus, then, that this eminent judge was pre-
pared for the high position which he held, and his
life is another illustration of the truth, that “ godliness
has the promise of the life that now is, as well as of
that which is to come.” As a judge, it was one of
his maxims, “Not to rest on his own understanding
or strength, but to implore and rest on the direction
and strength of God;” while another was—“ Not to
be solicitous as to what men might say or think, pro-
vided he kept himself exactly according to the rule
of justice ;” and guided by these two, he moved on-
wards in the even tenor of his way, till he rose to one
The Harvest. 3

of the highest positions which a British subject could
hold. He adorned it with unusual godliness, and
left a memorial of his virtues, such as too few have
been known to leave. Like Joseph, “he wasa fruit-
ful bough; a fruitful bough by a well, whose branches
run over the wall.”

How, then, did this devout and well-trained lawyer
reap? We have seen how he laboured during the
seed-time of his life, and learned that sixteen hours
each day were given to God, and to study; What,
then, was his reward? Did he reap sparingly or
bountifully? Was his a meagre or a rich reward for
serving God with so much assiduity?

When only forty-four years of age, Hale was
raised to the bench by Oliver Cromwell, who prized
his ability and admired his worth. In 1671, Charles
II. made him Lord Chief-Justice of England; but,
amid the engrossment of such spheres, where his
judgments were characterized by singular equity, he
found time to devote his great powers to God in yet
another way. That was in preparing his “ Contem-
plations,” a book which evinces at once his godliness
and his grandeur of mind. He was, as we have
seen, a conscientious observer of the Sabbath. He
was as conscientious in walking in the footsteps of
the Hebrew captain, who said, “Whatsoever others
may do, as for me and my house, we will serve the
Lord.” Amid these exercises, he sometimes spent
14 The World Awed.

whole hours on the Sabbath in private devotion ; and
his “Contemplations” are the fruit of these hours.
By means of them he is still speaking to men—still
proclaiming how much man may do for God when
the heart is right with Him, and how perfectly con-
sistent pure and undefiled religion of the highest
order is with all the activities of life, or with the
duties of high office as well as of more lowly spheres.

But the time came when Hale must retire from
public life, and the reward which he had reaped, or
was reaping, for his godliness, then became apparent.
The general satisfaction which all the kingdom felt
at his administration of justice induced the king,
who delighted to honour the judge, to decline receiving
the resignation of the upright and godly man, as long
as he could be induced to hold office; and soon
after he had resigned, a special order from the king
perpetuated his salary during his life. Even a dis-
solute and unprincipled monarch could not but
reverence the man who continued unsullied amid all
that was corrupt in his age; and when Hale at last
withdrew into retirement, he was followed by the
acclamations of all. It is not always that the godly
are favourites with the world, for it loves only its
own; but Hale was an exception—his sanctity awed
men into respect.

And, amid the quietude of a private sphere, he
led a life of strict devotion, for he was one of those
The Eulogy. 75

who can pray without ceasing, and who have the
kingdom of God within them. As greatness had
not corrupted, so decay scarcely enfeebled his soul,
and he walked to the grave robed

“Tn that fair beavty which no eye can see.”

When near the entrance to the valley of the shadow
of death, he was known to be in habitual communion
with that world of spirits and of glory on which he
was about to enter, and even till hoary hairs his
God was with him, He had “carefully considered
the poor,” for he gave them the tenth of all his
income; and, according to the promise to such men,
“the Lord delivered him in the time of trouble?” It
is, indeed, a rare thing to find one so unlike the
world so much lauded, yet it is recorded concerning
Hale, that he was universally much valued and
admired by men of all parties. None could take
offence but at his justice, and anything spoken
against him would have appeared a paradox, or
untrue. “His name,” it is added, “is scarce ever
mentioned since his death without particular accents
of singular respect. .. And all that knew him
well do still speak of him as one of the most perfect
patterns of religion and virtue.” In a word, his
eulogy is thus pronounced by one who had both the
means and the ability to judge: “Sir Matthew Hale
was one of the greatest patterns this age has afforded,


76 Sowing unto God.

whether in his private deportment as a Christian, or
in his public employments, either at the bar, or on
the bench.”

And thus briefly do we see again how sowing well
is the sure prelude to reaping well. He who under-
takes to be as the dew unto Israel, watches over the
seed; it springs up, and the fruit is unto holiness.
In some it may bear sixty-fold, and in some an
hundred; but in either case, there can be no lack to
them that fear God as Matthew Hale so long and
wisely feared Him. His case proclaims aloud that
godliness the most strict, and piety the most practical,
form no barrier in the way to success even upon
earth. Nay, even licentious men like Charles II.
are sometimes constrained to offer homage to a man
like Hale. They are awe-struck by the grandeur of
such a character, though they may not learn to copy
it, and sometimes wait to

“ Catch the rapture of his parting breath.”

From this case youth may understand, that if they
would ascend to eminence, if they would take their
place among the benefactors or the ornaments of
humanity, if they would be enrolled among those
whose memory men do not willingly let die, they
should adopt the maxims and walk in the footsteps
of Sir Matthew Hale: In the rich and expressive
language of Scripture, “their barns would then be
Judge Hale and Judge Jeffreys. 71

filled with plenty,” “they would come again rejoicing,
bringing their sheaves with them.”

But, about the same period as Matthew Hale, there
lived another judge in England—the truculent
Jeffreys. His atrocities are now proverbial, for his
wholesale butcheries make the ears of them that
hear of them to tingle. His coarse and oppressive
treatment of those whom he had caught in his wolf-
like grasp, is recorded to his perpetual infamy.
The way in which he pandered to the taste of a
degraded royalty betokens the despicable lowness of
the legal assassin; in short, his name is a hissing
and a byword in the mouths of all good men, Now,
how instructive the contrast between Judge Hale
and Judge Jeffreys! The one tramples religion in
the dust; the other makes it his pole-star, or the
man of his right hand. The one sacrifices men in
hundreds to his brutal passion ; the other trembles
in the sight of God lest he should, even in ignorance,
inflict an injury upon any. The one is hated as a
monster, and rarely mentioned but with an epithet
of execration or ignominy; the other is held up as
one of the purest patterns of all that is good. The
one died regretted and revered by a nation; the
other was detected when lurking in disguise, by one
whom he had insulted, and was cast amid contumely
into prison. Now, whence this difference in the lot
of these two judges? Because they sowed so differ-
78 Paradise Restored.

ently, and because there is a God that judgeth in the
earth. Jeffreys sowed to his own fierce passions,
and he reaped the whirwind at last. Hale sowed
unto God, and it was returned into his own bosom
an hundred-fold increased. Oh, were youth to learn
wisdom from the contrast, they would find how good
and how pleasant it is to follow the Lord fully.
‘They would discover that paradise is not utterly
lost, or at least that, in the Saviour, its riches and
beauty may be restored. Even here below they
might gather the first-fruits of the tree whose leaves
are for the healing of the nations.






VIIL
The Hoble.

Siq\E are told in history that Plato the philo-

sopher was crooked and deformed—that
Aristotle had a stammer in his speech—
that Alexander the Great had a wry neck and a
screeching voice—and that their deformities or
defects were often imitated by the flatterers of these
great men. Their learning or their noble deeds,
men, for the most part, could not imitate, but some
peculiarity in conduct, or some grotesque habit, all
could copy; and there gathered round the men who
have been mentioned, and many besides, a crowd
of sycophants anxious to appropriate their very
imperfections.

We are now to invite the attention of the young



to the case of a nobleman whose habits were too
widely copied in his day. And even in our day,
some may be disposed to take encouragement from
his sins, rather than learn a lesson from his change
of heart and habit. Yet, as men erect beacons upon
80 The Fowler's Snare.

rocks, or give warning at the approach of danger,
we would hold up the case of a once infatuated noble-
man as a beacon and a warning to the young. We
were once wandering on the banks of the Tiber, in
the dreary Campagna to the north-west of Rome.
From the summit of a rising ground we noticed a
company of fowlers, plying all their wiles and all
their ingenuity to insnare the birds which flitted
around them. Decoy birds, and invisible nets and
traps, and many other devices, were employed to
catch the prey—but the prey was wary. There
might be some silly birds which fell into the snare,
but the main flock always fled timorously away at
the sight of the snares—they flitted from scene to
scene, and left their pursuers bewildered and
chagrined. Now, the Bible takes up the figure, and
says, “Surely in vain is the net spread in the sight
of any bird.” It adds, “Our soul is escaped as a
bird out of the snare of the fowler; the snare is
broken, and we are escaped.” Will the young, then,
flee from the snare, while we now describe one who
was caught in it, and whose body at least perished
miserably there?

Joun Wumor, Earl of Rochester, was born in
the year 1648. His father was a stanch friend to
Charles II.; he fought battles for him, and assisted
him at last to escape into France. His family was
in consequence high in favour with that dissolute
The Perils of a Court. 81

monarch, when he was afterwards restored to his
throne.

The young earl was possessed of great ability:
even in early life he was an extraordinary scholar,
and displayed those great powers of mind which
became a snare, because they were grossly perverted,
or even a curse, because they were not directed
according to the holy mind of God. When young
Rochester went to the university, he began to indulge
in those habits which grew with his growth, and at
last became his tormentors as well as the cause of
his death. Listening to the evil which was in his
heart, rather than the counsels of those who loved
him, especially the counsels of his God, he soon
plunged into sin—he sowed iniquity, he reaped
wretchedness, and out of his sad example the young
may learn wisdom, as Samson, according to his
riddle, found honey in the carcass of the lion.

‘The Earl of Rochester went early abroad to travel,
and though some attempts were then made to reclaim
him from the ways on which he had entered, they
were not attended with very much success. On his
return, in his eighteenth year, he frequented the
court of King Charles, where his brilliant wit, his
graceful person, with his high breeding and attain-
ments, soon made him a favourite. One who knew
him well has said, that had such excellent seeds
fallen upon good ground instead of being perverted

a) 6
82 The Downward Career.

by base and degrading passions, psalms and hymns
and spiritual songs might have been the result,
whereas they only helped to lay him lower than the
beasts that perish, ‘I am sure,” he says, “his gifts
were but miserable comforters, since they only
ministered to his sins, and made his example the
more fatal and dangerous.” Now, here we may
notice what it was that confirmed the ruin of this
nobleman: it was his appearance at the court of his
king. Dazzled by the brilliance of such a scene,
the young are ready to suppose that all happiness is
there, that every wish must be gratified, and man
made perfectly blessed under the smile of royalty,
or in the shadow of a throne. But let them read
the history of Rochester, and be undeceived. The
court to which he went was one of the most wicked
upon earth. Licentiousness reigned there with far
more power than royalty. All that was decent was
banished. Sin was reduced to a system. Guilty
pleasures were the only pleasures known, for the
prince and the peer vied in their excesses till virtue
fled in disgust from their neighbourhood.

It was there, then, that young Rochester chiefly
dwelt. For a time, indeed, he went to sea, and in
an engagement with the Dutch he showed that his
heroism was equal to his wickedness. Withal,
however, he was gradually ripening in iniquity; and
so mad was this youth on self-indulgence, that he
A Martyr to Sin, 83

subsequently confessed to a minister of religion that
“for five years together he was continually drunk :
not all the while under the visible effects of it, but
his blood was so inflamed that he was not in all that
time cool enough to be perfectly master of himself.”
Gross sensuality, or mad adventures, often at the
hazard of his life, were all the result of Rochester's
fine accomplishments, because what God had given
him was perverted and abused. He, above most
men, sowed to the flesh; his whole youth was like
one long act of shameless iniquity, and we shall soon
see how he reaped, or how he was filled with the
fruit of his own devices.

No doubt, amid all this, as we read in his life, he
had frequent intervals of sad and gloomy reflection.
Conscience was not always silent. His bones were
not of iron, nor his sinews of brass. He could not
always wallow in pollution without feeling degraded,
and some sickening hours he spent. At length, how-
ever, he succeeded in fortifying himself against all
such thoughts. Religion was banished from his
mind—nothingremained to control him ; and asahorse
rushes into the battle, this youth rushed upon ruin.
The king, indeed, more than once banished him
from court, but his wit was requisite for the amuse-
ment of a monarch who was as licentious and
criminal as that nobleman could be, and they were
soon reconciled—they added fresh fuel to each
84 The Sinner’s Portrait.

other’s passion, or mutually helped to treasure up
woe.

The biographer of Rochester tells that he could
not describe many of his proceedings. They were
so revolting or so offensive that he could not even
name them; and it must be enough to say, that so
confirmed was he in sin that he sometimes nearly
died a martyr to it. He who is a just God, and an
holy, left him to reap as he had sowed, and he found
it to be very bitter. But though we do not dwell on
particular acts, we may glance at the general princi-
ples of this self-ruined youth.

In regard to morality, or duty between man and
man, Rochester confessed that he and his compan-
ions regarded it only as a decent pretence. He cared
not for it, and was under no restraint, or felt no com-
punction for violating the most sacred obligations
that can bind man to man. Malice, revenge, and
all that could either injure the good name or pain
the hearts of others, were cultivated as if upon
system ; and in reading the life of this profligate but
accomplished youth, we are forcibly reminded of the
words of Paul—the moral portrait of the heart of
man—* As they did not like to retain God in their
knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind
to do those things which are not convenient; being
filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wicked-
ness covetousness, maliciousness ; full of envy, murder,
The Lowest Deep. 85

debate, deceit, malignity ; whisperers, backbiters, haters
of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil
things, disobedient to parents, without understanding,
covenant-breakers, without natural affection, im-
placable, unmerciful: who knowing the judgment of
God, that they which cornmit such things are worthy
of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in
them that do them.”

So fully was that dark but truthful picture realized
in this noble youth, that his sins are said to have
been “all high, and extraordinary.” He seemed to
delight in something singular and extravagant in his
impieties. He wrought iniquity “with greediness,”
and laboured systematically to corrupt others, as he
was himself debased. Indeed, a glimpse at his
character and moral conduct is a perfect commentary
on the Word of God regarding the height and the
depth of the iniquity of man’s heart. “ This was the
heightening and amazing circumstance of his sins,”
writes one who thoroughly knew him, “ that he was
so diligent and industrious to recommend and pro-
pagate them; not like those of old who hated the
light, but those the prophet mentions ‘who declare
their sin as Sodom, and hide it not; who take it upon
their shoulders, and bind it to them as acrown.’ He
framed arguments for sin; he made proselytes to it,
and wrote panegyrics upon vice.”

So self-degraded did Rochester thus become, and
86 The Unknown God.

so blinded by sin, that he lost the power of discri-
minating between right and wrong. Vice was so
familiar to him, that he could scarcely recognise its
opposite, and he became among men what the vul-
ture is said to be among birds—it banquets upon
carrion, but sickens at a perfume. All checks
upon sin the most gross and licentious “he thought
unreasonable impositions on the freedom of man-
kind.”

And as these were his views of duty from man to
man, what were his views of the creature’s duty to the
Creator? He deemed it all a pretence. He thought
that studying a problem in Euclid, or writing poetry,
or any similar exercise of mind, would do men as
much good as. prayer, or communion with God,
or other things which enter into true religion, that
is, the religion which God’s Holy Spirit teaches.

Rochester confessed, indeed, that they were happy
who felt such impressions as religion produces. But
as he thought of God only “as a vast power,” and
not as a heavenly Father, a Counsellor, and Friend,
he never felt the blessedness of resting upon Him.
God was an unknown God to this deluded youth ; and
his very religion, if we may apply that title to it, was
alie. “To love God seemed to him a presumptuous
thing,” and need we say more to show the very
youngest mind how deep were the delusions into
which this gifted nobleman had sunk? Too true it is,
The Atheist Convicted, 87

Oe Se.as His time of power was spent
In idly watering weeds.”

But Lord Rochester’s last years were spent in yet
more systematic efforts to do what was equivalent to
selfruin. Versed as he was in the secret mysteries
of sin, he strove to efface every vestige of the pure.
Poems which were disgusting—satires where malice
and hatred against all that is lovely and of good report
were rife—collections of pictures in his abode which
we cannot venture to characterize—these were among
the means which this profane man employed to cor-
rupt all whom he could influence. Nay, on one
occasion he adopted a still bolder course. Not
satisfied with corrupting his fellowmen, he proceeded
to blaspheme, or to deny his God; but his own words
shall describe the scene: “ At an atheistical meeting
at a person of quality’s, I undertook,” he says, “to
manage the cause, and was the principal disputant
against God and piety, and for my performances re-
ceived the applause of the whole company; upon
which my mind was terribly struck, and I immediately
replied thus to myself: ‘Good God! that a man that
walks upright, that sees the wonderful works of God,
and has the use of his senses and reason, should use
them to the defying of his Creator!’” The blasphemy
involved in such a course was too much even for
Lord Rochester, and an outraged conscience recoiled
appalled at what was done.
8S The Reaping-Time.

Such, then, was the early life of this gifted but dis-
solute nobleman. Sin in every form was his delight.
Evil was the only good that he knew. For the sake
of an earthly monarch’s smile, or the applause of a
fellow-sinner, he took pains to promote his own
wretchedness and ruin. Plunging into the vortex of
sin, he dragged others along with him. Without re-
straint, and without a check, he drank up iniquity as
the ox drinks up water.

But having seen how Rochester sowed, let us
next consider how he reaped. We have examined
his work—look next at his wages. We have heard
him denying his God—did he perpetrate that and
prosper?

Nay, his reaping-time began quite early, and never
was there a better illustration of these words of truth,
“What a man sows, that shall he also reap.” The
horror which sometimes seized upon him, even amid
his wicked courses, gave too sure a token of what
was in store; and though he rushed the more on that
account into sin, he was taught to feel that fighting
against God and wretchedness are but different names
for the same thing. Great remorse sometimes preyed
upon him, and when sickness came, and dragged
him from the whirl of indulged passions in which he
lived, he felt the agony of such ways as his. He
tried, indeed, to flee from solemn thought, but it
haunted and overpowered him, He was made
The Prodigal Returning. 89

‘ashamed of his former practices, rather because he
had made himself a beast, and had brought pain and
sickness on his body, and had suffered much in his
reputation, than from any deep sense of a Supreme
Being, or another state.” ‘The folly and madness
of vice” now became too apparent: it was like a fire
in his bones, wasting and consuming him. He was
now convinced that there is a God, for he felt the
grasp of that God upon him. He was beset by
many diseases, the result of many sins—he was racked
by pain—at times he was tortured by remorse, and
confessed, at length, that “he would give all he was
master of,” could he enjoy the solace which the re-
ligious possess. He had travelled the whole circle
of what the world calls pleasure. He had drained
the cup which realized the fable of Circe, and turned
him into a beast: “ Whatsoever his eyes desired, he
kept not from them, and withheld his heart from no
joy.” But when he looked back on time mis-spent
—on the body wasted, and the soul entombed in
iniquity, he saw that impiety is as hostile to man
and society, as wild beasts let loose on them would
be; and though his body was racked with extreme
pain for weeks together, Rochester confessed that
the agonies of his mind sometimes swallowed up the
sense of bodily suffering. “ All the pleasures he had
ever known in sin,” we quote again, “ were not worth
that torture he had felt in his mind.” The horrors,
go 4 Monument of Mer



in short, through which he passed were as deep as
his pleasures had been exciting—the religion which
he had formerly despised became an object of anxious
search at last—that is, in the evil day he began
to consider—“O blessed God, can such a horrid
creature as I am be accepted of Thee—who have
denied thy being, and contemned thy power?” “Can
there be mercy and pardon for me? Will God own
such a wretch as I?” These were some of this
deluded man’s exclamations, when he began to feel
the misery which ever clings to sin. Nay more: the
convicted voluptuary—the man who, according to
the Word of God, “drew sin with a cart-rope,” was
heard “ crying out that he was the vilest wretch and
dog that the sun shined upon, or the earth bore:” he
“wished he had been a starving leper, crawling in a
ditch; that he had been a link-boy or a beggar, rather
than to have sinned against God as he had done.”
“The language of fiends, which was so familiar to
me, hangs yet about me,” was his sad confession. A
premature old age, with crowding diseases, crept over
him, so that one who might have been one of the
glories of his age was one of its greatest reproaches
—so corrupted, so debase | had he become.

To the praise of the glory of the grace of God, the
Earl of Rochester became a monument of mercy, a
brand plucked from the burning. The fifty-third
chapter of Isaiah was the portion of the Word of
4 Death-Bed Warning. 91

God which first found its way to the conscience and
the heart of this misguided profligate, and it came
upon him with a power which he could not resist.*
But that brand bore through life the marks of the
fire; and Rochester passed into eternity, humbled
to the dust at the remembrance of what he had been
—of mercies abused—of God forgotten—and a
Redeemer blasphemed.

But perhaps his own words to one who came to
visit him on his death-bed will enable the young
most easily to see into his heart. “O remember
that you contemn God no more!” he passionately
exclaimed. “He is an avenging God, and will visit
you for your sins; he will, in mercy, I hope, touch
your conscience sooner or later, as he has done
mine. You and I have been friends and sinners to-
gether a great while, and I am the more free with
you. We have been all mistaken in our conceits and
opinions. Our persuasions must be false and ground-
less; therefore God grant you repentance.” +

“ Our persuasions must be false and groundless.”—
These, as we have just seen, were the words of this
penitent to his former companion in guilt, and will

* The young should read the Life and Death of the Earl of Rochester,
by Bishop Burnet. The death-bed of the penitent is there described in a
very instructive way.

+ In Rochester's day, Popery was making keen struggles to throw back
the Reformation. ‘The profligate court of Charles IT. was just the hot-bed
in which that system would grow. And nothing is more remarkable than
Rochester's hatred of Popery as soon as he felt what sin is, and the danger
of perdition because of it.


92 The Apples of Sodom.

they not, sooner or later, be the words of every
sinner? Here surely is a preacher whose words
cannot be mistaken. His brow is encircled by a
coronet. Wit sparkles in all he says. He is the
centre of a wide circle of admiring followers. His
very king depends upon him for mirth—he cannot be
happy if Rochester be long absent. But does all
that make Rochester himself happy? Is it enough
to bask in the smile of a king, or stand at the right
hand of athrone? Ah, no! As soon as Rochester's
sin finds him out—that is, as soon as he knows his
true condition—racking pain, the agony of remorse,
together with the pangs of bodily disease, take hold
of him, and he finds only labour and sorrow. How
different now from the man of pleasure, who seemed
to be born only to enjoy! tossed upon the heaving waters—a melancholy moral
ruin—that was the Earl of Rochester, in the thirty-
third year of his age. And never, among the sons
of men, never was there one whose history more
plainly proves the connection between sin and
misery—between sowing to self, in defiance of God’s
merciful warning, and reaping the wretchedness
which must result from man’s conflict with the
Almighty. He went down to the grave prematurely
aged, and, as to the body, self-destroyed. His vin-
tage yielded only the grapes of Gomorrah, or the
apples of Sodom.
A Voice from the Tomb. 93

But we close our lessons for the young from the
life of this greatly deluded man, with his dying re-
monstrance, formally attested, subscribed, and ad-
dressed to his former companions in guilt :—

“For the benefit of all those,” he solemnly says,
“whom I may have drawn into sin by my example
and encouragement, I leave to the world this my last
declaration, which I deliver in the presence of the
great God, who knows the secrets of all hearts, and
before whom I am now appearing to be judged—

“That from the bottom of my soul I detest and
abhor the whole course of my former wicked life.

“That I think I can never sufficiently admire the
goodness of God, who has given me a true sense of
my pernicious opinions and vile practices, by which
I have hitherto lived without hope and without God
in the world, have been an open enemy to Jesus
Christ, doing the utmost despite to the Holy Spirit
of grace.

“And that the greatest testimony of my love to
such is to warn them, in the name of God, and as
they regard the welfare of their immortal souls, no
more to deny his being, or his providence, or despise
his goodness ; no more to make a mock of sin, or
contemn the pure and excellent religion of my ever-
blessed Redeemer ; through whose merits alone, I,
one of the greatest sinners, do yet hope for mercy
and forgiveness. Amen.”


IX.

The Soldier.

Wig HEN walking over the field of Bannockburn
Ag or Waterloo, it is not difficult, even for an
inexperienced eye, to discover where the

battle must have raged most fiercely, or where blood
must have flowed in greatest abundance. In regard
to Bannockburn, once discover the standard stone,
with the Castle of Stirling, to be kept from the Eng-
lish, who are marching from the south, and all is
easy. ‘There is the King’s seat; from that spot King
Edward surveyed the battle-field, as chosen by Bruce,
and issued his commands. And there is the level
ground, then a morass, on the edge of which an
English detachment under Clifford was discomfited
by Randolph. Yonder is the spot where Bruce, on
his palfrey, cleft the skull of Bohun through the
helmet, and broke his royal battle-axe by the blow.
And along that valley stretched the main struggle.
There are the Bloody Faulds—the name still given
to the place where the battle was the hottest. All
War. 95

around, in short, are the scenes amid which a brave
but oppressed people struggled for freedom, and, by
astrong right arm and indomitable will, made it good
against tremendous odds.

Yet in wandering over such scenes, and meditating
on the results of such a contest, one can scarcely
help asking the question,—Is war ever justifiable at
all? Was Bannockburn—was Flodden-field—was
Blenheim—was Waterloo—were a thousand other
struggles really defensible, when the principles of
eternal truth are the standard by which we judge !
Though we are not prepared to aver that there never
was a just war—that circumstances never occurred to
warrant a people boldly to assert and bravely to
maintain their rights—we need not scruple to say,
that however just any war may have been in its rise,
it was carried on amid crime, and accompanied with
what was neither more nor less than murder. All
wars of aggression—all struggles for ascendency—all
attempts to compel the weak, at the point of the
sword, to submit to the strong, are manifestly unjust,
they are robbery and pillage on a national scale.
But even where war is defensible, or where a valid
pretext for waging it exists, it is accompanied by
crimes, and followed by results which may well cause
the bravest to weep ; it is conducted amid such out-
breaks of fiendish passion, and so deepens all that is
malignant in the mind of man, that he who holds the
96 Colonel Blackadder.

Word of God in his hand, or has the love of his
fellow-men in his heart, will long for the time when
men shall beat their swords into ploughshares, their
spears into pruning hooks, and learn the art of war
ho more.

Youth, for the most part, are captivated by the
pomp and circumstance of war. Certain fishes of
the deep are said to be caught by a fragment of red
cloth as a bait, and the young are often as silly as
they. But to make the young more wise, werare now
to lead them through the life of a soldier—of one
who was competent to judge of war, for he had ex-
perience in the one hand, and the Word of God in
the other, to guide his judgment. Colonel Joun
BLACKADDER was a brave soldier; how then did he
sow, and how did he reap upon his battle-fields?

He was born on the 14th of September 1664, and
was early impressed with religion. His father was a
minister who suffered for his adherence to the truth,
and the boy, nursed amid hardships, learned to prize
what made his father a persecuted wanderer. That
boy was admitted to the Lord’s table when he was
only twelve years of age, and though little is known
of his history from that period to his twenty-fifth
year, his own diary of a future period refers us back
to his boyhood, and tells of the warm and lively
religious affections which characterized his early
religion.
Persecution. 97

In the year 1689 young Blackadder entered the
army. For twenty-eight years before the revolution
of 1688, Scotland had been the scene of bitter per-
secution, Perverted law and violated rights—the
excellent of the earth butchered—the young and the
old hunted like wild beasts on the mountains—bodily
tortures inflicted—estates forfeited—exile and im-
prisonment endured—and death at the hands of
legalized tyrants, were the peculiarities of that period,
during which our forefathers had to glorify God in
the fires. But the worst woe of all was that which
threatened the nation with the re-establishment of
Popery, under a Popish king. Men contemplated
that prospect with horror, for behind the throne of
such a monarch they saw only the chains of slavery,
the instruments of torture and death, with the extine-
tion of what many prized more highly than life—the
Word of the living God. In more peaceful times,
men, especially the young and inexperienced, cannot
estimate aright the trials of our fathers amid those
bloody scenes. The mountain-side—the dungeon—
the great deep—the land of exile—the battle-field—
and the scaffold, could all attest in what countless
forms suffering and death assailed those who would
not make man the lord of conscience—who would
not take their religion from a fellow-creature—or
place him on the throne of God over all.

The banished king of Great Britain, a bigoted

wo a
98 The Cameronians.

Papist, was plotting for his return to our land. In
league with France he tried to restore superstition ;
and with it, mental slavery again. But our fathers
would not quietly submit to be robbed of their Bibles
and their faith. ‘Thousands of Presbyterians hastened
to defend what they held so dear, and a regiment of
eight hundred men, called the Cameronians, was of
the number. It was raised in a single day without
one beat of the drum, and the conditions on which
the soldiers were enlisted deserve to be noticed.
The officers were to be men of right principle, who
had not helped in former times to destroy the truth
which was now to be upheld; the regiment was to be
employed in defence of the Protestant religion if
assailed by Papists, and of liberty if invaded by arbi-
trary power, either in the shape of Popery or Prelacy.

It was in this regiment that young Blackadder
served, so that he was there as an officer avowedly
for the defence of the truth, should it be again en-
dangered. The house of Stuart, in their furious zeal
for arbitrary power, had trampled on all that was
sacred, so that every patriot then reckoned freedom
and the exile of the Stuarts synonymous. “The
downfall of the French tyrant and of Antichrist,” was
the object of Blackadder's earnest prayer; for he felt
that if France and Rome, which were then in league,
were weakened, men’s souls would be comparatively
safe. To help, then, to defend religion and liberty,
A Good Soldier of Christ. 99

that youth was enrolled as an officer of the Camer-
onians, and what was his experience as a soldier?

He was engaged with his regiment in three cam-
paigns, during the year 1702 and 1703, and was
mercifully preserved amid many dangers. But it was
in the year 1704 that some of the most remarkable
events of his life took place, and Blackadder entered
on that year in the spirit which the following passage
from his diary describes: “I resolve,” he says, ‘to
spend my time better, so that I may have peace in it,
and serve God more cheerfully ; to trust in him, and
cast all my cares upon him; not to be anxious or
careful about anything, but by faith and prayer to in-
terest Him in it. Lord, give me grace to live so;”-—
and he felt the blessedness of thus trusting in God,
at the commencement of eventful times. Before en-
tering on active service this brave soldier set apart
half a day, to humble himself in the prospect of anew
campaign ; to cast himself and those who were dear
to him upon God; and to depend on Him for grace
and strength, for counsel and conduct to guide him
at every step. It was not his sword that secured the
victory; it was the Lord of hosts who gave him
might.

And it shows how watchful this soldier was over
his own soul, to know that even amid the tumult of
marching with his regiment from one field of battle
to another, he was constant in the exercise of private
100 A Christian Hero.

devotion. He withdrew for retirement and medita-
tion as often as he could; and when these could not
be enjoyed, he kept the way to the throne of grace
open by short ejaculations of prayer. “I think this
is the great secret of Christianity,” he says, “whereby
a spiritual heat of soul is kept up, and communion
with God and his Spirit cherished and maintained.”
“Tord Jesus, be thou the shadow of a great rock in
a weary land to me.” “Marching all day; kept
alone and retired my thoughts for prayer and medita-
tion as much as I could, among such a crew, and was
serene and spiritual.” “ Marching and expecting to
come to action, committed myself and all that con-
cerns me into the hands of God”—such are some of
the recorded feelings of this devout man, amid
dangers which often appal the stoutest. He kept
close to the Almighty Defender, and felt that he was
in safety there.

But we can study Blackadder's character amid yet
more stirring scenes. During some pause ina battle,
he once wrote to a lady at Stirling: “Iam just now
retired from the noise of drums, of oaths, and dying
groans, I am to return in a few minutes to the field
of battle, and wrapping myself up in the arms of
Omnipotence, I believe myself no less safe, as to any
valuable purpose, than if sitting in your ladyship’s
closet.” These lines were written while the battle
of Blenheim was raging, and evince at once the
Blenheim—Oudenard, Tor

courage of the true hero, and the secret of his
heroism. The Lord is a sun and shield, and under
that protection Blackadder was as safe as in the
most serene retirement. He says, “I was enabled
to exercise faith, relying and encouraging myself in
God. By this I was made easy and cheerful. I was
looking to God during all the little intervals of action,
for assistance to keep up my own heart, and to dis-
charge my duty well in my station ;” and if that spirit
was common in that bloody war, we may cease to
wonder at the victory of Blenheim.

In that action Blackadder was wounded in the
throat; but, even in that respect, he says, “The
Lord is a shield and buckler unto me:” “ Had the
wound been half an inch either to one side or the
other, it might have proved mortal or dangerous.”
And similar goodness was elsewhere experienced.
At the battle of Oudenard, Blackadder was posted
in a position from which he could not move, exposed
to the enemy’s fire, and yet forbidden to return a
single shot. Even there, however, he “enjoyed
peace and tranquillity; his God supplied him with
everything needful on the occasion.” “ My thoughts
ran much,” he writes, “on the hundred and third
Psalm, which I sang repeatedly on the march. Our
regiment was not properly engaged in attacking;
but, what was worse, we were obliged to stand in
cold blood, exposed to the enemy’s shot... .. Twas
102 The Armour of God.

sometimes engaged in prayer—sometimes in praise
—sometimes for the public—sometimes for myself.”
At the siege of Lisle, also, where his danger was as
great, he was kept in similar peace. Before taking
up his position, he read some passages of Scripture
applicable to a case like his. The words addressed
to Joshua, “Have not I commanded thee? Be
strong, and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither
be thou dismayed; for the Lord thy God is with
thee whithersoever thou goest”—the language used
on another occasion, “ They cried to God in the
battle, and he was entreated of them because they



put their trust in him’—the noble expressions of
David, “The Lord is my rock, my fortress, my
deliverer, my God, my strength in whom I will
trust ;” or, “ Through God we shall do valiantly, for
it is he that shall tread down our enemies”—were
some portions of the Word which at once animated
and consoled this soldier. Nor were other encour-
agements withheld. While walking in his chamber
in a cloister, on the eve of action, his eye chanced to
rest on a coat of arms above the mantel-piece. The
motto was, “Deus fortitudo mea,’—“ God is my
courage.” He assumed the motto for his own, and
“was strengthened and encouraged in the Lord.”
At the battle of Malplaquet, Colonel Blackadder
experienced similar protection, and was kept in
similar peace. Though his regiment was cannonaded,
Perfect Peace. 103

and suffered severely, and though that day was one
of the most bloody in the history of war, he says,
“ For my own part, I was nobly and richly supplied,
as I have always been on such occasions, with liberal
supplies of grace and strength, as the occasions of
the day called for them. I never had a more pleas-
ant day in my life: my mind was stayed, and trusting
in God, I had perfect peace; all went well with me;
and not being in hurry, and hot action, I had time
for plying the throne of grace.” “Take thou the
glory, O Lord, to thyself!” is his exclamation.
“Not unto us: it was not our bow, but it was the
Lord’s doing.”—Popery was to have been inflicted
again on the nations, especially on Britain, and by
means like these it was prevented. For that end
Colonel Blackadder did his duty as a soldier, and
waited on the Lord of hosts for strength.

It was the common practice of this Christian hero
to visit the field of battle soon after any engagement
in which he had fought, and his meditations there
are full of interest. To lie upon the field during the
night after a conflict, as Blackadder did after the
battle of Oudenard, is one of the most solemn posi-
tions which a child of the dust can occupy. When
the tumult has ceased, and the silence of night suc-
ceeded to the roar, and the clamour, and the rush,
and the wild huzza of the battle; when the stillness
is broken only by the groans of the dying, or the
TO4 The Battle-Fidd.

imprecations of the agonized as their wounds and
mangled limbs grow stiff; or when the distant and
random gun of a retreating army is heard, the scene
is one of the most appalling kind—it might well dis-
enchant the lovers of war, and conquest, and blood-
shed, were their hearts not steeled against such
appeals. But Blackadder sought such scenes, that
he might see into war's very heart, and his comments
are instructive.

After the battle of Donawert, on the Danube, he
s: “In the evening I went into the field of battle,
and got a preaching from the dead. The carcasses
were very thickly strewed upon the ground, naked
and corrupted: yet all this makes no impression on
us, though we see our comrades’ and friends’ bodies
lying as dung upon the earth. Lord, make me
humble and thankful.”

On a similar occasion he writes: “ Oh, I wonder at
the sottish stupidity of men of our trade: they see
their comrades, with whom they used to drink and
debauch, plucked out of the world in a moment, yet
have not so muchas a thought that they have a soul,
or what will become of them when they die. O Lord,
I shall always look on impiety and refusing Christ as
the greatest madness: the longer I live I see the
greater need of holiness. To behold a poor creature
on a death-bed,’—he refers to the spectacle of the
ounded dying in hospitals after a battle—“ on the


Miserable Comforters. 105

brink of eternity, afraid to quit hold of all earthly
comforts, nothing but horror... . surrounded with
jolly company, miserable comforters, is very affect-
ing. Then to get a view of Christ, O how precious!
Then to see a Saviour stretching out his hand to
receive the soul, is worth a thousand worlds.” On
one occasion, three of Blackadder's friends fell in the’
same action—‘“ in the morning all three were full of
health and spirits—at night they were buried at the
colours.” There are hearts which can resist all such
appeals, or even turn them into stimulants for more
determined sin, but Blackadder's heart was not one
of these. He saw that the British soldiers were “the
most Heaven-daring sinners in the army ;” but he tried
not to be a partaker in their sins, and it was to keep
his heart humble, and his conscience tender, that he
went to hear the voice of God uttered by the dead.
“That,” he said on one occasion, “ might have been
edifying, for in all my life I have not seen the dead
lie so thick as they were in some places about the
intrenchments;... for a good way I could not go
amongst them, lest my horse should tread the car-
casses that were lying heaped on one another.” That
his conscience was kept tender amid these scenes,
appears from what follows: “The Lord of hosts is
the God of battles, and has preserved me many times
there; he is also the God of sieges, and has preserved
me as wonderfully there: I desire to put my trust in
106 Repose in God.

Him.” And then he says, addressing his wife, who
was at a distance: “When you grow anxious and
thoughtful, take my riddled hat and hang it up before
you, and trust in God who hath delivered, and doth
daily deliver, and in whom I trust that he will yet
deliver.” That was the man who set apart seasons
for humiliation and prayer even amid the din of
battle; who retired, even amid its havoc, to com-
mune with his God; who sang psalms on the march
to the field, and travelled in spirit to the throne of
grace even while the work of death was raging around
him.

And such is a glimpse at what may be regarded as
the sowing-time of this man’s life. In early years
we have seen that the good seed was committed to
his mind—we have watched its growth, its bloom,
and maturity—let us turn next to the autumn of his
life, and inquire whether his harvest was stinted or
ample.

After some vexatious delays, Blackadder was pro-
moted in the army, and it might have appeared to
those to whom promotion was the terminus of their
ambition, that now all was well; but this hero found
it to be otherwise. He soon discovered that eleva-
tion in rank brought only an increase of responsi-
bility and labour. His time for retirement and
communion with God was now diminished by the
pressure of other claims. His necessary official


Vanity of Vanities. 107

intercourse with godless men of rank deadened and
distressed him, After dining with the Duke of Marl-
borough, the general of the army, Blackadder’s con-
science forced him to write: “O Lord, wash and
cleanse me from the filth which I contract in this
wicked army, among vicious men, and filthy, idle
conversation. I flee to the mercy of God in Christ,
and to the blood of Christ for washing, for repent-
ance, and for remission of sit. O deliver me out of
these snares.” In other words, this man had been
advanced for his services. He was on the way to
still higher rank, and had become the companion of
princes; yet so debasing were the scenes through
which he had to pass, so corrupting his intercourse
with men who knew no pure principle, and were
urged onward mainly by the demon of war, that he
pined for an escape from such pollution. He saw
that camps and armies are not the scenes where souls
are trained for true glory, true honour and immor-
tality; and scarcely had Blackadder approached the
rank of a general-officer, when he began to be anxious
to be freed from its bondage. As a Christian, he
could not continue there, except at the bidding of
necessity. In communion with God he cou/d still be
blessed. He poured out his heart to Him, and re-
sorted from day to day to the fountain opened for
sin, but he was not reaping as the believer reaps.
“ Alas!” he exclaims, “ we forget that it is Sabbath,
108 The Believer's Burden

for there is nothing like it to be seen, but the con-
trary, as if we were in hell—nothing around us but
the voice of incarnate devils cursing and blasphem-
Referring to his own forgetfulness of God, he
says: “ How can it be otherwise, living in this army,
where there is so much to choke the growth of grace,
and so little to strengthen it. O Lord, pity me; thou
knowest what is best for me.”

Such, then, was what this believer reaped from his
hard-fought battles. ‘Cursing, swearing, drunken-
ness, robbing, thieving, mutiny.” “Vexed again

ing.”

with the immorality and scandal committed by some
in the society.” “O Lord, thou knowest that a
battle would not be so terrible to me as this day
(among profligates) has been; but thou seest this
trial needful for me.” “A sad day, liker a hell than
a Sabbath.” “This is one of the greatest hardships
of my employment, to be tied to such things.” “T
am not afraid for dangers and battles; through Thee
I shall do valiantly. I am more afraid of the snares
and sins of the wretched company I must be chained
to; but thy grace, O Lord, can make me escape
that pollution.” “ Sadbath.—Dining in company:
I wish I had rather dined on bread and water than
been in conversation so foreign to a Sabbath.”
“This is a sad employment. .. Oh, how do I
hate evil company the more I am in it. It is hell to
me; I cannot live in it. What do I, then, in the


The Misery of the Soldier. 109

army, where the scum and dregs of mankind are
gathered together? My soul is weary of the tents
of sin.”—Such are the records which meet us in
page after page of Blackadder's diary; and while
they show us the secrets of his soul on the one hand,
they show us the ungodliness of a soldier's life on the
other. Had he been one of those who have no fear
of God before their eyes, who regard not his Sabbaths,
who glory in their shame, who take pleasure in
iniquity, and who drink it up as the ox drinks water,
he would never have had reason to exclaim, “ This is
not my element,’—it would have been a congenial
and a pleasing employment. But knowing that he
had a God to meet and a soul to save—that sin was
the source of wretchedness—the germ of misery for
ever—Blackadder felt its touch, to be pollution ; he
panted and he prayed for an escape from its perils
and perdition. He was able to tear off the mask
from war, and show it in its native ugliness, hideous
as death, and hateful because developing all that is
vile and malignant in man. Religion made this
calm and intrepid soldier braver still upon the
battle-field. It kept him in peace even there. It
made conscience tender. It taught him to fear God,
and call his day “honourable.” It trained him to
live by faith, and endure as seeing God who is
invisible; but just on that account it made war an
offence, and showed the men who are called con-
Iro A Dud.

quering heroes, and applauded as such by the world,
to be too often the ministers of a demon whose food
is the blood of men. Blackadder entered the army,
convinced in his conscience that he was taking up
arms to vindicate the rights of his country, and save
his religion from the grasp of a despot, Louis XIV.
of France, and of a bigot, James II. of England; but
when he saw how these objects were promoted, and
how godless were the men side by side with whom
he fought, he grew weary of their contaminating
neighbourhood, and as soon as he could with honour,
he retired from a life which had disgusted him.

But we have not yet unmasked all that is revolting
in the scenes amid which Blackadder lived. At one
period, which cannot now be fixed, he was compelled
to fight a duel, and his antagonist fell. Blackadder
was the challenged party, on account of some offence
which he had given in conversation. He strove to
explain his words—he professed his readiness to
make any proper apology, or any concession or
reparation which the other party had a right to
demand. But, deaf to every argument, his challenger
rushed against him, while he retreated and expos-
tulated. All, however, was unavailing. His antagonist
would have blood. Blackadder at last drew his
sword, and his assailant fell. He was tried by a
court-martial, but acquitted, because, as the witnesses
proved, he had fought only in selfdefence. Now,
Character Retrieved. 1Ir

that was another result of his military life. It was a
sad sowing-time for Blackadder—a day too solemn
to be soon forgotten; and “the anniversary of it
was observed during all his future life, as a day of
fasting and prayer.”

At a subsequent period he was challenged by
another enemy, but refused to fight. In consequence
of that refusal, he was to be posted as a coward—
the usual charge against the man who fears God too
much to trample on his laws by murdering a fellow-
creature. But Blackadder silenced that imputation
by applying to the Duke of Marlborough for the
post of danger in an impending battle. He was
sent to that post, and not merely retrieved his good
name as a brave soldier, but did what was more—he
established his character as that of one who could
face an enemy, but would not commit a murder
under the disguise of a duel.

After long delay, Blackadder retired from the
army, which had become to him an intolerable
burden. He had reached a high rank. The Duke
of Marlborough spoke loudly in his praise as a
soldier. In action he had never faltered. For
two-and-twenty years of hot warfare, God had hidden
him in the hollow of his hand; but while still
comparatively young, he abandoned all, for he felt
that his soul was exposed to perils which man’s
power could not avert, and for which a diadem could
112 The Approach of Death.

not compensate. But what he could not find in the
army he did find to the full in his retirement at
Craigforth. He had still sometimes to contend
with “the enemies to God and his cause,” but he
had peace with conscience and with God, and was
honoured in various ways to advance the best
interests of men. He was not without his reward in
regard to this life, for he was made deputy-governor
of Stirling Castle, and honoured in other ways. But
his earnest prayer was largely answered,—“ Oh, to be
living as a stranger and a pilgrim, in sight of death,
judgment, and eternity;” and when- death did
approach, in the sixty-fifth year of his age, “he was
upheld and comforted by the prospect of an eternal
weight of glory.” “The brave soldier and the
devout Christian,’ as his epitaph describes him,
rested from his labours in the hope of a happy here
after. “I cannot say my affections are lively,” he
observed on his death-bed ; “but I hope I have got
a discovery of the matchless love of God, and of
Christ shedding his precious blood for the remission
of sin!” He had exclaimed, many years before his
life drew near its close, “O what a happy life a life
of faith is!” “O how do I admire the goodness of
God to me, that I am so easy, serious, and cheerful !”
Again and again he blesses God who “kept him in
perfect peace,” even on the field of battle; and now
that the last enemy and the last struggle have come,
The Reward of the World. 113

victory is sure—it is easy. Like a shock of corn
fully ripe, he was gathered into the garner of the
Lord, and “joy came in the morning”—he was
satisfied when he awoke in the likeness of his God.
His courage, his success in life—all, in short, that he
had, was religiously traced up to the goodness of his
God, and that goodness did not desert him in the
valley of the shadow of death.

It was under the Duke of Marlborough, we have
seen, that Blackadder served, and we do not know a
better mode of showing to the young the blessedness
of “sowing to the Spirit,” that is, of leading a holy
life, than by contrasting the termination of Marl-
borough’s career with that of Blackadder. At the
close of his most brilliant campaign, the hero of
Blenheim had reason to feel how worthless were all
the honours which he had won. He had risen to
the highest position which a subject could hold. A
palace—one of the most splendid in Britain—had
been built for him by a nation which delighted to
honour him ; but after all, he was prosecuted by the
Attorney-General for misapplying the public money !
The House of Commons petitioned the Queen to
remove him from the command of the army, and
from all his public offices. The Queen complied.
Marlborough became in effect a degraded man, and
afterwards spent several years in a kind of exile, in
the land where he had acquired what men call

ay 8
114 The Choice.

glory; and even when he returned to his country,
after the party who disliked him had fallen, “his sun
went down amid the clouds of imbecility and
dotage.” Blackadder’s, on the other hand, set amid
a brilliance which increased as the evening of his
days wore on. Yet, bright as it was, it was shadow
and gloom to the portion which awaited him in that
land which has “no need of the sun, neither of the
moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God doth
lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.”

Now, let the young, especially the young who are
vainly expecting happiness in a profession whose
business is bloodshed, look on this picture, and on
that. Seeing that they must die, which death would
they prefer? A death at peace with God? or a death
where all is gloom?

Which life would they prefer? for it is the manner
of our life that must decide the result of our death.
The life of faith, of which Blackadder ardently said,
“Oh, how blessed it is?” or that life to which
faith is a stranger, and God an unknown God ?

RaazaSSS0
PSS ZA




The Philosopher.

EN are but children of a larger growth :
and “ The child is father to the man.”-
Such are two sayings which are ofter

quoted, and which are as true as they are popular.

That men are too often but children, at least in their

reasonings regarding religion, is proved by the

opinions which multitudes hold.

They think that they may be happy though they
live in sin; that is, men have deluded themselves
into the strange conviction, that they can extract
happiness from what wraps up misery in it, here and



for ever.

They think that God will prove untrue, and be
neither so holy nor so just as his word proclaims him
to be.

‘They think that they can control their own des-
tinies—their question is, “ Who is the Lord, that we
shouid obey him?” They will not permit the King
Eternal to do according to His will in the armies of
116 Jonathan Edwards.

heaven and among the inhabitants of earth. They
murmur against His sovereign awards, and are sur-
prised when He compels them to “be still, and know
that He is God.” They repeat the words, “Thy
will be done,” but they are amazed when the will of
God, and not their own, must become their law.

But we are now to glance at the history of one
who did much to free men from these delusions, and
make them the willing subjects of the King of kings.
Jonaruan Epwarps was born in the year 1703, and
his early training and habits were such as to afford a
presage of what he afterwards became. He was
tended, from his earliest years, with no common
care, by parents who were as eminent for godliness
as their son afterwards became as a philosopher, and
found a “father, friend, and tutor, all in one.” He
was early made acquainted with the way of salvation,
so that, even during his childhood, young Edwards
became the subject of deep religious impressions.
So much was this the case, that he and two youths,
his companions, erected a booth in a very retired
spot, to which they frequently resorted for social
prayer, and for a long period they continued to meet
in that lodge in the wilderness, While the giddy and
the thoughtless among their companions forgot that
they had either a soul to be saved or a God to mect,
these earnest boys were anxiously seeking the way of
life. They understood the truth, “They that seck
Religious Childhood. 117

me carly shall find me.” They had early begun to
be rational, and prefer God to man. They had
learned that wisdom’s ways are ways of pleasantness,
and instead of listening to the whispers of the old
serpent, they listened to conscience—they applied
their hearts to wisdom.

But it will be best to quote the accounts which
Jonathan Edwards gave of himself when looking
back to the period to which we refer—the sowing
time of his life, and, in his case, one of the most im-
portant seed-times that ever passed over man.

“Thad a variety of concerns and exercises about
my soul from my childhood,” he says. The first of
these was before he went to college; and as that took
place when he was little more than twelve years of
age, young Edwards was perhaps visited by such
awakenings when only seven or eight years of age.
He continued, he narrates, to be concerned about
salvation for many months ; he prayed in secret five
times each day, and spent much time in religious
conversation with other boys. Surely it was a goodly
sight to see such early earnestness! Would not the
young be happier and better were that more common?
In process of time, however, these fresh impressions
faded away ; and, though the boy was uneasy at the
change, he discontinued secret prayer. Affliction
came, but young Edwards was not reclaimed, till
trouble of conscience showed him the necessity of
18 God in Nature.

being decided for God. It then became the main
business of his life to make sure of salvation ; and,
amid inward struggles and fears, he was made willing
to “part with all things in the world for an interest
in Christ.”

The work of redemption, and the glorious way of
salvation by Christ, now became the subjects of his
delighted contemplation. The beauty and the meek-
ness of Jesus attracted his young affections. What
wearies godless youth, wearied young Edwards no
longer. Free grace was seen in all its wise adapta-
tions to man; in short, even at this early stage, he
was led into the very heart of the divine system by
which sinners are made the heirs of glory—having
the wisdom of God for their guide, and the peace of
God for their portion.

And even then, the youth who lived to rank among
“the greatest of the sons of men,” had vast and



wondrous conceptions of the depths of religion—

* He roved among the vales and st
In the green wood and hollow del



and thought of his God among them all. “A sweet
sense of the glorious majesty and grace of God,
which he knew not how to express,” would creep
over him as he gazed on the sky and the clouds. “It
was a sweet, and gentle, and holy majesty,” he said ;
“and also a majestic meekness, an awful sweetness,
a high, and great, and holy gentleness.” From this
The Light of God. 119

period his sense of divine things deepened, and his
enjoyment in the same proportion increased. To his
purified eye, the appearance of everything around
him was changed. The sun, the moon, and stars.
the clouds, and the blue sky—all nature, as well as
grace, were invested with new attractions ; because
the youth saw God his Saviour in them all. “TI often
used to sit,” he says, ‘and view the moon for a long
time ; and in the day spent much time in viewing
the clouds and sky, to behold the sweet glory of God
in these things, in the meantime singing forth, with a
low voice, my contemplations of the Creator and
Redeemer.” The lightning and the thunder, as well
as the sunbeam on the sleeping waters, had charms
in which young Edwards intensely delighted, though
even these could not fill his soul. Nay, he “had
vehement longings after God and Christ, and after
more holiness, whereby his heart,’ he records,
“seemed to be full and ready to break.” He now
lamented that he had not turned more early to God;
and his time was engrossed with the pursuit of divine
things, like one who was anxious to redeem the time.
He felt how good and how pleasant it was to have
God for his friend, and there never was a better
illustration than the case of this youth affords, of the
truth, “ God keepeth that man in perfect peace whose
mind is stayed on Him.” Serene as the evening of
a summer day his life had now become. He walked


120 Going on to Perfection.

in the light of God’s countenance. He was com-
passed about with songs of deliverance. His great
soul had found its resting-place and centre, and
meditation, prayer, and converse with God became
his common employments.

Edwards felt an eager desire to be in everything a
complete Christian, and conformed to the blessed
image of Christ. ‘It was my constant strife,” he
says, “day and night, and my constant inquiry, how
I should be more holy, and live more holily, and
more becoming a child of God and disciple of Christ.”
“To lie low before God, as in the dust—that I might
be nothirg and that God might be a//—that I might
become as a little child”—was the maxim and the
delight of Jonathan Edwards, even before he reached
his twentieth year ; and when little more than nine-
teen, the great philosopher of Christianity solemnly
dedicated himself to God, “to act as one who had
no right to himself in any respect.” From that
day till his spirit returned to the God who gave
it, his master-work was to advance God’s glory, and
prepare for His abode. He dug deep for a foun-
dation, for he was afraid to build upon the sand.
The knowledge of himself, acquired with so much
pains, drove this youth to Him in whom: the people
of God are complete, and there he rejoiced in the
abundance of peace. He was visibly preparing
for-—
The Student. 121

——* The dawning of that purer day

Only, as yet, to Aspiration given,

When clouds no more shall darken o'er our way,
And all shall walk in light—the light from heaven.”

Nor were the other attainments of this youth in-
ferior to his progress in religion. What can expand
the intellect, if not the study of the Infinite? What
can familiarize the mind with the august or the
majestic, if not meditation on the Eternal? What
can increase and dignify our knowledge, if not the
contemplation of the Omniscient? But with all these
young Edwards was familiar; nor did he fail to profit
by the study of such ennobling topics. When only
about ten years of age, he recorded his opinion re-
garding the immateriality of the soul, in a way as
delicate for its wit as it was keen in its reasoning.
Rapid and thorough attainments characterized him at
college. Even at this early age the peculiar powers
which made him so remarkable as a philosopher were
apparent, and, cultivated as they were with conscien-
tious assiduity, he laid the foundation of an eminence
in philosophy such as few of the children of men
have reached. At the age of fourteen he read some
of the profoundest works of the philosophers, with a
far higher pleasure, as he himself describes, “than
the most greedy miser finds when gathering up hand-
fuls of silver and gold from some newly discovered
treasure.” As he always studied with his pen in his
hand, to record his thoughts, young Edwards ac:
122 A Model.

quired the habit of thinking accurately, of thinking
connectedly, of thinking habitually ; so that eminence
was not secured by casualty, or at random—it was
the result of assiduous application, and long-continued
diligence. In short, Jonathan Edwards took as much
pains to be an accurate thinker, and to possess a
well-furnished mind, as many youths employ to lay
up materials for bitter reflection, when the days of
their folly or their shame end in ignorance, if not
disgrace. With careful, yet delighted steps, he
climbed ths steep and rugged ascent which leads to
eminence ; but he reached it in triumph—and from
that serene elevation he saw sights, and was familiar
with knowledge, which delight the soul of man, be-
cause they are connected with the all-glorious God.
Asa child, as a youth, and as a man, Jonathan Ed-
wards is a model as much as any fallen creature
could be; and were there multitudes walking in his
footsteps, multitudes would be on the way to glory,
honour, and immortality.

But, amid all his pursuits, the Word of God was
his master-study—it was always the first and the last
with him ; or rather, it was the guide and director of
all his other efforts. One of his earliest resolutions
is the following:—“To study the Scriptures so
steadily, constantly, and frequently, as that I may
find, and plainly perceive myself to grow in the
knowledge of the same.” Now, that is both the basis


A Prosperous Man, 123

and the key-stone of the arch. ‘That knits all com-
pactly together ; and, followed up as the resolution
often was, upon the bended knees of this devoted
stripling, we need not wonder at the greatness to
which he ascended. “To live with all my might
while I live,” was another of his resolutions, and he
kept it to the letter.
“No childish loss of philosophic pains”

was his. He resolved—he performed—and he was
blessed in his deed. He prospered like a tree planted
by the rivers of water, which brings forth his fruit in
his season.

But, without dwelling longer on the seed-time of
young Edwards, we must hasten away from it to think
of his autumn, and ascertain how he reaped. And
perhaps no man ever produced such mighty results
among his fellow-men, considering his natural dis-
advantages. He was born in the midst of a wilder-
ness; for that portion of America where his father
lived and laboured was then nothing more. He was
educated at a seminary which was ina very rudimen-
tal condition. He spent the better part of his years
as the pastor of a retired village, and the residue as
an Indian missionary in a still humbler hamlet. But,
with all these disadvantages,



“ His mind,
Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind,”

took up a prominent place among the philosophers
124 Maxims for the Christian

of his day. He is acknowledged as one of the chief
—nay, some rank him as the very first of those who
have laboured to free the mind of man from error,
and promote his highest interests. Amid such em-
ployments those who knew him tell that he lived in
the enjoyment of that peace which passes all under-
standing, and of the joy with which a stranger can-
not intermeddle.

It was a resolution formed by this man, “Never
to lose one moment of time, but to improve it in
every possible way he could.”

It was another, “ Never to do anything he would
be afraid to do it it were the last hour of his life.”

It was another, “ That he would live as he should
wish to do when he came to die.”

It was another, “To strive every week to be
brought higher in religion, and to a higher exercise
of grace than he was the week before.”

It was another, “Never to utter anything that is
sportive, or matter of laughter, on a Lord’s day.”

It was another, “That no other end but religion
should have any influence at all on any of his actions.”

And it was another, “To cast and venture his soul
on the Lord Jesus Christ, to trust and confide in him,
and consecrate himseif wholly to him.”

Now, guided by these and similar maxims, Ed-
wards moved among his fellow-men a benefactor
wherever he went. He was still but a youth when
The Path of the Just. 125

he began his career under such deep-reaching control ;
and the tenderness of his conscience, the purity of
his mind, together with the grandeur of his intellect,
marked him out as a man whom God had sent to
promote the blessedness of his fellow-creatures. But
let no youth suppose that Edwards arrived at his
ascendant position without an effort. It was, we
repeat, by laborious endeavours, by constant watch-
fulness, by detecting and repenting of the least de-
parture from God’s holy standard, that he became so
illustrious among the sons of men. He kept his
heart with all diligence; and, on the whole, we may
safely say that no child of the fallen Adam ever lived
a happier life, or one more serenely beautiful and
calm, than Jonathan Edwards. He rejoiced in the
light of God’s countenance, and walking humbly with
him, he reaped even on earth a far more rich reward
than if the gold of Ophir had been laid at his feet.
He /adhis trials—his hours of darkness and despond-
ency. From his fellow-men, also, he endured tribu-
lation; but, on the whole, his was the path of the
just—his was “the good measure, pressed down and
running over,” from the God whom he assiduously
served.

But it was not in his own soul alone that he was
blessed—he was made a blessing to the souls of
multitudes besides. While this great philosopher
preached to his fellow-men, they felt the power and
126 The Earnest Soul.

the weight of his words, for his own holy example
gave force to what he proclaimed, and about the year
1734 many forsook their sins under the urgency of
Edwards, and turned to the God from whom they
had long been wandering. Old and young felt that
a prophet of God was among them, and a rich har
vest of souls was gathered in. A deep and solemn
interest in religion pervaded all classes, “So exten-
sive was the influence of the Spirit of God, that there
was scarcely an individual in the town, either old or
young, who was left unconcerned about the great
things of the eternal world. ‘his was true of the
gayest, of the most licentious, and the most hostile
to religion. And, in the midst of this universal atten-
tion, the work of conversion was carried on in the most
astonishing manner. Every day witnessed its triumphs ;
and so great was the alteration in the appearance of
the town, that in the spring and summer following, it
appeared to be full of the presence-of God. There
was scarcely a house which did not furnish the tokens
of his presence, and scarcely a family which did not
present the trophies of his grace.” Edwards himsel!
supposed that “the number of apparently genuine
conversions were at least four each day, or nearly
thirty in a week, taking one week with another, for
five or six weeks together.”

But the blessed influence spread to other places.



‘Ten towns inone county are named as scenes of similar
A Spiritual Harvest. 127

awakening, and seventeen in another. No class, nor
age, nor description of men, was exempted. Upwards
of fifty persons above forty years of age, ten above
ninety, about thirty between ten and fourteen, and one
of four, became, in the view of Edwards, the subjects
of the renewing grace of God. About three hundred
persons thus became true Christians in one half year.
Nearly all the adult population of the town became
communicants. ‘The amazing power, the depth of
conviction of sin, the light, and love, and joy im-
parted, the great extent, and the swift propagation of
God’s truth in men’s souls, yielded a blessedness to
him who was the instrument in producing these re-
sults, such as cannot be understood by any but those
who know the value of a soul, “redeemed not with
silver and gold, but with the precious blood of Christ,
as of a lamb without blemish and without spot.”
Amid all these things, God appeared to that saint
“as a glorious and loyely Being, chiefly on account
of his holiness ;” and it was because Edwards strove
so well to “be holy because God is holy,” that he
was so signally blessed and made a blessing.

But we can only glance at such things as they are
read in the history of the great American philosopher.
We cannot tarry to tell how he stamped his own lofty
views of God andredemption upon thousands through-
out the world; how he uprooted false philosophy, and
helped to settle some of the most difficult questions
128 Death.

which agitate the minds of men. It must be enough
to record how he reaped such a harvest of souls as
has now been described, how the God whom he so
faithfully served honoured his servant, and gave him
a name such as few cither in the old world or the new
ever enjoyed. He was honoured to shed light on
the true nature of virtue; on the origin of evil; on the
atonement; on the doctrine of salvation by Christ's
righteousness; on the distinction between the regene-
rate and the unregenerate; on the nature of experi-
mental religion. And when he had done all this, how
did he die? His death took place somewhat suddenly,
but it was not unworthy of his life. His dying coun-
sel to men was an echo of all his lessons—‘ Trust in
God, and ye need not fear.” These were his last
words; and with them he cast his family, the college
of which he was president, and all his cares, on Him
who cares for his people. Edwards died with as
much calmness and composure as if he had been just
falling asleep. The God whom he had served with
so much zeal did not forsake him in the valley of the
shadow of death—nay, he was enabled to dread no
evil there.
“He fell, but felt no fear.”

Nor did the favour of his God forsake this remark-
able man even after death. We say nothing of the
life everlasting which he reaped beyond the grave,
for that is beyond the ken or the estimate of man.
« The Memory of the Just. 129

“It doth not yet appear what we shall be.” “ Eye
hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered
into the heart of man, the things which God hath pre-
pared for them that love him.” But even here the
great American philosopher has been blessed beyond
what usually falls to the lot of man. It is not very
common for grace to descend from sire to son: Lois,
Eunice, and Timothy, or three successive generations
possessed of “ unfeigned faith,” are not often imitated;
but in the case of Jonathan Edwards, it is remarkable
that his faith Zas descended. His ancestors for many
generations were godly, and his descendants, now
amounting to about two thousand, have in general
been distinguished in a similar way. Many of them
are ministers of religion, who advocate the great cause
to which his life was devoted; and as they have risen
up to call him blessed, he is still speaking in the
churches by those whom his example instructed, or
his zeal inspired.

And on a retrospect of all this, can that be “a
sound mind” which does not desire to imitate the
example or walk in the footsteps ofsuch aman? His
gifts are not within the reach of all, but his godliness
is; and were the young to begin when Jonathan Ed-
wards began, to be guided supremely and always by
the mind of God, to what heights might they not as-
cend—what good might they not achieve? Men rear

their monuments to heroes, and laud the memories
w 9
130 Glory and Honour.

of those who have been great only in the havoc which
they perpetrated. But what shall we say of him who
turned so many to righteousness—of the love which
covered a multitude of sins—of the soul which burned
itself away in promoting the great end for which the
Son of God suffered and died? Is he not to shine
as the stars for ever and ever? And among these
stars, none more bright or blessed than he whose his-
tory we have glanced at from his cradle to his grave.
If ever there was a case which establishes the fact,
that what a man soweth that shall he also reap, it
was that of Jonathan Edwards. “The grain of mus-
tard-seed, which is the least of all seeds,” was planted
in his soul in childhood, but “it grew as the lily, and
cast forth its roots as Lebanon.” “ Secundus nemini
mortalium” was inscribed upon his tomb, and may
we not add, in words derived from the same source.
Abi, viator, et pia sequere vestigia?” Go, wayfarer,
and walk in his holy footsteps.




XI.

The Sailor.

A FS) object with which we are addressing them?
Sole) It is to show how much depends on the
season of youth; and that, according to our conduct
then, our life may be expected to be happy or
wretched,

Early piety, and a life of joy—or early sin, and a
life of misery ; that is the alternative which we earnestly
present to the youthful. Sow wickedness in youth,
and reap wretchedness in age—or sow the good seed,
and reap life everlasting.

The Holy God has established a sure connection
between sin and sorrow on the one hand, between
godliness and true peace on the other, and we would
fix that conviction in the hearts of all the young.
“Nemo malus felix” —no wicked man is happy—was
the saying of a heathen—shall we say less?

When painters would make any object stand pro-
minently out upon their canvas, they place a mass
132 John Newton.

of shade behind it, or some contrast-colour, so as to
heighten the effect of the principal figure. By this
natural device a stronger impression is produced ;
and some of the great masters, like Rembrandt and
others, are distinguished among their fellow-artists by
their skill in this distribution of light and shade.—
We are now about to sketch the moral portrait of one
whose character may be seen surrounded by some
of the darkest shadows which ever clouded a human
soul. He emerged at last from the darkness, but
for years it was truly a “darkness which might be
felt.”

Joun NEwron was born on the 24th of July 1725.
His mother was a woman of eminent devoutness,
but she died before he was seven years of age.
Young Newton was a child of great promise, and at
the early age of four, he says, he could read as well
as when he was mature in years. Though he was
early taught the truth which guides to heaven, in
forms adapted to his young mind, he soon began,
after the death of his mother, to mingle with wicked
boys, and as speedily learned their ways. His
father, who had been educated at a Jesuit college
near Seville, kept him coldly at a distance, and in-
stead of making progress at a school which he attended
for two years, the boy forgot nearly all that his good
mother had taught him.

‘Vhe day on which he was eleven years of age
The Morning Cloud. 133

saw Newton enter his father’s ship as a sea-boy, and
he made five voyages with him in the Mediterranean.
The sinfulness of his heart, he tells us, was now
yzathering strength by habit ; he was very wicked, and
therefore very foolish; and being his own enemy, he
seemed determined that no one should be his friend.
He had learned whole chapters and smaller portions
of Scripture, with catechisms, hymns, and poems,
under the eye of his mother,.who often commended
him to God with many prayers and tears; but the
pent-up stream soon swept away every barrier—as
well attempt

“To stem the mountain stream with sand,
Or fetter flame with flaxen band,”

as to tame the waywardness of a youth like Newton
by mere human means. Yet some convictions of
sin and danger from time to time arose, and when
he was about fifteen years of age he experienced
some of these. He began to pray, to read the
Scriptures, to keep a diary, and to think himself
religious. But it was a pressure from without, not a
well-spring within; it was not the day-star arising in
his heart, but a spark which himself had kindled,
and it soon went out in darkness. He then plunged
into vice whenever he could indulge it away from
restraint and the eye of man. Amid struggles with
conscience and the love of sin, young Newton was
often sorely perplexed; but, on the whole, he was
134 The Formalist.

sinking deeper and deeper into wickedness. “In
short,” one says concerning him, “he took up and
laid aside a religious profession three or four different
times before he was sixteen years of age.” He him-
self tells that he saw the necessity of religion as a
means of escaping from hell; but he loved sin, and
was unwilling to forsake it. So strangely blinded
was he, that sometimes when he had resolved upon
some deed of wickedness, he could not proceed to
its perpetration without despatching his usual form
of prayer. At the time, he grudged every moment
given to that task, but conscience would not keep
terms with him unless he complied. He complied
accordingly, as the Romanist tells his beads, or
purchases a plenary Indulgence, and then hastened
away to his iniquity.

But his last reform must be described in Newton’s
own words. “For more than two years,” he says,
“1 did everything that might be expected from a
person entirely ignorant of God's righteousness, and
desirous to establish his own. I spent the greatest
part of every day in reading the Scriptures, or in
meditation and prayer. I fasted often; I even
abstained from all animal food for three months. I
would hardly answer a question for fear of speaking
an idle word; I seemed to bemoan my former mis-
carriages very earnestly, and sometimes with tears ;
in short, I became an ascetic, and endeavoured, as
« Sowing to the Flesh.” 135

far as my situation would permit, to renounce society,
that I might avoid temptation.”

It was not thus, however, that Newton was to be
subdued to the truth. He proceeded on a voyage
to Venice, where he was tempted to relax his strict-
ness; and though he did not become an absolute
profligate, yet he was hastening along the road to
ruin, and fast forsaking his God. He was at one
time roused to reflection by a dream; at another
stimulated by the charges of conscience, while on
one occasion, for two or three days, he could scarcely
eat, or sleep, or transact his ordinary business; but
at length all that “early dew” vanished away. New-
ton trampled upon every restraint, and drank up
iniquity like water.

He was next seized and carried by force on
board a man-of-war—the Harwich—at the Nore. By
his father’s influence he was appointed a midship-
man; but he soon formed such acquaintances on
board that ship as led him habitually to practise and
delight in wickedness. To give relief to his con-
science, and reins to his passion, Newton now became
an infidel. He could not both hold the truth of God
and live in sin against him. He therefore denied
the truth, and in the company of a seaman, like-
minded with himself, hurried without restraint into
all the sin which lay within his reach. He was now
sowing copiously to the flesh.
136 Sin and Degradation,

As he had been pressed into the naval service,
young Newton did not feel any great desire to re-
main afloat. Desertion was then not uncommon,
and when he was, on a certain occasion, sent in com-
mand of a boat to prevent it, he betrayed his trust,
and deserted himself. He was seized, however, and
marched back to Plymouth, where his vessel was
lying; and now he was to reap in part the fruits of
his recent doings. He was first confined for two
days in the guard-house ; he was next sent on board,
and laid in irons ; he was then publicly whipped, and
degraded from his rank of midshipman; his former
companions were forbidden to show him the least
favour, or even to speak with him; in a word, he had
laid a snare, and was himself the captive.

And now began the most exquisite misery he had
ever yet endured—Newton was about to discover
that no man can oppose the Holy God and prosper
in the end. His former companions durst not be-
friend him; his commanding officer was implacable
in his resentment against one who had so basely
betrayed his trust; and his mind was filled, he says,
with the most excruciating passions—“ eager desire,
bitter rage, black despair;” these he describes as
nestling in his guilty bosom. Every hour he was
exposed to some fresh insult, while not a single friend
was at hand to soothe his sorrows or to dry his tears;
outward, inward—all was dark. Newton had stifled
The Suicide. 137

convictions; he had thrown away the truth, and was
learning that infidelity is but a broken reed to lean
on when woe rolls in upon woe, each threatening to
destroy self-ruined man. Amid his anguish, he
attempted to throw himself into the sea; but that
plan of relief did not succeed. Goaded as he was
by fierce passion, he next formed a plan against the
life of his captain, in revenge for the punishment in-
flicted on himself as a deserter. The hope of cutting
off that officer was one reason which induced New-
ton to prolong his own life, though he was some-
times divided between the two, as he could not easily
accomplish both the murders which he contemplated.
He had now succeeded in banishing the fear of God
from his soul. Conscience had ceased to give him
trouble. Believing, with other infidels, that when he
died he would cease to be, he was freed from all
restraint. He was given up to a spirit of strong
delusion, and believed lie upon lie; he neither feared
God nor regarded man; he laid the bridle on the
neck of passion, that it might rush forward at pleasure;
and premeditated murder and suicide were the
result.

But Newton was discharged from the Harwich,
where he had thus ripened in guilt, amd transferred
to a vessel which was proceeding to Sierra Leone.
By this exchange a still wider door for sinning was
thrown open before him. He had been under
138 The Potsherd

some restraint before, but now he could sin with-
out disguise; and while passing from the Harwich
to his new ship, he rejoiced in the escape, because
he might now be as abandoned as he pleased with-
out any control. He accordingly sinned with a still
higher hand. He made it his busy endeavour to
tempt and seduce others, and eagerly sought occasion
to do evil “ even to his own hazard and hurt.” He
outraged his captain—he wrought all sin with greedi-
ness. The potsherd of the earth was boldly con-
tending with its Maker; and that it was not dashed
in pieces is to be ascribed only to the long-suffering
and forbearance of God.

This course of life continued for about six months.
Newton then left his ship, and was landed on one of
the Benano islands, in the region where slaves were
then bought and sold in great numbers, and his
landing was like that of a shipwrecked man, with little
more than the clothes upon his back.

But we cannot follow this wayward youth through
all the fitful strugglings of his great guilt; yet before
recording how he reaped after the sad seed-time
now described, let us glance back at what Newton
might have been, compared with what he has be-
come.

He might have been guided by the truth of God
in the ways of peace, for it had come to his con-
science with some degree of power. But instead of
Contending with its Maker. 139

that, he was a poor infidel, drinking up sin, and
seeking happiness there.

He might have been an officer, honoured and
obeyed. He was dwelling among slave-dealers, as
degraded and forlorn as he was poor.

He might have been in the enjoyment of happiness.
He has honestly confessed that “his breast was filled
with the most excruciating passions.”

Had his mother’s lessons and prayers been remem-
bered, or his father’s counsels obeyed, John Newton
might have been on the way to affluence, or at least
to worldly prosperity. But these things were
neglected: he trampled upon them all, and he is now
landed on an island, without a single friend, abject,
depraved, and farther fallen than the poor negroes
whom he was soon to buy and sell, or insnare and
oppress.

Such are the wages of iniquity; such, we must
evermore repeat, are the inevitable results of xebel.
lion against a holy God. There may be degrees in
woe, but woe in some degree is the result of sin as
certainly as the sun gives light and heat, or as winter
brings storms and cold.

But without dwelling longer on the crimes of
Newton’s early life, let us now consider in a few
details how he reaped, after his landing in the Ben-
ano Island. His career in sin, and consequent
suffering, was not like the shower which thunder
140 The Prodigal,

brings, violent and short, but like the dreary drench-
ing rains which pour for days and nights upon us.
What, then, was the result of his early crime? What
fruits did he gather? Were they sweet to the taste?
Were they such as to allure others to walk in New-
ton’s footsteps, and to copy Newton’s ways? These
questions admit of a melancholy and an instructive
answer.

Referring to the period which we have now reached,
when his sins began to find him out, Newton him-
self records his astonishment that what he suffered
at this time “did not bereave him either of his life or
his senses.” He entered the service of one who was
growing rich in the horrid traffic of the guilty coast
where Newton had landed. But his master was under
the control of a negro woman who was of some conse-
quence in her own country, and as her antipathy to
Newton was intense, she became the cause of many
of the miseries which we are now to recite. During
the absence of his master at a neighbouring settle-
ment, her cruelty began to appear. Newton was sick
of a fever, but it was sometimes with difficulty that
he could procure even a draught of cold water amid
his burning heat. His bed was a mat spread upon a
board, with a log for his pillow. When he began to
recover, he could not get food to satisfy his cravings,
he was, in short, the prodigal of the parable in real
life. The negro, at whose mercy he lay, scarcely
The Apples of Sodom. 141

allowed him food sufficient to sustain his life, although
she herself fared sumptuously every day. Sometimes,
however, she sent him food in her own plate after
she had dined ; “ and this, so greatly was he humbled,
he received with thanks and eagerness, as the most
needy beggar does an alms.” Is it true, or is it not
true, that “ the way of transgressors is hard?”

The following portion of the fruits which Newton
reaped we must let himself describe. “ Once,” he
says, “I well remember, I was called to receive this
bounty from her own hand, but being exceedingly
weak and feeble, I dropped the plate. Those who
live in plenty can hardly conceive how this loss
touched me, but she had the cruelty to laugh at my
disappointment; and, though the table was covered
with dishes (for she lived much in the European ‘
manner), she refused to give me any more. My
distress has been at times so great as to compel me
to go by night and pull up roots in the plantation
(though at the risk of being punished as a thief),
which I have eaten raw upon the spot for fear of dis-
covery. The roots I speak of are very wholesome
food when boiled or roasted, but as unfit to be eaten
raw in any quantity as a potato. The consequence
of this diet, which, after the first experiment, I always
expected, and seldom missed, was the same as if I
had taken tartar emetic, so that I have often returned
as empty as 1 went; yet necessity compelled me to
142 Sorrow upon Sorror.

repeat the trial several times. I have sometimes been
relieved by strangers; yea, even by the slaves in the
chain, who have secretly brought me victuals (for
they durst not be seen to do it) from their own slender
pittance. Next to pressing want, nothing sits harder
upon the mind than scorn and contempt, and of this
likewise I had an abundant measure.”

Nor was this wanton usage all; the self-deluded
sinner must sink farther still. The negro assailed
him with cruel mocking; and while she wasted him
by starvation, she reviled him as worthless and
indolent. She compelled him to walk while enfeebled
by disease and when he could scarcely move ; her
attendants were ordered to mimic his gait, to clap
their hands, to turn his very sorrows into mirth, to
pelt him with limes, and sometimes even with stones.
When he complained to his master, he was not
believed; nay, his sufferings were increased. He was
condemned for misdeeds without evideiite ; and as no
one would trust him, when his master left the vessel
in which Newton served, he was locked upon deck
with a pint of rice for the day's allowance, nor had
he any relief till his master’s return. “ Indeed,”
Newton himself relates, “I believe I should have
nearly starved but for an opportunity of catching fish
sometimes. When fowls were killed for my master’s
use, I seldom was allowed any part but the entrails,
to bait my hooks with. .... If I saw a fish upon my
Feeding upon Husks, 143

3

hook, my joy was little less than any other person
would have found in the accomplishment of the
scheme he had most at heart. Such a fish, hastily
broiled, or rather half burnt, without salt, sauce, or
bread, has afforded me a delicious meal. If I caught
none, I might, if I could, sleep away my hunger till
the next return of s/ack-water, and then try again.”

We repeat it: Is not the way of transgressors hard?
He has not a human heart in his bosom who would
not sympathize with this youth amid his sufferings,
or wonder at the hardness of that heart which could
make sport at his woe. But our sympathy, though
strong even to tears, cannot blind us to the fact that
this wayward youth is filled with the fruits of his own
devices. He has made God a liar, and God is prov-
ing that he is true,—He is true at least in this declara-
tion, “Be sure your sin will find you out.”

But far as he is fallen, John Newton has not yet
reached the lowest point. His whole dress consisted
of a shirt, a pair of trousers, a cotton handkerchief
fer a cap, and a cotton cloth about two yards long
instead of upper garments. In that condition he was
sometimes exposed, he says, for twenty, thirty, or
perhaps forty hours together, amid incessant rains,
accompanied with strong gales of wind, without the
least shelter from the fury of the tempest. Pains
were then produced which adhered to him through
life—they were a portion of the wages of sin, which
M4 A Child of Prayer.

continued to be paid as long as he was in the body.
Yet his heart, though bowed down, was not subdued.
He was like the tiger tamed by hunger, “but the
Ethiopian had not changed his skin, nor the leopard
his spots.” It is not by mere anguish, even such as
John Newton bore, that man is made a new creature.

For about twelve months these sorrows continued,
and we can scarcely venture to write all the degrada-
tion to which Newton was reduced. In the dead of
night, he had to go and wash his ove shirt among the
rocks, and afterwards wear it wet, that it might dry on
his person while he slept. When a ship’s boat came
to the island where he dwelt, shame often constrained
him to flee to the woods to hide from the crew. Yet
all the while, he says, his conduc, his principles, and
heart were darker than his outward condition. He
had once been a little boy fondly cherished by his
mother. She had prayed for him. She had taught
him the blessed truth of God. She had solemnly
dedicated her boy to her Saviour. She had wept by
his bedside in her anxiety for his welfare. But when
she was laid in her grave, he made haste to forget it
all. He denied the Word of God: God gave him up
toa reprobate mind; and there is that boy now—
skulking in the woods, half wild like the beasts which
roam there, and eager only to escape from the gaze
of his fellow-men. He had utterly forgotten that he
could not escape from the eye of God.
Increasing to more Ungoiliness. 145

But John Newton was at last rescued from that
house of bondage. By a remarkable providence
which we cannot tarry to describe, he was suddenly
freed from a captivity of fifteen months, where his
sufferings had produced no salutary effect. During
a voyage which he subsequently made, his life, he
says, was 2 course of most horrid impiety and pro-
faneness. Not content with common oaths and im-
precations, he daily invented new ones, so that,
according to his own account, there perhaps never
was a more daring blasphemer. Amid the perils
of the voyage, his captain sometimes said that
Newton was the Jonah—that a curse attended him
wherever he went, and that all the troubles which
befell the ship were occasioned by his being on board.
Buch things, however, took no hold on thé hardened
man. Conscience had been effectually silenced, and
for weeks or months he had not a single check,—
death and all its consequences were nothing to him.
On just one occasion a solemn question arose at the
sight of “The Imitation of Christ,” by T) homas 2
Kempis,—What if these things should be true? his
conscience asked. But he shut the book, and re-
solved that, true or false, he must abide by the results
of his choice. Amid the horrors of a tempest at sea,
that thought came back; but he sullenly waited to
receive his inevitable doom in the yawning deep,
while at one time it appeared as if the only hope of

ay ro
146 Conscience Re-awakening.

saving the ship lay in casting Newton overboard, so
deep was the impression made by his guilt, or so
melancholy the effects of his vicinity.

Yet amid the anguish of that voyage, conscience
did begin to whisper—texts of Scripture began to
recur—especially that which says, in language per-
haps the most appalling that ever fell on mortal ear,
“ T will laugh at your calamity, and mock when your
fear cometh.”* The pungency of remorse thus be-
gan to be added to other causes of anguish; and this
sinner, above most men was left to reap the whirl-
wind of wrath. Nor should we fail to notice that,
during much of the time now referred to, Newton was
the companion or the servant of slave-dealers. His
sad degradation was deepened by an employment
which was conversant mainly with the price of human
flesh and blood, and which trampled on all the ties
which link man to man. His music was the
wail of wives torn from husbands, or children
from their parents, mingled with the clanking of
bolts, and chains, and shackles, and all the while

» Because 1 have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out my hand,
and no man regarded ; but ye have set at nought all my counsel, and would
none of my reproof: I also will laugh at your calamity ; I will mock when
your fear cometh; when your fear cometh as desolation, and your destruc-
tion cometh as a whirlwind; when distress and anguish cometh upon you.
‘Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer; they shall seck me
carly, but they shall not find me: for that they hated knowledge, and did
not choose the fear of the Lord: they would none of my counsel : they de-

pised all my reproof. Therefore shall they eat of the fruit of their own
way, and be filled with their own devices.”—Prov. i. 24-32.




The Deceiver and the Deceived. 147

the iron was entering deeply into his own degraded
soul.

We have thus seen, then, that before Newton had
attained to manhood, he had become exceeding
vile; he sat in the chair of the scorner in early life;
but dark as the description is, the half has not been
told. Like a sepulchre sending forth all that is
noisome or deadly, he scattered the contagion of a
moral pestilence—he spread a moral blight wherever
he went; and one instance of the effects of his per-
nicious example we cannot withhold. We submit it
to the young the more because it shows how sadly
he reaped—even after he had begun, in some degree,
to consider his ways.

When Newton was on board the Harwich, he be-
came’ acquainted with a young midshipman, who was
then free from open vice. But the youth was soon
corrupted by his reckless associate, and speedily
arrived at maturity in guilt. Years thereafter they
met, and as Newton’s conscience had now begun to
be listened to again, he was anxious to rescue his
former companion, if he could, from effects of which
he had himself been the guilty cause. As he no
longer felt infidelity to be tenable, he strove to
undeceive his victim. His usual reply, however,
was, that Newton was the first to give him an idea
of his liberty, which he would not now forego. His
former corrupter, in the hopes of compensating
148 The Ravages of Sin.

for the evil which had been done, assisted the un-
happy man to find employment on shore; but he
only waxed worse and worse, and presented to
Newton, from day to day, a lively picture of what
he himself had been. The misguided man had now
become a centre of evil influence upon others. He
spurned all restraint, and when he was again sent to
sea, he gave loose to every passion—his excesses
threw him into a malignant fever, of which he died,
but not till he had appalled all those about him, and
pronounced his own sad doom, without showing
any symptom that he either hoped or asked for
mercy.

What a picture to be contemplated by the con-
science of Newton!

What a warning to those whose delight it is, like
Satan, to betray the unsuspecting!

Newton, in his vileness, could infect, but he could
not heal.

In his strong love of ungodliness, he could detach
the stone from its bed on the mountain-side, but he
could not arrest it as it thundered to the plain,
shivered into fragments.

He could let out the waters, but he could not
recall them as they swept down the valley, spreading
desolation all around.

It is not our purpose further to pursue the history
of John Newton. Enough has been said to show
Cause and Lyfject. 149

both how he sowed and how he reaped. His seed-
time was one of appalling sinfulness—his reaping-
time one of as intense and protracted woe. Changed
he was by the almighty grace of God—so changed,
that like the apostle Paul, he who had been sunk in
apostasy, infidelity, and crime, became a monument
of mercy—the most signal, perhaps, of modern times.
He preached that very gospel which he had formerly
blasphemed ; he

“ Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way ;”

and when, about his eightieth year, he was urged to
withdraw from the fatigues of preaching, his frequent
expostulation was, “ Shall the old African blasphemer
stop while he can speak?” It would be pleasant
and profitable to trace this wondrous change—to
tell how he sowed a second crop, and reaped a plen-
teous harvest—to describe the good which he did—
the youths whom he rescued from danger—the souls
which he won to Christ ;* but enough has been
recorded to show, in another example, the insepar-
able connection which God has appointed between
the seed-time and the harvest—between what a man
sows and what he must reap. It is true that God,
in signal mercy, rescued this long misguided man
from the ruin for which he had so laboriously

* Our young readers could not read a book more abounding either in

adventure or lessons of deep wisdom than the “Life of the Rev, John
Newton,” by the Rev. Richard Cecil.
150 God's Ways not Ours.

wrought ; and of all providential events, few could
be more remarkable than the fact, that one of the
most ignorant, the most miserable, and most forlorn
slaves of sin, should be plucked from the fearful pit,
and, as Newton says he was, appointed minister of
the parish of the first magistrate of the first city of
the world. Yet so it was. The glory of God’s grace
was thereby displayed; but we are wise only if we
have learned to view the sad aberrations of John
Newton as beacons upon rocks, telling us where
danger and death lie concealed—

“He who hates truth shall be the dupe of lies,”

is verified to the letter in the early period of his dark
career.




XIL

The Philanthropist.

IONATHAN EDWARDS, Napoleon Bona-
parte, Lord Byron—how diverse are the
thoughts suggested to a mind modelled

after Scripture by the repetition of the names of these

three men! Jonathan J-dwards, a philosopher of the
highest school—the school of Christ—and, therefore,



shedding countless blessings on his own and every
age. Napoleon Bonaparte, a man, in one point of
view, of as gigantic powers, but perverting them from
the purposes for which they were bestowed, and
eventually occasioning the death of two millions of
his fellow-creatures to aggrandize himself, or main-
tain his aggrandizement. And Lord Byron, one of
the most gifted of mortals, but too often employing
all his gifts to corrupt and degrade, to efface the
distinctions between right and wrong, and make man
more signally wretched by being more profane.
Byron’s path through life was like the track of an
invading army, where only woe and desolation
152 Sohn Howard.

reigned. Each of the three is a beacon—the first
to guide us to the haven of rest, and the others to
warn us of danger and death. Let us now contem-
plate a grandeur of a different type.

If we saw any man abandoning the ease and the
comforts of his home to penetrate the dungeons of
an entire kingdom; if we beheld him from day to
day exploring the wards of our hospitals, to carry
relief to their inmates; if we met him from time to
time grappling with the misery of prisons, and trying
to purify the dens where infection breeds; if we
noticed that he found his happiness in befriending
the friendless, in soothing the outcast, in giving free-
dom to the slave, and health to the sick in every
land, what would be our instantaneous verdict ?
That man would be hailed as the friend of hu-
manity, or a living copy of the perfect model, even
of Him who came to proclaim liberty to the cap-
tive, and the opening of the prison to them that are
bound.

Such an one, and far more than can easily be told,
was Joun Howarp, the philanthropist; and as there
have been few instances in which the boy was more
plainly the father of the man, or where the reaping
was more clearly the result of the sowing, we may
learn lessons of humanity if we study his seed-time
and his harvest, his youth and his mature age, the
one as preparing for the other. If we trace his bright
Farly Promise. 153

and starlike course, it may warn some, and gladden
others, as they tread the narrow way.

Howard was born about the year 1725; but four
different years, and four different places, compete for
the honour of his birth. Some have tried to show
that he had noble blood in his veins, but the attempt
was needless; for John Howard was one of those
whom the gifts and the grace of God very signally
ennoble—his crown was one which will be worn in
heaven. His mother died when he was an infant,
and the sickly child was reared with some difficulty.
‘Though not remarkable for early talent, he was one of
those whom allwho know them love. His gentleness,
his modesty, and his self-sacrificing spirit, his bio-
graphers tell, endeared him to all; but what chiefly
attracted attention was, a certain peculiar kindliness,
betokening the large humanity which his future years
were to display. And as he grew, it was in favour
with men. All could confide in him; and those who
knew him best could confide in him the most.
Though affluent, and early his own master, Howard
was averse to engage in the pleasures, and utterly
opposed to the vices which insnare and debase the
young, and which too often inflict a damage on the
character which it never can surmount. Surrounded
by his books, attending to religion, and at peace
with all around him, the young philanthropist, even
as a boy, had acquired the gravity of manhood. He
154 The True Model.

purchased his freedom from an apprenticeship in
which he was bound, and from that time unconsciously
began the training which was to fit him for his great
work as the apostle of humanity.

In all that Howard did, religion was his supreme
guide; and even when he was only a stripling, that
was apparent. In every pursuit his mind turned
toward God. It was like the vital principle of his
soul to recognise the Holy One as presiding over all;
and even at the time when youth in general have no
fear of God before their eyes, but are the slaves or
the dupes of passion, John Howard lived under the
vivid impression of God’s nearness, His goodness,
and His holy requirements from man. And what
this man proposed to himself in youth was no vague
attainment. He strove as few others ever did, to
form himself on the models of the prophets and
apostles. The principles which they inculcated he
sought through grace to exemplify, The Holy
Scriptures were his constant study. The spiritual
life which is there described he tried to lead; and as
the Book of Life was his book, its God was his God;
its maxims were his maxims; its wisdom was his
wisdom. He cared not for the forms of modern
life, unless they were pervaded by the Spirit of truth.
The doctrines, the morality, the whole tone of the
Bible, formed Howard’s grand and early study; and
this has been rightly called the key to his whole
God, not Man, the Judge. 155

future character. He was, in truth, one of the most
scriptural men that ever lived; and that love which
glowed in his soul so warmly, or which shone so
brightly as to irradiate myriads, was all derived from
that volume in which many of the young can find
no delight, but which Howard found to be his rejoic-
ing as well as his guide.

Having thus sought to form his character on the
highest possible model, Howard was constantly
pressing upward to the bright summit which he had
learned to keep in view. He tested every action by
the inspired standard. He condemned every depar-
ture from its straight line—he condemned it most
of all in himself. Men might call that austere—he
knew that it was the dictate of love. They might
suppose that they were cut off from enjoyment by being
cut off from sin; but he knew that to seek enjoyment
there, was to seek it in a thing which the Holy God
has,cursed, and Howard, therefore, pressed forward
to the mark. He made the mind of God his stand-
ard; and we shall see, in yet another case, that as he
sowed he reaped. ‘The loving homage of ten thousand
hearts was the first-fruits of his harvest.

The early youth of Howard had been devoted to
toil, at the urgency of his father, and he was thus
prepared to bear the burden and heat of his day.
Industry, self-control, and a punctual Sabbath observ-
ance, were always ranked by him among the cardinal
156 The Mind of Christ.

virtues; and it was after such a training, or after the
adoption of such principles of action, that Howard
began the high part which he was to perform in the
groaning world into which his God had sent him.
But it is not enough thus generally to refer to the
power of religion in Howard's soul. Before we can
know its depth or ascendency, we must examine it
more at length. He was travelling in Italy, then,
for the restoration of his health, but having found his
object very speedily accomplished by the genial
climate of that land, he would not, for the sake of
merely selfish gratification, prolong his tour. Even
then he had learned and felt that no man lives to
himself; and as soon as he was recruited, he resolved
to return to Britain. His own words must tell the
reason: “I feared,” he says, “a misimprovement of
a talent spent for mere curiosity, at the loss of many
Sabbaths, and as many donations must be suspended
for my pleasure.”-—‘‘ On a retrospective view, or a
death-bed, this would cause pain,” he said, “as un-
becoming a disciple of Christ, whose mind should
be formed in my soul.”—“ Oh, why should vanity and
folly—pictures and baubles—or even the stupendous
mountains, beautiful hills, or rich valleys, which ere
long will be all consumed, engzoss the thoughts of a
candidate for an everlasting kingdom! .... Look
forward, O my soul! How low, how mean, how little
is everything but what has a view to that glorious
A Living Sacrifice. 157
world of light, and life, and love!” Such sentiments
are a key to Howard's character. They make us
cease to marvel at his moral grandeur; for all that is
needed to raise our poor world from its dismal degra-
dation, is to have “ Christ’s mind formed in the soul,”
as Howard sought to have. The saint-like and the
self-sacrificing would not then be limited to a few.
The world’s selfishness would be arrested in its dark
and troubled stream; and where we now stand to
weep over the ruins of human nature, we might be-
hold proof after proof that man is still kindred with the
skies. Howard was self-dedicated to God. In soul,
in body, in substance, in time, and in influence, he was
consecrated as a living sacrifice, and hence the
philanthropist’s greatness—hence he appears among
men as one of the few who have imitated, with the
whole heart, the holy, harmless One who went about
doing good.

But these are only specimens of Howard's devo-
tion, or of the means which he employed to form his
mind on the Divine model, and brace himself for all
his self-denying toils. “I would record the goodness
of God,” he says, on a Sabbath evening, at the
Hague, “to the unworthiest of his creatures. For
some days past, I have been in a habitual serious
frame, relenting for my sin and folly, solemnly sur-
rendering myself and babe to Him, and begging the
conduct of His Holy Spirit. I hope for a more
158 Self- Dedication.

tender conscience by greater fear of offending God,
a temper more abstracted from this world, more re-
signed to death or life; a thirsting for union and
communion with God. O the wonders of redeem-
ing love! Some faint hope have even I, through
redeeming mercy, that the full atoning sacrifice shall
ere long be made. O shout, my soul! grace! grace!
free, sovereign, rich, and unbounded grace! Not I,
not I, an ill-deserving, hell-deserving creature; but
where sin abounds, I trust grace superabounds.
Even I have still some hope—what joy in that
hope !—that nothing shall separate my soul from the
love of God in Jesus Christ. My soul! as such a
frame is thy delight, pray frequently and fervently to
the Father of spirits to bless His Word and thy re-
tired moments to thy serious conduct in life. My
soul! let not the interests of a moment engross thy
thoughts, or be preferred to thine eternal interests.
Look forward to that glory which will be revealed to
those who are faithful unto death.”

But we must go deeper still. Howard was not
content with the incidental discharge of any solemn
duty. Nay, he sought to make a formal surrender
of himself to God, in a deed which he subscribed
with all the holy awe which should characterize a
transaction in which God isa party. In the close of
that deed, he says—“ O compassionate and divine
Redeemer! save me from the dreadful guilt and power
Lhe Secret Place of Strength. 159

of sin, and accept of my solemn, free, and, I trust,
unreserved, full surrender of my soul, my spirit, my
dear child, all I own and have, into thy hands!
How unworthy of thy acceptance! Yet, Lord of
Mercy, spurn me not from thy presence. Accept of
me, I hope, vile as I am, a repenting, returning
prodigal. I glory in this my choice, acknowledge
my obligations as a servant of the Most High, and
now, may the Eternal be my refuge, and thou, my
soul, be faithful to that God that will never forsake
thee. Thus, O Lord God, thus even a worm is
humbly bold to covenant with thee. Do thou ratify
it, and make me the everlasting monument of thy
mercy. Amen, amen, amen. Glory to God the
Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, for
ever and ever. Amen. Hoping my heart deceives
me not, and trusting in His mercy for restraining
and preventing grace, though rejoicing in returning
what I have received from Him into his hands, yet,
with fear and trembling, I sign my unworthy name.
“Joun Howarp.”

Shall we wonder any more to see one so devoted,
so determined with heart and soul, to live for God,
taking up a place, such as few of the sons of men
ever reached? It was love to the Saviour, it was
the truth as it is in Jesus, that formed the source of
Howard's greatness ; it became at once the basis and
160 The Power of Faith.

the ornament of his character—he was a Christian
indeed, and hence his moral grandeur.

And moulded thus «fon the mind of God, Howard
was as consistent in his walk as he was lofty in his
aim. After he had disciplined himself in the way
now described, his mind appears to have been kept
in great serenity amid all his tossings and toils—with
him above most men, “the work of righteousness
was peace, and the effect of it was quietness and
assurance for ever.” Nothing was suffered to inter-
rupt his religious habits. At home or abroad, he
deemed the time that was to be daily given to God
a sacred thing, and no circumstances were allowed
to interfere with it. His daily aspiration was thus
expressed—were it general, our world might become
an Eden yet—“ Make me more sensible of my entire
dependence on thee, more humble, more watchful,
more abstracted from this world, and better prepared
to leave it.” At once animated and sublimed by
such devotion to his God, and such communion with
him, Howard commanded the veneration even of
worldly men, who knew not the secret of his power.
It was felt that there was a majesty about him which
no vulgar solution could explain. All was truth; all
was sincerity ; and he wielded an influence over others
which sometimes appeared superhuman, The con-
science void of offence, the peace of God, the enjoy-
ment of the Chief Good, and entire consecration ta
A Providence. 161

the great objects for which man should live, and
for which the grace and truth which came by Jesus
Christ are designed to fit us, all combined to make
John Howard what he was—one of the greatest,
noblest, holiest, and most blessed among the sons
of men; and Religion, with noble exultation, may
enroll him among

“The bright profusion of her scattered stars.”

‘Thus furnished, then, for the work which he had
to do, how did Howard reap? The ploughshare
was driven deep into his soul that the good seed
of the kingdom might take the deeper root—what,
then, was the fruit which it produced! Was it, or
was it not, “ the peaceable fruits of righteousness ?”
As*he sowed beside all waters, was the produce
luxuriant }

When Howard was but a youth, the great carth-
quake at Lisbon happened. hat capital was then
laid in ruins, and the embryo philanthropist resolved
to hasten to the assistance of the wretched survivors
of that terrible catastrophe. But France and Eng-
land were then at war. Howard was taken prisoner,
and carried into France, and what he saw in the
prisons there became the means of directing his
thoughts to the great work which he was destined to
achieve in the world. The barbarity to which he
was exposed, and all that he saw or experienced, im-

® 11
162 Howard a Prisoner—

parted a lesson which the earnest man never forgot
¥orty hours without bread or water—a dark, damp,
and filthy dungeon for his abode—a leg of mutton
thrown to him and his starving fellow-prisoners, to be
devoured as wild beasts devour their prey—sleeping
for six successive nights on the cold floor, with only
a handful of straw to protect them from the noxious
damp,—these formed part of Howard’s early training
as “the friend of the captive,” and, during that
period, he gathered information which proved that
many hundreds who had been treated like himself
had perished. For example, thirty-six prisoners
were buried in a hole at Dinan in a single day. His
resolute and high-toned mind was thus rivetted to
the subject of the prisoner’s gloomy lot, and his
whole life in consequence became one long self-
sacrificing struggle on behalf of the wretched in-
mates of cells and dungeons.

And while thus detained as a prisoner, Howard
began to exhibit some of the power by which he
could control and subdue his fellow-men, or bind
them closely to himself, as virtuous genius is ever
sure to do. His jailer allowed him, after some
time, to walk at large, on his word being pledged
that he would not seek to escape. A person at
whose house he lodged freely supported the philan-
thropist, though he had not a farthing with which to
repay the kindness, and allowed him at last to re.
The Results. 163

turn to his home, trusting to his bare promise to re-
fund what he was owing. And further, Howard was
permitted by men in power, to visit England to make
arrangements for his own exchange and liberation as
a prisoner, on simply pledging his honour that if he
did not succeed he would return to his captivity.
Influenced, then, by such deciding circumstances,
Howard soon addressed himself to the great business
of his life. It was something to turn a wretched
English hamlet into an Eden by all kinds of Chris-
tian appliances, and to rejoice amid the blessings
which God had enabled him to scatter round his
home. But these were conquests of too limited a
kind to satisfy the cravings of Howard’s mind; and
it was to prison-work that he consecrated all his
energies, his heart, and soul, and strength. He
began that work in his own country, and gradually
extended his sphere of operations, till all the counties
of England were explored, till Scotland and Ireland
were also visited, and the sorrows and wretchedness
of the prisoners everywhere ascertained. His in-
domitable energies had now found an object suffi-
cient to task even them, and Howard threw himself
into the work with all the determination of a great
philanthropist, and all the love of a Spirit-taught Chris-
tian. The abominations, moral and physical, with
which the prisons of his day abounded, were all ex-
plored and unmasked. Journey after journey was
164 The Divine Example.

taken, as if Howard had been resolved even to do
more than verify the words, “I was sick and in prison,
and ye visited me.” And nothing daunted him in that
labour of love. Small-pox and jail-fever were united
with nameless crimes to repel a mere amateur phil-
anthropist from the receptacles of woe, and the dens
of the outcast ; but they only served to manifest
more clearly the stanch and sturdy nature of
Howard's solicitude for man. He was sometimes
told by the doomed inmates of those abodes, and
stimulated by the tale, that they would rather be
executed at once than drag out their existence for
months or years in the living graves in which they
were immured.

It was to relieve such wretches, then, that the
philanthropist of the world plied his incessant toils ;
and every country from Constantinople to Stockholm,
from Cadiz to St. Petersburg, felt the blessedness of
his visits. Holland, Flanders, France, Switzerland,
Austria, Prussia, the German States, Spain, Portugal,
Denmark, Norway, Russia, Poland, Egypt, Turkey
—were all visited by the self-sacrificing man. Pro-
pelled by profound Christian convictions, and allured
onward by the Divine example—the Redeemer—he
was sleepless anil unwearied in the great work.
Without fee or reward—for he once declined a purse
of 2000 sequins, about £900, offered by a grave
old Turk at Smyrna, in return for the cure of his
Rewards. 165

daughter---John Howard pressed on to the rescue of
the wretched ; and, ere he paused in his high com-
mission, he had travelled in one series of visits about
13,418 miles in prosecuting his chivalrous enterprise
of charity ; in another series, about 4,600 miles ; in
another, 6,990 miles. During twelve years of such
activity, it is computed that he travelled 42,000
miles; he expended more that £30,000, and the
day which is to lay bare the secrets of all hearts will
show what blessings he scattered—what tears he
dried—what debts he paid—what criminals he re-
claimed—what living charnel-houses he swept and
garnished during these self-immolating exertions.
Everywhere, except at the Bastille in France, and in
the Inquisition in Spain, he was allowed free access
to the criminal; and even these he was enabled to
penetrate at last by the ascendant which his wondrous
character gave him over men.

Nor was he without his reward, even from men.
He received the thanks of his country, through the
House of Commons, for his great exertions on be-
half of the victims of crime. His publications were
hailed with unusual applause. Men delighted to
honour him whom grace had enabled to dignify our
fallen nature ; and at one period large subscriptions
were raised to erect a monument to his honour,
though he resolutely and with tears implored his
friends to abandon the proposal. His reward was
166 The Companion of Princes.

in his work, and his monument, the expurgated or
reformed prisons of all Europe, and part of Asia.
He became, moreover, the companion of princes in
the countries where he travelled. Emperors sought
his society and his counsel. Even the Pope was
anxious to do honour to Howard, heretic as he was;
while Catharine of Russia invited him to her court—
an honour which he at once declined, for it was the
dungeon, and not the palace, that was the scene of
his employments. Some of our own princes of the
blood added to their dignity by their intercourse
with the hero of mercy. In a word, wherever he
moved, men rejoiced to do him honour. Potentates
waived their mindless or humiliating etiquette to
enable the great but simple-minded man to approach
them with the erect bearing which he would not
forego; and though his exposure of their corrupt
systems was always honest, nay, sometimes even
vehement, the moral dignity of the man was every-
where felt ; it made him a king even over those who
wore a diadem or wielded a sceptre.

But the copestone has not yet been put on the
procedure of the philanthropist. He was familiar
now with the abominations of prisons of every class,
and in many lands; but there was one enemy of
man—the plague—with which he had not yet
grappled in any very formidable form ; and in 1785
he set out—alone—to study its nature, with a view
The Lazaretto. 167

to some remedy’ or relief. His purpose was to pro-
ceed to the East, there to embark in some infected
ship, to perform quarantine in some plague lazaretto,
and meet that enemy of man in its strongest hold.
Purpose and performance were with Howard synony-
mous, and the daring experiment was made. His
own life was imperilled that he might devise the
means of benefiting others. The difficulties which
he had to encounter were inexpressible, but he sur-
mounted them all; and in due time Europe was
familiar with the abominations of the lazaretto, while
the apostle of humanity reared another trophy to
celebrate the power of that grace, and the guidance
of that wisdom, which made him what he was. He
became familiar, indeed, with agony in every form,
and saw more clearly than mortal eyes had ever
done before, that the wages of sin are too surely
death. But in his work he found a rich reward. It
was so similar to that of the Redeemer, that this
lowly apostle walked in the radiance which is shed
by Him in whom men like Howard, with an eye
illumined from heaven, behold the brightness of the
Father's glory. He had fellowship with the Saviour
in his joys.

Nor was home neglected by Howard. While he
lay in the lazaretto at Venice, he wrote to his bailiff
at Cardington, his home in Bedfordshire, and the
following is an extract :—“ At Christmas give Mrs,
168 The Heaviest WVoe.

‘Thompson and Beccles each a guinea; Rayner,
what I usually give him, half a guinea, and if not
given last Christmas, then a guinea; Dolly Basset, a
guinea; the blind man’s widow, half a guinea ; and
five guineas to ten poor widows, that is, to each half
a guinea, where you think it will be most acceptable.”
Scarcely anything but this was needed to complete
the symmetry of Howard's character. His was not
the philanthropy which stalks abroad only in the glare
-of publicity, and solicits the gaze of man. He did
good by stealth—he wrote from a lazar-house to order
money to be given to the blind and the widowed.
The magnificent and the minute were united in him,
and completed the blessedness of one who knew so
well the luxury of doing good.

Were it our purpose to give a detailed account of
the life of Howard, we might now proceed to tell of
the sorrow which he endured from the misconduct
of his son. Amid many advantages, that youth be-
came lost to all sense of decency. His father’s woe
was nothing to him: onward he rushed in the broad
road which goes down to death, unwarned and irre-
claimable, till he died of disease produced or fostered
by his own sinful ways. We might also show the
misery which that occasioned to the devoted man, as
he descended into the grave in a foreign land; and
so add another to the examples which exist to show
that godly parents are often heart-broken by the
Death Vanquished. 169

wickedness of their children. Or we might show
the philanthropist engaged in a naval battle, when
the ship in which he sailed was attacked bya Bar-
bary privateer, and tell how boldly he fought to repel
the attack. Orwe might show how Howard once
quelled a mutiny in the Savoy, and subdued two
hundred mutineers by his own heroic bravery. But
we must pass on to show how this benefactor of
mankind closed his mortal career.

Howard entered on his last journey on behalf of
the wretched with a presentiment that he might die
before its close. He parted with some of his friends,
observing, “ We shall soon meet in heaven ;” and
added, “the way to heaven from Grand Cairo is as
near as from London ;” and, under the solemnizing
effect of such convictions, he proceeded on his way.
Cherson, on the Dneiper, was destined to be his last
resting-place. He there caught a fever while pursu-
ing his benevolent designs, and no skill could pro-
long his life. But while looking into the grave, in a
land of strangers, he retained his resigned trust in
his God with most edifying composure. “I am
faint and low,” he said, “yet, I trust, in the right
way.” “Why should I distrust this good and faith-
ful God? In his Word he has said, ‘In all thy ways
acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.’
Lord, leave me not to my own wisdom, which is
folly ; nor to my own strength, which is weakness.’
170 The Death of the Righteous.

“ Death has no terrors to me,” he said to a friend ;
“it is an event I always look to with cheerfulness, if
not with pleasure ; and be assured the subject is
more grateful to me than any other.” He pointed
out the spot for his grave, and gave directions re-
garding his burial, adding, “Lay me quietly in the
earth, place a sun-dial over my grave, and let me be
forgotten.” His wayward son was much on his
heart during his closing hours, and the thoughts
connected with him were the only thing that sad-
dened the death-bed of Howard. He was fifteen
hundred miles from his home. Strangers stood
around his bed, waiting to close his dying eyes, and
lay him in the grave ; but that did not touch him—
it was the wretchedness of his boy. Had not that
youth scattered firebrands, arrows, and death, when
he thus madly occasioned the woe of a dying
parent ?

The death of Howard was lamented as an Euro-
pean loss. The sorrow spread round the civilized
world ; and, perhaps, there never was a man carried
to the narrow house amid more general or more
unfeigned regret. Three thousand slaves, prisoners,
sailors, soldiers, peasants, joined in the mournful
procession which accompanied him to the tomb,
because they had lost their best benefactor. Nota
dry eye was there, and the man who had loved and
laboured for all, was seen to have been enthroned in
A Beacon. 171

the hearts of myriads. A monument in St. Paul's
Cathedral was soon erected to Howard, and the
court, the press, the pulpit, and the bar, alike did
honour to his memory in his native land. So richly
did he reap from man.

Now, surely youth may here read, in characters
of light, how glad and how pleasant it is early to
choose the good way of God. When we early sow
the good seed of the kingdom, we are sometimes
privileged to gather the fruit with our own hand,
even in this distempered world. Howard, the father,
modelled his life on the example which God pre-
sents, and died honoured, lamented, revered by
millions. Howard, the son, took the world for his
model; he plunged into the world’s sins, and died
at an early age, a moral and a physical wreck—a
drivelling idiot—a self-destroyed youth, corrupted
and corrupting. Say again, then, is not the way of
transgressors a hard one? Surely, if aught but the
grace of God could touch the heart of man, the
contrast between this father and this son, in their
life and their death, might serve as a beacon and a

guide!


XII.

The Missionary.

HERE is a mother standing by an altar in
an antique chapel in Cappadocia. She
bears an infant in her arms whom she has

brought to the house of God, to place his little hands

upon the Holy Scriptures, which few could then
examine, except in a church, and in that attitude to
dedicate him to a heavenly Father’s service. It was

Nonna, the mother of Gregory of Nazianzum. Her

husband was then a heathen ; but she, like Hannah,

had dedicated her child to God, and was there to
pay her vow. It was registered in heaven ; for that



child grew to be a shining light in the Church of
Christ, at a time when corruptions were fast becom-
ing rife.

We are now to glance at the history of one who
was early dedicated, in a similar spirit, to God ; and
to trace, through his life, how that act of dedication
was blessed. CHRISTIAN FREDERICK SWARTZ was
born in what is now the kingdom of Prussia, in the
Christian Frederick Swarts. 173

year 1726. His mother died during his infancy ;
but on her death-bed she solemnly devoted her boy
to God, and as solemnly told her husband and
pastor what she had done. She exacted a promise
from each that little Christian should be reared in
the remembrance of his high destination ; so that,
from the edge of the grave, and in sight of eternity,
her soul was exercised regarding the welfare of the
Church on earth, where she had been trained for the
joys of the Church on high. How, then, did the
boy, thus early dedicated to God, thus early blessed
by a mother’s prayers and a mother’s dying lips, act
in future years? Was he one of those who mock at
such prayers, and delight to turn their answer away ;
or was he one of those who rejoice to act as if their
parents’ eye were still upon them? Did he sow well,
and therefore reap well? or did he sow the wind, and
reap the whirlwind, as thousands of the young are
daily doing, in spite of every warning?

At the early age of eight, the boy Swartz had so
far found out what it is to be truly wise, that he was
in the habit of frequently retiring from his young
companions, to be alone with God, and there to
pour out his heart’s desire in prayer. He found a
blessing in that exercise; and when conscious of
having done what was wrong, he never could regain
his peace until he had implored forgiveness from
Him who marks iniquity. He was not at all times
174 The Better Part Chosen.

equally alive to the importance of these things, but
even his young soul found its best portion in the
favour of God. It was a work by Augustus Herman
Francke which proved the turning point of Swartz’s
history. He was about sixteen years of age when
he read it; and though he confesses that worldly
motives often influenced his conduct, still, his soul
was now obviously in progress towards the chief
good. Provyidential circumstances helped him on
his way. ‘The strictness and the homeliness of his
father’s system of training had laid a firm foundation
for excellence ; and intercourse with some devoted
men at once encouraged and enlightened the youth.
He was confirmed by them in his determination to
devote himself to God; and thus a career began
which will never have an end—Swartz became one
of those who are to shine as the stars for ever and
ever, and his lustre was brighter far than that of-—

“The starry lights of genius.”

It was when he was about twenty-two years of
‘age that Swartz determined on becoming a mis-
sionary to the heathen. He dreaded, at first, the
opposition of his father; but He who holds the
hearts of all men in His hands, turned that father’s
heart to favour the purpose of his son. He gave
the youth his blessing, and bade him to depart in
God's name, “charging him to forget his native
The Power of Love. 175

country and his father’s house, and to go and win
many souls to Christ ”—a commission which young
Swartz, in some respects, discharged to the letter.

He arrived in India in the year 1750, and in less
than four months after his arrival, he was able to
preach in Tamil to the natives of Hindustan. Lov-
ing the Redeemer first and supremely, he also loved
the souls for which He died. That made self-denial
light ; it stimulated him to unwearying diligence ;
and he soon began to proclaim to others what he
had felt to be glad tidings of great joy to himself.
At a time when few cared for the souls of the
heathen—nay, when some regarded it as foolish to
attempt their conversion to Christ at all, this man of
God took his life in his hand ; he hazarded it for the
name of Jesus, and proceeded to do as John the
Baptist did when he proclaimed, “ Behold the Lamb
of God, who taketh away the sin of the world.”

Such was, briefly, the seed-time of Swartz’s life.
He sowed well, for the good seed of the kingdom
had taken deep root in his heart. It had already
begun to produce fruit unto holiness. And how did
he reap? We have seen the early rain falling to
refresh and fertilize. When the latter rain was given,
how did Swartz gather into the garner?

He could have lingered at home, and eaten the
bread of indolence.

He could have turned a deaf ear to the cry of the
176 Lhyder Ah,

perishing heathen, even when a voice had reached
his heart on their behalf.

He could have devolved upon others the duty
which God laid upon him.

But Swartz did none of these things. As “the
Son of Man had come to seek and to save the lost,”
this devoted man went forth to gather the lost into
the fold. In season and out. of season, for nearly
fifty years, did he plead with dying men; and as he
honoured God, Swartz was honoured by Him.
Humble missionary as he was, and simple in all his
habits, he was honoured to become the counsellor of
kings ; insomuch that it seems as if the fate of large
portions of India had sometimes depended on his
word. While he had reason to say, “ My soul doth
magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced
in God my Saviour,” his friendship was sought—he
was even courted and caressed, by the princes of
India. Mahommed Ali, the Nabob of the Carnatic,
and even that scourge of Southern India, the terrible
Hyder Ali, delighted to do honour to Swartz, He
was accustomed to mediate between rival princes ;
and again and again did the British Government in
India rely upon the wisdom of the missionary, or even
exalt him, as far as he would be exalted, to places
of honour in its councils. His sagacity, his wide ex-
perience, his calm temper, and constant self-posses-
sion, pointed him out as at once deserving of con-
Labours of Love. 177

fidence, and fitted to sway the minds of others.
“ We are convinced that you will act disinterestedly,”
said the Governor of Madras to Swartz, when asking
him to undertake a mission of peace to Hyder Ali,
“and will not allow any one to bribe you.” In
other words, men could confide in a Christian who
confided in God; but as to others, it was known from
sad experience, that as there was no fear of God
before their eyes, no trust could be reposed in them
by their fellow-men.

In the month of June 1780, Hyder Ali invaded
the Carnatic with an army of nearly one hundred
thousand men. Ruin and desolation were spread
through some of the fairest provinces of India, and
men were aroused from their supineness only by the
columns of smoke and flame which that fierce warrior
kindled in the very neighbourhood of Madras. In
consequence of these ravages, thousands died of want.
Desolated villages and piles of corpses were seen on



every side ; and how was the missionary Swartz em-
ployed amid such scenes? He had purchased twelve
thousand bushels of rice, and with that he fed his
dependants and many others. Twice he was em-

ployed to find provisions for starving gai



ons, and
he succeeded. He soothed the feelings of the people,
and appeared as a guardian angel at the very time
that war was depopulating villages and consigning
thousands to woe. For seventeen months Swartz

a i2
178 Trichinopoly.

continued that labour of love, and often as many as
eight hundred were assembled in a day to partake of
the humble missionary’s bounty. Even Hyder Ali,
bloodthirsty as he was, and the pledged enemy of
the British name, was awed by the deportment of
Swartz ; and amid a cruel and desolating career, he
issued an order to his officers “to permit the vener-
able father Swartz to pass unmolested, and to show
him respect and kindness; for he is a holy man, and
means no harm to my government.” He had spent
five years in acquiring a knowledge of the Hindoo
sacred books, that he might know the avenues to
the hearts of the people. He had studied the Eng-
lish language, that he might be able to preach the
gospel to British soldiers and others; and the effects
which Swartz was blessed to produce in mitigating
the atrocities of war, formed part of his reward.

The town of Trichinopoly, in India, ranks among
the most remarkable in that land of death. Its
mosques where the followers of Mahomet worship—
its palace and gardéns—above all, its stupendous
rock of granite, rising to the height of four hundred
and fifty feet, within the fort, all combine to signalize
it. From that rock the view is one of the richest in
the world. The branches of the fertilizing Cavery,
and Seringham, with its gigantic pyramids, and vast
pagoda, would all be glorious things in the eye of
man, could he forget that they are stained by idolatry,
The Spiritual Harvest. 179

and perverted to minister to man’s rebellion against
iis God. But amid that lovely scene, profaned and
polluted by men, far nobler sights were about to be
displayed—Swartz chose it for his home, and the
beauties of holiness soon appeared as the result of
his labours. There and elsewhere he could record
such glad tidings as the following :—“I have bap-
tized twenty-five adults in the course of this year, and
received several Roman Catholics into the Protestant
Church. . We exhort one another, and trust that
God will, according to his goodness, permit us to
behold with rejoicing the days of harvest.” —“ Swartz
has been the happy instrument,” records one, “of
making many, both of the military and of the natives,
converts to true Christianity, . .. . in the genuine
spirit of the gospel of Christ.”—‘“ His converts,”
another says, “were between six and seven thousand ;”
and though only a tenth of these had been really re-
newed by the Spirit of God, all who know the price
of a redeemed soul—the blood of the Lamb of God
—will confess, that as Swartz sowed well, he reaped
well; he early gave himself to God, and God blessed
him, and made him a blessing. “His garden was
filled from morning till late in the evening with
natives of every rank, who came to him to have their
differences settled.” In brief, he redeemed the British
name from the degradation to which it was exposed,
in the eyes even of heathens, by the conduct of many


180 The Banyan Tree.

of our countrymen in India. The imputation of
general depravity was then too well deserved ; but
Swartz retrieved the character which many appeared
anxious to tarnish. At the same time, it was the
truth of God which regulated his conduct ; and on
one occasion, when a book of Sermons by Dr. Price,
in which the Redeemer was not honoured as the
Word of God teaches us to do, was sent to Swartz,
he cut the volume in pieces, and buried it in the
earth. He felt that it destroyed the foundation of
happiness and true holiness, and he therefore interred
it out of sight. In one word, “ Zhe Christian” was
Swartz’s title even among the heathen—-as if they
knew what a Christian should be, but had never seen
one in India except himself.

‘The banyan tree, it is well known, grows to a
magnificent size in India, From the main stem there
shoots out one set of branches, which take root in
the earth, grow up, and then shoot out another set
of branches, to take root and shoot out another set
in their turn, till the arcades or alleys formed by the
majestic parent tree resemble the aisles in a vast
cathedral. Swartz loved the delicious shade of the
banyan; and the simple-minded man might some-
times be found in that graceful temple, reared by
God's own hand, surrounded by groups of listeners,
as he told of the true God, the true incarnation, the
truc atonement, and the true salvation. The inco-
The Wages of Sin. 181

herent fables of Brahma and Sheva were there con-
fronted with the glorious truths of God. In these
things lay the secret of Swartz’s power, and under
that wide-spread tree Swartz often planted in the
minds of men the incorruptible seed—the word of
the Lord, which endureth for ever.

But Swartz moved much among far other scenes.
‘The Rajah of Tanjore, for example, had been a gay
yoluptuary in his youth, and his closing years were
in consequence years of woe. He also sowed to the
flesh, and reaped in misery, as few had ever done.
He lost, in succession, his son, his daughter, and his
grandson ; so that the Rajah Tuljajee, though in-
habiting a palace, ranked amongst the most wretched
of the sons of men. Swartz had often proclaimed
the Gospel to him, and told of the consolations which
its God alone can impart. But the prince disliked
these things ; he preferred the world, and found—as
every sinner sooner or later finds—that he could not
gather grapes from thorns, nor figs from thistles-—
nay, woe and unsoothed misery were his lot. He
became the oppressor of his people, and a curse to
the province over which he reigned. He had turned
away from the light, and he was left in darkness.
He had refused to follow where God would have led
him, and the Rajah therefore lay down in sorrow.
Now, Swartz was empowered to interpose his good
offices to mitigate the miseries of that province.
182 The Gain of Godliness.

Sixty-five thousand had fled to escape from the
tyrant’s oppression ; and of these seven thousand re-
turned as soon as Swartz interfered, so greatly was
he honoured and trusted even by heathen men.

Nor was this all. Tuljajee was anxious to adopt
a son, and make him his successor on his throne,
according to the Eastern custom, He sent for Swartz
on that occasion, and said, in language which in-
dicates how honoured and how revered God had
made his missionary servant: “This is not my son,”
was the Rajah’s address to Swartz, “This is not my
son, but yours; into your hand I deliver him.” The
missionary replied, ‘‘ May this child be a child of
God ;” and at a subsequent interview, that youth
was formally given over to the care of Swartz. That
humble man, from a remote town in Prussia, thus
became the guardian of an Indian prince. His God
placed him over one who might have had the power
of life or death over thousands. In short, Swartz
was exalted to sit with princes, for “godliness has
the promise of the life that now is, as well as of that
which is to come.”

But the close of a man’s earthly career often tests
his true condition better than his life ; and how did
Swartz reap when he was about to enter on the valley
of the shadow of death?

He had said, “The atonement of Jesus is the
foundation of my hope, peace, love, and happiness.”
ope in Death, 183

He haa added, “Though I am covered all over
with sin, the blood of Jesus cleanses me from all
mine iniquities, and sets my heart at rest.”

Or deeper stil, he said—“ Though I am a cor-
rupted creature, the Spirit of Jesus enlightens, cheers,
and strengthens us to hate and abominate all sin.”

And rising in the comidence of unwavering faith,
he proceeded—*Thougn the day of judgment is
approaching, the love ot God comforts us so far as to
have boldness to appear before our Judge, not as if
we were innocent creatures, but because we are par-
doned, washed, and cleansed in the blood of Christ.”
And since these truths were the place of his rest while
he lived, how did Swartz die?

‘The last days of his life were some of his best.
He gave an animating example of faith, and patience,
and hope, and often spoke of the repose and peace
of mind which he enjoyed by the mercy of God
through Christ. ‘That the Lord Jesus has received
me, forgiven my sins, and has not entered into judg-
ment with me, is well for me, and I praise him,’—
were some of his closing words; and when he de-
parted, his friends tell that “his triumphant death,
and the evident traces of sweetness and composure
which were left on his countenance,” prevented the
outbreak of their sorrow, and prompted rather their
praise. Courted as he had been by princes, reverenced
almost to adoration by the people, and honoured
184 A Good Man's Monument.

even by the British government in India, his humility
never forsook him. All had been subordinated to
the great object of a missionary’s life—the winning
of souls to Christ—and he was not forsaken in his
hour of need. “The cause of Christ is my heir,”
was Swartz’s will, as intimated on his death-bed; and
that cause had been his very life. In short, some of
the words on his tomb in India may well sum up the
results or the fruit of Swartz’



life-long sowing : ‘ Be-
loved and honoured by Europeans”—‘ The poor
and the injured looked up to him as an unfailing
friend and adyocate”—“The great and powerful
concurred in yielding him the highest homage ever
paid, in this quarter of the globe, to European virtue.
The late Hyder Ali Cawn, in the midst of a bloody
and vindictive war with the Carnatic, sent orders to
his officers to permit the venerable father Swartz to
pass unmolested, and show him respect and kindness,
for he is a holy man”—‘“ The East India Company
are anxious to perpetuate the memory of such trans-
cendent worth.”—Such is the testimony borne by
some who do not always defer to Christian principle ;
and when we turn from these things to the exceeding
weight of glory which Swartz, through grace, inherited,
we have seen enough to tell how good and how plea-
sant it is to set the Lord before us. Early did Swartz
begin to sow. He continued sowing the indestruc-
tible seed all along his path. He took care to plant
A Youth Seif Ruined. 185

it deeply in his own soul, and, tended by Him who
is like the dew to Israel, he gathered as he had
strewed. Good measure, pressed down and running
over, was meted out to him by the Lord of the be-
liever’s harvest ; and is not this the heart’s desire at
the contemplation of such a career and such a close,
—“Let me die the death of the righteous, and let
my latter end be like his?”

But let us try to throw in some dark shading be-
hind this sketch of Swartz the missionary, to deepen
its effect upon the minds of the young. Instead of
living as he did, in India—for God and his glory,
there are thousands of our countrymen there en-
amoured of folly, and wholly given over to iniquity.
A young officer, for example—one of the thoughtless
crowd who resort to that land for wealth or fame,
and find only an early grave—was dying, and Swartz
was summoned to visit him. That youth had found
out at last what it is to forsake the fountain of living
water—he had discovered that all that India contains
was a bauble in comparison of his soul. In Swartz’s
words: “He now felt what it was to be immersed in
the lusts of the flesh, by which both body and soul
are ruined. He prayed and he wept:” and adds the
missionary: “The wretchedness of many young
people here is difficult to be described. Of such,
how many are ina short space removed into eternity!
They arrive in this country to make, as it is called,
186 A Grave—not Glory, the Sinner's Lot.

their fortunes, and usually go down to the grave
under circumstances sorrowful indeed.” That tender-
hearted missionary saw that youth about to be con-
fronted with his God, after having outraged His laws,
He went to India seeking gold or glory, but he found
only misery and a grave; and Swartz felt more for
such misguided souls, and that in a far deeper sense,
than most of them do for themselves. He saw that
they were filled with the fruits of their own devices.
They preferred the curse to the blessing, and they
obtained it. Their life-long business was to fight
against God, and they were crushed in the hopeless
struggle. They had taken fire to their bosom, and
were scorched. And surely, surely if parents who
profess to love God and their own offspring, loved
them with an intelligent affection, they would hesitate
before they send their youth to India, inexperienced,
ignorant, and ready to be the dupes of every deception
which sin practises on the soul; where their bones
too often lie bleaching under a tropical sun, and
where souls, as far as man can judge, are hurried into
an eternity for which no provision has been made,




XIV.

The Poet.

ILLIAM COWPER is one of the few among

the sons of men whom all love and all are
disposed to praise. We do not recollect
a harsh sentiment against himself, or a severe criti-
cism on his poetry, from any recent quarter. Whether
it was the gentleness of his nature, or his protracted
sorrows, or his exquisitely truthful poetry, or all com-
bined, that occasioned it, the fact is certain, that for
half a century, the eulogy of nearly all who can read
the English language has been awarded to the
memory of Cowper.

He was a poet whom the young should early
begin to read. Who would not like to know what
was said and written by the author of “ John Gilpin?”
Who would not wish to be familiar with the man who
was so kind and gentle to his tame hares and rabbits,
to his dog, to his goldfinch and bullfinch, his star-
lings, jays, and squirrels—to everything, in short,
which had beauty or life in it? Above all, who


188 William Cowper.

would not like to know the history of him who sang
so sweetly of his mother, when he said, —
“Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
‘That thou might’st know me safe and warmly laid?”

Let us try, then, to lead some of the young to an
acquaintance with Wrttam Cowper ; and in doing
so, we shall attempt to show, first, his deportment in
early youth, or the seed-time of his life; and then his
reward in its autumn, when the hair grew hoary, and
when the step was tottering and infirm.

He was a feeble, sickly boy, and needed no little
care. From his father’s house—the parsonage of
Great Berkhamstead, in Hertfordshire—he was

“ Drawn to school along the public way,
Delighted with his bauble coach ;”
but when the period came at which the tender boy
was to be sent to a more advanced seminary, disease
interrupted his progress, and when he was at length
able to be sent to school, he suffered much from his
school-fellows. His mother was now in the grave.
He had none who could watch over him as she had
done, and the oppression which he endured at school
not merely made him wretched then, but helped,
perhaps, to confirm diseases which afterwards made
him more wretched still. I will not fear what man
can do unto me,” was a portion of the Psalms which
strengthened him, he says, amid these early woes ;
Lessons from a Shull. 189

but he often deeply lamented that he had not learned
to make more ample use of the Word of God.

While a boy at school, Cowper once had occasion
to pass through a neighbouring church-yard at the
evening twilight, while a grave-digger was at work
by the glimmer of a lamp. ‘The youth was attracted
to the spot by the light, and as the labourer among
skeletons threw up the earth from the grave, a skull
struck Cowper’s limb while he gazed on the work-
man. He says that “it was an alarm to his con-
science,” so that even then he was forced to think
of death. He began to pray in secret, though he
confesses that he soon found it to be irksome, as all
must do who do not know that God—God in Christ
——is the hearer and answerer of prayer. “At length,”
he says, “I betook myself to God in prayer. Such
is the rank which our Redeemer holds in our esteem
—never resorted to but in the last instance, when all
creatures have failed to succour us. My hard heart
was at length softened, and my stubborn knees
brought to bow. I composed a set of prayers, and
made frequent use of them. Weak as my faith was,
the Almighty, who will not break the bruised reed,
nor quench the smoking flax, was graciously pleased
to hear me.”

During an illness which then preyed on Cowper's
mind, change of scene was recommended, and he
resorted to one of the fairest spots of our island, on
190 Lhe Disconsolate Youth.

an arm of the sea near Southampton. “Here it
was,” he says, “ that on a sudden, as if another sun
had been kindled that instant in the heavens, on
purpose to dispel sorrow and vexation of spirit, I felt
the weight of all my misery taken off; my heart be-
came light and joyful in a moment; I could have
wept with transport had I been alone.” But this
impression also faded away, and Cowper tells that
he got back to the world after all. He acknow-
ledges, however, that the Father of mercies had, in
a measure, heard and answered his prayers. Enticed
or encouraged by ungodly companions, Cowper fell,
and was wretched ; but he blesses the grace of God
that he was not left unchecked, unwarned, unsuffer-
ing.

Most of these things took place while Cowper
was a student of law, but the shyness of his nature,
and the delicacy of his frame, were barriers to his
prosecuting that profession, so that, like many
others, he had great difficulty in deciding what
should be the business of his life. Amid his per-
plexity, he had reason to say,—

« Cast forth a wanderer on a world unknown,

See me neglected on the world’s wide coast,

Each dear companion of my voyage lost ;”
yet all had not forsaken Cowper. He was appointed
to an office which connected him with the House of
Lords; but as it required him to read in public,
Religion Perverted— Woe the Result, 191

the mere thought of doing so was too much for his
sensitive nature. He shrank from man’s contact,
and had soon to resign his office, or exchange it for
another. His character gradually became beclouded
with melancholy. “He lay down in horror, and
rose up in despair ;” and reason at length broke
down, so that to attempt his duties was an intoler-
able burden. Mental derangement, in short, was
the result, and the genius of William Cowper was,
for some time, thus early obscured to a degree which
led to some of the heaviest calamities which can
afflict humanity.

And let the young mark it well—some say that it
was religion which made Cowper gloomy, du it was
religion perverted. Not the religion of Jesus—not
the truth of God—not the glad tidings of great joy:
these can never make man sad, unless he madly
determine to continue in sin. But Cowper thought
that God had cut him off from hope. He fancied
that there was nothing before him but condemnation
and despair. He would not believe that God is love.
His mind was so depressed, or disturbed by disease,
that he could not receive God's own declaration,
that He has no delight in the death of him that
dies. Poor Cowper, in short, did hot understand
the religion of the Son of God, which is mercy to the
chief of sinners, if they will take it as God offers it.
He had forgotten that that religion came from heaven
192 Reason Restored by Truth,

to make man blessed again, to renew his youth like
the eagle’s, and fit him for the home where men
never grow old—and because Cowper forgot that, he
was unhappy ; his religion only made him wretched,
as the religion of Jesus makes all men wretched who
think that God is not a God of kindness and com-
passion, of tender mercy and love.

And what was it that cleared away the darkness,
that restored Cowper's joy, and made him at length
a child of light indeed? It was the words, “Whom
God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith
in His blood, to declare His righteousness for the
remission of sins that are past, through the forbear-
ance of God.” Conscience was satisfied by that, and
reason was now set right. ‘The whole soul was made
glad; in other words, Cowper just believed what
God said, and the man heretofore so depressed, and
dark-souled, and selfcondemned, became happy,
and free, and serene. Is liberty a gladdening thing
to the prisoner? Cowper now entered upon the en-
joyment of freedom. Is health a gladdening thing
to the sick? That also was imparted to the mind
of Cowper. Is hope to the despairing, is rest to the
weary, is home to the exile, a source of joy? In
all these Cowper rejoiced ; and he could now say,
“Return to thy rest, O my soul, for the Lord hath
dealt bountifully with thee.” The gospel became a
source of pleasure, and in due time it was to become
The Refuge of Lies Destroyed. 193

the grand topic, or at least the directing power, of
his poetry. “Oh, the fever of the brain !” he once
exclaimed ; but that fever left him, and the peace of
God then kept his heart and mind. “ Next to life
itself,” he added, “I esteem the loss of my reason
the greatest blessing I ever received from the Divine
bounty.” It led him to prize the Saviour as all-
sufficient; and when that is the result, all is well.
“ Blessed be God,” William Cowper once exclaimed,
“even the God who is become my salvation—the
hail of affliction and rebuke for sin has swept away
the refuge of lies. It pleased the Almighty to set all
my misdeeds before me. At length the storm being
past, a quiet and peaceful serenity of soul succeeded,
such as ever attends the gift of living faith in the
all-sufficient atonement, and the sweet sense of
mercy and pardon purchased by the blood of Christ.”
That is the rock of the sinner’s confidence ; and
dwelling there, he is safe beyond the reach of evil.
It would be pleasing to tell the happiness which
this man now enjoyed in the friendship of God as
his God and portion ; how those whom the Bible
calls “the excellent of the earth” clustered around
him as one whom they loved; and how in his poems
he found his own soul made glad, because he sought
the highest good and happiness of others. It is true
that his days of darkness returned, and long con-

tinued to lour above his gentle nature. No effort of
a 13
194 The Truth, and its Power.

man could free him from the gloom, and neither in
nature nor in grace could he find anything that could
alleviate his sorrow. But, amid it all, there are
gleams of blessedness breaking forth to show that it
was disease that was now the cause of trouble to
Cowper. His mind was disordered on the greatest
of all topics—the ground of his acceptance with God.
Hence his woe, though even then he was able to
counsel and to comfort others. He obstinately put
away the goodness of God from himself, though he
could pour it forth in rich abundance upon all around
him, insomuch that he was sorrowing, yet alway re-
joicing. In short, that God who chooses his people
in the furnace was watching over Cowper there, and
he might have said,—
“ Before thy mystic altar, heavenly Truth,

I kneel in manhood, as I knelt in youth ;

‘Thus let me kneel till this dull form decay,

And life's last shade be brightened by thy ray;

‘Then shall my soul, now lost in clouds below,

Soar without bound, without consuming, glow.”

How, then, did William Cowper reap at last? We
have seen how deep and how long the furrows were.
We have watched how he sowed with many tears—
the result must be full of instruction, and how full,
he himself shall tell.

“Jesus is a present Saviour from the guilt of sin
by his most precious blood, and from the power of
it by his Spirit.” That was one declaration of the
An Anchor within the Veil. 195

poet, and such things he called “the very life of his
soul, and the soul of all his happiness.”

“Corrupt in ourselves, in Him, and in Him only,
we are complete,” was another, and in that he found
repose for his soul, even in the prospect of meeting
God on the great white throne.

“Being united to Jesus by a lively faith, we have
a solid and eternal interest in His obedience and suf-
ferings to justify us before the face of our heavenly
Father”—that was another; and thus Cowper had
an anchor cast within the veil, so that he could ride
out every storm.

“ All is given, freely given, to us of God; in short,
Jesus hath opened the kingdom of heaven ¢o al be-
4ievers”—that was another conviction; and pillowed
upon that truth, he could sleep as calmly as unsus-
pecting childhood amid a hundred dangers. These
truths, and truths like these, he says, he held to “be
dearer to him than life itself’—and adds, “ They
shall ever be placed next my heart, as the throne
whereon the Saviour shall sit, to sway all its emo-
tions, and reduce that world of iniquity and rebellion
to a state of filial and affectionaté obedience to the
will of the Most Holy.”

These, then, were the elements of Cowper's hap-
piness—they constituted the ripe fruits of his har-
vest.

These set up the kingdom of God in his soul.
196 Alexanders Tears—Their Vanity.

These made him like-minded with God himself.

These made him a partaker of the very peace of
God; and reposing on the promises, which are truth
itself in Jesus Christ, this gifted yet much tried man
was made a partaker of the Divine nature, an heir
of God, a joint-heir with Christ. Who expects ever
to reap a more ample reward, or receive, in this life
at least, aught more fitted to bless and satisfy the
soul? With the Son of God for a portion, who can
long for more? Alexander, whom men call the
Great, wept when he had conquered the world,
because he had not another to conquer; but had he
been taught to bring that “little world,” the heart,
to God, the conqueror would have learned to subdue
it, and then not tears but rapture would have followed
the conquest.

It is true, Cowper's closing scene was not thus
made glad. ‘He was put to bed in the dark” by
his heavenly Father; but the morning was the
brighter, and the exceeding weight of glory the more
welcome to his spirit, when he reached his heavenly
home. He once exclaimed, “Blessed be the God
of my salvation for every sigh I drew, for every tear
I shed, since thus it pleased Him to judge me here,
that I might not be judged hereafter!” And how
much more loud would the exclamation be amid
the anthems and acclamations of heaven! “Unless
the Almighty arm had been under me,” he once wrote


COWPER'S LONELY WALK
“ Alway Rejoicing.” 197

concerning his soul, “I think I should have died
with gratitude and joy. My eyes filled with tears,
and my voice choked with transport; I could only
look up to heaven in silent fear, overwhelmed with
love and wonder.” It was in the emancipation
which the gospel brings that William Cowper thus
rejoiced; and was it not thirty-fold, sixty-fold, an
hundred-fold, for all the tears which he had shed?
“The very name of Jesus made tears of penitence
and joy to flow.” “To rejoice day and night was
all his employment.” In the house of God, in his
lonely walks by the wooded bank of the Ouse—in
which, accompanied only by his dog, he loved to
meditate on holy things—in the retirement of his
chamber, he was still praising God ; and in studying
his life as a believer, one is prompted to say of him,
what he once said to a worshipper beside him in
God’s sanctuary, “Bless you for praising Him whom
my soul loveth!” Let the young heart say, Is it
not good thus to wait upon the Lord? Is not that
man happy whom the Lord corrects? Is not

“All bliss beside, a shadow and a sound,”

compared with the fulness of joy in which the heart
of a believer in Jesus may be bathed?

While these were the blessings which Cowper
enjoyed, even amid many woes, it might be profit-
able to study, in contrast with him, the life of some
198 Lord Byron—

other poet, say Byron or Burns. Of the former, one
can speak only as a majestic moral wreck—as one
“seared in heart, and lone, and blighted,” by the
force of his own unbridled passions; nay, not merely
unbridled, but goaded and stimulated till indulgence
became a consuming pleasure—the pleasure of sin,
but a synonym for woe. The recklessness with
which he outraged all that was sacred, the wildness
of his licentious career, and the boldness of his
blasphemy, all signalize that nobleman as one of
the most conspicuous in wretchedness that our world
ever saw. He gloried in his own shame; and a life
of daring defiance to the laws of God or the de-
cencies of society appears to have formed the very
pride of Byron. Who will question his genius? Who
does not admire his power? But, along with these,
who does not see that very genius and that very
power perverted into the means of increasing his
misery? Minds like his own may palliate his guilt,
or even try to invest it with a halo of glory; but
religion outraged, or blasphemy invested with a
charm, and poured forth in wasteful abundance upon
the world, render him a beacon—a beacon especially
to the young.

“As soon
ice in Juno,”







Seek roses in December,

as expect anything but woe and tribulation in the
train of conduct like that of the poet Byron.
His Death-Bed. 199

On his most melancholy death-bed, that majestic
wreck, his biographer tells us, “clenched his hands
at times, gnashed his teeth, and uttered the Italian
exclamation of ‘Ah, Christi!” Was it faith in the
great name, or was it delirium, the harbinger of
death? Was it the outcry of a soul earnest at last
for the good and the holy, or was it only an excla-
mation extorted by pain? Was it the soul discover-
ing that “the name of the Lord is a strong tower,”
or was it reaping the whirlwind as it had sowed the
wind? We cannot, cannot tell. But this we know:
“These things are written for our instruction,” and
he is wise who learns the lesson which they teach.
They proclaim that man may hasten to ruin with a
torch kindled in heaven in his hand. Over broken
hearts, over outraged affection, over ruined souls,
men will rush to the second death; and only the
Spirit of God can prevent the young, in generation
after generation, from following in the same road to
ruin.






The Divine.



Fee JHAT crowds of lessons rush into the thought-
Nis ful mind during a walk in a churchyard!
KéAkMea © See this little grave! The earth scarcely
swells above it, and you can with difficulty tell that
the turf has ever been disturbed. It is the last
resting-place of a little child who just opened his
eyes on our world, and then closed them again, till
time shall be no more.

Or see that open burial-place. It is waiting to
receive an only son. His weeping father and more





weeping mother are preparing to surrender his dust
till the archangel’s trump shall summon the dead,
small and great, to the tribunal of their God.

Read that inscription. It tells of a youth who
fell in battle, and who has fulfilled the Word of God
in a far off land, saying there to the worm, “ Thou
art my mother, and thou art my sister.” He went
to the battle-field in quest of glory, but the poor child
of dust found only a grave.


LESSONS IN A CHURCHYARD
Lessons in a Churchyard. 201

Or mark that downcast mourner, whose foot-falls,
so heavy and so slow, betoken the load which presses
on her spirit. It is a widow, who has come hither
to weep by the grave of him who was the husband
of her youth and her heart. He is now in the narrow
house, and has left her no earthly portion but loneli-
ness and tears.

Or see that mouldering but laboured inscription.
It was designed to perpetuate the pride of one whose
heart beat only for himself—who selfishly grasped
at all that he could heap together, and as tenaciously
held all that he had grasped. The inscription by
which his friends sought to redeem him from oblivion
is fast hastening to decay.

And there is the grave of one who had formed
great plans for the future. He boasted of to-morrow.
He was to buy, and sell, and get gain: but death
came; his soul was required of him; he and his
visions beside him are now buried in that grave, and
the flower which has withered on its stalk is scarcely
more transient than he.

Now, as in the graveyard, so in life. The variety
which meets us among the dead, meets us among
the living also. It meets us in the world; it meets
us in the church; and we are now to glance at the
history of another man, to behold another triumph
of grace—another sowing-time of tears and reaping-
time of joy. The rainbow ranks among the loveliest
202 Thomas Scott.

objects in nature; but of what is it formed? Perhaps
of the dew; first evaporated by the morning sun, then
formed into clouds in the air, and then descending
in a shower to gladden the earth. And so with the
joys of man. He passes through trial after trial;
but if he be a child of God, joy is the result of the
whole. Let us contemplate such a case.

Tuomas Scorr was born in the year 1747; and,
by his own account, he grew up for some time amid
all the sins in which the unconverted rejoice. “There
was no fear of God before my eyes,” he says; and he
has honestly described his own condition with great
distinctness, as a warning to all who will be warned.
Wicked cornpanions were fora time his choice. He
had not been long apprenticed when his conduct
caused his dismissal; and the result of that was
vexation, shame, and bitterness, both to himself and
his relations, such as cannot easily be told.

Amid these things, however, the conviction of sin
began to be felt. Scott's conscience was outraged;
and when he saw what it was to be filled with the
fruits of his own devices, he also felt what it was to
be a sinner against God. A godless man once
reproved him for sin, and said that he was not
merely offending a fellow-creature, but was wicked,
moreover, in the sight of God. Reproof from such
a quarter went to Scott’s heart, and he describes it
as “the primary means of his subsequent conver
The Ploughshare of Truth. 203

sion.” Till he was about sixteen years of age, how-
ever, he had felt no fear of God; but “hen he began
to feel his condition, and adopted various means to
soothe his troubled conscience. Shame and degra-
dation became his lot at the hands of men; for he
was for a time the menial or the drudge of others,
and added another to the multitude who have felt
that the way of sin isa way of misery. He had now
many serious thoughts of God and eternity; for the
prodigal was coming to himself, and his sorrows, he
says, then “produced a kind of paroxysm of reli-
gion.” He prayed for pardon, and began to cherish
the hope of happiness hereafter. At times his mind
was overpowered by the thought of eternity, while
his fear became intolerable, for the ploughshare of
truth was tearing up the soil which was overrun with
much that was noxious and offensive. It was still
only conscience, however, and not the gospel, that
was guiding Scott; and “low-lived riots” were not
unfrequently the scenes amid which he continued to
move. “Low and abandoned company” was still
frequented by him, so that he was busy heaping up
wrath against himself, at the vety time when con-
science was asserting the righteous claims of God.
Even while indulging in such conduct, Thomas
Scott made an unsuccessful effort to obtain ordination
as a minister of Christ. But though he failed in that
attempt, he was soon afterwards successful, and the
204 The Misery of Sin.

man whom we have just described in his own words,
was ordained to tell others of a Saviour whom he did
not yet know—of a pardon which he did not yet seek
in the appointed way—and a heaven to which he
was not yet journeying. Conscience was so far asleep,
that it lifted no availing protest against so unhallowed
a measure. Nay, more; he actually adopted one of
the most ruinous of all the corrupt forms of Chris-
tianity ; and on a retrospect of such procedure,
Scott has solemnly said, “I never think of this daring
wickedness without being filled with amazement that
I am out of hell.” He had occasion, in bitterness
of spirit, to record that he “ abhorred himself, and
repented in dust and ashes.” He felt that he was
selfruined. The sins of his youth clamoured for
punishment, and he who had vowed that he would
lead men to Him who is the way, was himself agitated
and harassed—a blind leader of the blind. “He
was ashamed and confounded, because he did bear
the reproach of his youth.”

Here, then, we find one who is already busy reap-
ing as he had sowed. Like many others, he has
tried to gather grapes from thorns, and figs from
thistles ; but only corroding misery is his lot. He
has found that the wages of sin is death ; and that
no man can swerve from the ways of God and be
blessed, just as no man can take fire into his bosom
and not be burned.
The Wine of Astonishment. 205

Yet as God had work for Saul of Tarsus to per-
form, and therefore rescued him, in a wondrous way,
from the bondage of sin, so Thomas Scott was de-
livered from his pernicious paths. When conscience
asserted its supremacy, he began to see the fearful
pit into which he had fallen, and adopted measures
for obtaining relief, He now addressed himself to
his studies with indomitable resolution, and with an
activity which has rarely been equalled, gave himself
to all known duties. He sometimes heard John
Newton preach, for they were neighbours. He tried
to draw that honoured minister into a controversy,
and in various ways showed that his mind was ill at
ease—that his early habits and his heretical opinions
were bearing their appointed fruit ; in short, that he
was draining the cup which his own hand had filled.
He says of this period of his history, that “he knew
neither the Mediator through whom, nor the Spirit
by whom, prayers are offered with acceptance.” In
a word, the fever and the fret of this man’s life be-
came a burden greater than he could easily bear; he
had fallen into the pit which his own hands had dug ;
he was drinking the wine of astonishment which his
own devices had mingled.

By that process, then, blessed of God, the man
who had long sown to the flesh, began to sow to the
Spirit. The heart formerly so stubborn and so proud,
now became humble and docile. Scott now read
206 The New Creature.

the Scriptures and prayed for a better teaching than
man’s, and the truth as it is in Jesus took possession
of his mind. He began to count all earthly things
but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ.
His former ways became a source of deeper loathing
to him than ever, and though he still conformed to
the world in some respects, yet the truth which he
had imbibed gradually leavened his soul—all things
were becoming new, and trials came to hasten for-
ward the change. Men who loved the praise of man
more than the praise of God, attempted to scare him
from his purpose to follow the Lord fully. He was
able, however, to take up his cross and follow Christ.
“Seek rirst the kingdom of God and his righteous-
ness,” became his favourite maxim. In short, the
incorruptible seed is now fairly lodged in the soul, and
he who had before reaped woe and tribulation from
sin, now began to enjoy the abundance of peace—
peace with God in Christ, though there were still
fightings without, and fears within. He dared to
trust in God, and he was not forsaken. He had
been substituting the counterfeit bauble for the jewel,
but was at length undeceived, and began to be truly
wise, because wise unto salvation.

The ploughshare, then, has now done its work.
The process of sowing is over, and how is Scott to
reap t

It was often his lot to be in straits regarding his
The Good Seed Sown. 207

worldly affairs ; sometimes he had little more than
the promise of God to trust in—‘ Bread shall be
provided, and water made sure.” But Scott trusted,
and was not put to shame ; help sometimes came in
such a way as to show that it came from his God.

But he had higher rewards. Scarcely had he him-
self welcomed the truth, and learned to speak from
heart to heart, “as dying unto dying men,” when
souls began to inquire what they must do to be saved,
or to turn their faces Zionward, under the pressure
of his manly and vigorous ministry. ‘The seven years
which followed his reception of the truth—*“ the good
seed ”—were the happiest of his life. He waited and
he prayed for souls, and did not wait in vain.

Scott’s great reaping-time, however, was connected
with his Commentary on the Bible—one of the works
which have helped to give a character to our age, as
well as to establish many in the faith. Not fewer
than twelve thousand copies of that work, voluminous
as it is, were sold during the author's life-time, while
upwards of twenty-five thousand copies were sold in
America during the same period. ‘The cost of the
English copies amounted to about £67,000; and of
the American copies to about £132,000; so that for
that single production of Scott, the public had paid,
about the period of his death, not less than £200,000.
Now, these facts may enable. us to understand how
widely and how unsparingly Scott sowed the incor-
208 An Ample Harvest.

ruptible seed. That was often done amid sorrow,
and anguish, and tears; but it was the more likely
to grow, because it was watered by weeping—and it
has grown to the increased light and knowledge of
hundreds of thousands. These things, added to the
numbers in London and elsewhere, whom Scott was
the means of converting from the error of their ways,
form the richest harvest which a child of Adam can
reap—and he reaped it in more than usual abundance
during the closing years of his life.

It is true that this man of God was often much
depressed, or compassed about with a great fight of
afflictions; and as his death drew near, he was some-
times dejected by gloomy forebodings. Yet his
latter end was peace. He sank “as quietly as an
infant dropping asleep.” “All that he had taught
and done, he sealed by his dying testimony and his
dying example.” “He inquired, ‘Any change? Any
token for good?’ for so he called the symptoms of
approaching dissolution.” “The expression of his
countenance suddenly changed from that of prayer,
and indicated, as I conceived, a transition to feelings
of admiring and adoring praise, with a calmness and
peace which are quite inexpressible,’”—such are some
of the expressions employed to describe Scott’s closing
earthly scene ; and is not his latter end that of the
righteous? “ Our /réend is gone,” or, “We have lost
our friend,’ was the lamentation of his poor parish-
Henry Rirke White 209)

ioners over him; and whether it was in the composure
of his own departing soul, in the good which he was
the instrument of accomplishing as a defender of the
common faith, or in the veneration which followed
him to the grave, we cannot but say that Thomas
Scott sowed well and reaped well—he reaped the
peaceable fruits of righteousness as fewhave ever done.

One instance may be quoted. Henry Kirke White
was once in danger of becoming an infidel. He read
“The Force of Truth,”—a book which every youth
should study—of which Scott was the author, and
it proved the turning-point in the history of Kirke
White’s soul. According to one account, he ex-
pressed his readiness “to give up all the acquisitions
of knowledge, and all hopes of fame, and live in a
wilderness unknown till death, provided he could
insure an inheritance in heaven. A new pursuit was
opened up to him, and he engaged in it with his
wonted ardour.”

“Large indeed was the harvest,” writes William
Wilberforce, who was one of Scott’s hearers in Lon-
don, “which he was allowed to gather in; many are
the works which have followed him; and rich, doubt-
less, will be his remuneration on that day, when he
shall hear the blessed address which I could for very,
very few, anticipate with equal confidence— Well
done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the
joy of thy Lord.’”

a iy
210 The Grand Pursuit.

Now, let every young mind mark, and inwardly
digest, what Scott himself describes again and again
as his guiding maxim from the period of his conver-
sion:—“ The grand secret of my success,” he says,
“appears to have been this, that I always sought for
my children as well as for myself, IN THE FIRST PLACE,
the kingdom of God and his righteousness.” Because
he sowed so wisely and so well, he was honoured to
reap abundantly, while his spiritual children rose up
and called him blessed—

“On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand,”

was his habitual resolution, and standing there, he
beckoned many sons and daughters to glory.




XVI.

The Statesmen.

ITH the exception of the apostle Paul, per-
haps no man ever did so much for mankind
as WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, the enemy of

the slave trade, and at last the emancipator of the

slaves.

He was born in the month of August 1759, and
like Philip Doddridge, was so weakly as often to
suggest a doubt whether he could long survive. As



he grew up, the feeble boy became unusually thought-
ful, with large affections, and: a vigorous mind. No
great pains, however, were taken at first to form his
religious principles. His biographers tell us that his
mother, while her son was young, did not hold those
views of the spiritual nature of religion which she
adopted in later life; and when a mother has not
learned to love her own soul, as the Word of God
teaches us to do, how can she care aright for the soul
of her child?

At school, young Wilberforce was regarded as a
212 William Wilberforce.

model boy, and was sometimes “set upon a table
and made to read aloud, as an example to the others.”
Yn the house of an uncle with whom he resided for a
season, he was brought for the first time under the
power of religion in its scriptural forms. His aunt
was an admirer of George Whitefield and other
Methodists; and “the rare and pleasing character of
piety which marked the twelfth year of that boy,”
has been recorded by one who was then familiar with
him. The knowledge of Scripture which he then
acquired, and the devotional habits which he was
then led to cultivate, may appear hereafter, to that
eye which looks on the heart, to have been the germ
of the future greatness and power for good of this
remarkable man. In the hope, then, that some
among the young may be prompted to go and do as
he did, let us glance, in the case of Wilberforce as in
that of others—first, at the seed-time of his life; and,
secondly, at its autumn,

Under the first of these, we have his own account
of his early religion. That he was interested in
religious subjects is certain; that his impressions
were genuine, or the fruit of the Spirit’s power, he
could not absolutely determine. They were, how-
ever, sincere; and he wrote letters at that early period
which he afterwards declared to be accordant with
his matured opinions, and which some of his friends
even thought of giving to the world. It is true, he
Evil Men and Seducers. 213

had to deplore the dreadful effects of the attempts
which. were afterwards made to erase these religious
impressions. ‘The love of pleasure and the love of
glory” were systematically made the substitutes for
the love of God; and who that knows the heart of
man will wonder though such measures were but too
successful for a time?

When it became apparent that religion was likely
to take the control of Wilberforce, great alarm was
produced among certain of his relatives. It was de-
termined to “remove him from the dangerous influ-
ence ;” and when some of those who loved him best,
because they loved his soul, ventured to remonstrate,
they were answered with a sneer at their religion;
while, in one case, a relative even threatened to dis-
inherit the boy who seemed likely to adopt an earnest
religion. In these circumstances, when Wilberforce
was only twelve years of age, it became the object of
his friends to charm away, by the seductions of gaiety,
that serious spirit which had begun to control him.
At first, he records, “ the theatre, the balls, the great
suppers, and card-parties,” to which he was dragged
were “ distressing to him ; but by degrees he acquired
a relish for them, and became as thoughtless as the
rest.” The good seed had been sown, but it was
choked just when it promised to spring up and bear
fruit. “No pains were spared,” he adds, “to stifle
my impressions. I might almost say that no pious
2r4 Evil Communications.

parent ever laboured more to impress a beloved child
with sentiments of piety than they did to give me a
taste for the world and its diversions.” When he was
first taken to the theatre, he says that it was almost
by force; and truth compels us to record the verdict,
that if ever pains were taken to destroy a soul, or
counteract that grace of God which promised great
things there, it was in the case of William Wilber-
force. The effort was for a season successful. All
serious thought was forsaken, and worldly pleasure
became his all in all.

Yet he was not long given over to frivolity. When
not more than fourteen years of age, this ill-guided
boy addressed a letter to the editor of a York news-
paper, condemning that odious traffic in human flesh
—the slave-trade. Even then his nature rose up
against the outrage offered to humanity by that ne-
farious system; even then he struck the key-note
which was to regulate his entire life; he planted the
little seed which was to shoot up into a tree, and
whose fruit was to bring healing to myriads then un-
born.

At the age of seventeen, William Wilberforce was
sent to St. John’s College, Cambridge; and on the
very night of his arrival, he was hurried into the dis-
sipation of that university. He was often horror-
struck, he confesses, at the conduct of his associates,

“On fire with curses, and with nonsense stung.”
Snares 215

There was something in him which protested against
their grossness, and in about a year he shook off, in
a great measure, his connection with them all. By
the special goodness of God, he was preserved from
extreme profligacy ; and though his life at college was
a source of pungent regret when the truth regained
the control of his mind, he was rather praised for his
excellence than accused of excess. Tried by the
high standard which God sets up, young Wilberforce
was found wanting; but who will wonder, when rela-
tives dragged him to the theatre by force, and did
all that a cruel ingenuity could devise to efface the
the love and the impressions of the truth?

Soon after Wilberforce was twenty years of age,
he was elected member of Parliament for his native
town of Hull, William Pitt now became one of his
associates, and their intimacy soon ripened into a
yery close friendship, but he mingled in circles too
surely adapted to erase the lingering remains of what
was lovely and of good report from the mind.
Flattered by the Prince of Wales, and courted by
different parties for his influence and power, Wilber-
force seemed to have entered on that downward path
from which few ever retrace their steps to life.
Fragments of what he was when a little boy would
from time to time rise to the surface of his soul, and
hold out a faint promise of his being yet reclaimed.
Ambition did not quite harden his heart; conscience
216 The Finger of God.

was not quite seared ; but to the eye of man it was a
sad problem which he was then working out—“ Shall
I utterly yield to the world, and become an outcast
from my God? or shall I break the bands of sin,
and cast its cords from me?” While passing through
that process, we occasionally find in his diary such
entries as the following :—“¢ Church—Lock-hospital—
De Coetlegan preached—then Goostree’s.” _Goos-
tree kept a gambling house, and the play was often
deep.

But while amusements which were not merely
frivolous but sinful, were thus engrossing his youth,
Wilberforce determined to travel into foreign parts.
‘The companion to whom he was in providence di-
rected was the Rey. Isaac Milner, and that choice
proved to be the turning-point in the young legis-
lator’s history. Milner was one of those who had
adopted scriptural views of truth, although they then
hung very loosely about him, and Wilberforce was
not aware of the extent to which his companion had
done so. Had he known, the proposal that they
should travel together would never have been made.
But God had work both for Wilberforce and Milner
in the world. He therefore brought them together,
and while they wandered over many lands, that truth
which came from the better country to guide men to
it, took possession of the young legislator’s soul.
“Had I known at first what Milner’s opinions were,”
“ Doddridges Rise and Progress.” 217

he writes, “ it would have decided me against making
him the offer ; so true is it that a gracious hand leads
us in ways that we know not, and blesses us not
only without, but even against our plans and inclina-
tions.”

So low had Wilberforce, for some time, sunk, and
so completely had he obscured the light which once
promised to irradiate his mind, that he attended at
a Socinian place of worship, and there countenanced
the system which tears up the hopes of poor humanity
by the root. And raillery at serious religion was the
chief attention paid to it by the young traveller. But
when leaving Nice, in the winter of 1784-5, he took
up, as if by accident, a copy of Doddridge’s “Rise and
Progress of Religion ;” he asked Milner its character ;
he was told “ it was one of the best books ever writ-
ten,”—and while reading it on the journey, he was
so far influenced as to resolve to examine the Scrip-
tures at some future time, to discover whether the
truth really was as Doddridge propounds it. Under
the impression thus produced, Wilberforce became
more sedate or solernn for a time, and at last his
understanding was convinced, though his heart was
not influenced by the conviction, that ‘the truth
was as Doddridge declared, and as Milner argued.
“My interest in it,” records the stripling legislator,
“certainly increased, and at length I began to be im-
pressed with a sense of its importance.” He would
218 The Uneasy Conscience.

no longer travel on the Sabbath; but he himself must
tell how his soul was exercised. “ Often,” he says,
“while in the full enjoyment of all that this world
could bestow, my conscience told me, that in the true
sense of the word, I was nota Christian. I laughed,
I sang, I was apparently gay and happy; but the
thought would steal across me—‘ What madness is all
this! to continue easy in a state in which a sudden
call out of the world would consign me to everlast-
ing misery, and that, when eternal happiness is with-
in my grasp!’ For I had received into my under-
standing the great truths of the gospel, and believed
that its offers are free and universal; and that God
had promised to give his Holy Spirit to them that
asked him. At length such thoughts as these com-
pletely occupied my mind, and I began to pray ear-
nestly.” “Began three or four days ago,” the narra-
tive continues, “to get up very early. In the solitude
and self-conversation of the morning, had thoughts
which I trust will come to something.” As soon as
T reflected seriously upon these subjects, the deep
guilt and black ingratitude of my past life forced itself
upon me in the strongest colours, and I condemned.
myself for having so wasted my precious time, and
opportunities, and talents.”

“Tt was not so much,” he has added, “ the fear of
punishment by which I was affected, as a sense of
my great sinfulness in having so long neglected the
The Change. 219

unspeakable mercies of my God and Saviour; and
such was the effect which this thought produced that
for months I was in a state of the deepest depression,
from strong convictions of my guilt. “Indeed, nothing
which I have ever read in the accounts of others ex-
ceeded what I then felt.”

These things took place when Wilberforce was
about twenty-five. He now sought the counsel and
the prayers of the Rev. John Newton; for his soul,
once so frivolous and unconcerned, was bowed to the
dust by a load which threatened to crush him. He
opened up his mind to the companions of his former
levity. He wrote, among the rest, to William Pitt;
told him, in effect, that old things had passed away
—talked over the change with his friend, after pray-
ing for the Divine guidance in the matter—and thus
exhibited in life the deep things of the Spirit to that
gifted man.

Wilberforce, then, is now a religious man. He has
in his soul the faith of Him who died for men. He
seems to be brought nigh by the blood of the cross,
and henceforth we shall see him in the world, but not
of it. The sorrow of soul which he had felt was like
the ploughshare of truth, tearing up the soil, and the
good seed is now sown there. The soul is now at-
tended to. God and eternity have, in some degree,
obtained their place in the mind; and wherever Wil-
berforce may hereafter be found, it cannot be among
220 The New Man.

those who make a mock at sin, or like not to retain
the knowledge of God. Heis still, sometimes, like a
person who has fallen into a rapid stream—now swept
down, and in danger of sinking—anon rising to the
surface—struggling, buffeting, and calling for help—
but, on the whole, he ascends the stream, and his
landing-place is “the Rock that is higher than we.”
« Enabled to join in the prayers with my whole heart,
and never so happy in my life as this whole evening.
Enlarged in private prayer, and have a good hope
towards God,” . . . . “but God must ever keep be-
side me, for I fall the moment I am left to myself.
I stayed in town to attend the ordinances, and have
been gloriously blest in them.” Such are portions of
his recorded experience now, and is not this another
brand plucked from the burning ?

From this period, Wilberforce began to counsel his
friends concerning the things which belong to their
eternal peace. He now spent several hours daily in
searching the Scriptures, and exhorted others to do
the same. He walked in the light of God’s favour,
and the man who was lately engrossed with the flaunt-
ing insipidities of earth, had learned to make “ the
fields his oratory,” as God was his friend. A settled
peace of conscience began to be enjoyed, and he de-
voted himself for the remainder of life to the service
of his God and Saviour. He looked upon his past
career as one of madness. A holy circumspection
A Christian Reformer. 220

now presided over all that Wilberforce did. His
friendships, his books, his pursuits, were all, ina large
measure, under the control of God’s Word; and
though he had still trials, falls, and shortcomings, his
was a life of very singular sunshine—serene and tran-
quil amid what would have upset less privileged men.
The world, indeed, deemed him mad; but a shrewd
observer once said concerning him, “If this is mad-
ness, I wish he would bite us all.”

Such was the period in the life of Wilberforce
which may be deemed its seed-time. It was one of
danger, and difficulty, and toil, but the result was a
preparation for a plentiful harvest—and how, there-
fore, did William Wilberforce reap ?

Moving as he did in the highest circles, and
standing not seldom at the right hand of royalty,
William Wilberforce looked round from his high
level, and saw the dissoluteness which everywhere
prevailed. Among ministers, he perceived that
not a few were Socinians. The rich, he saw, were
wholly given up to dissipation ; and being stirred
at the sight, he strove to do for them what John
Wesley did for thousands of the poor in England—
he moved the king to take measures for the refor-
mation of manners, and he largely succeeded. In
the best and highest sense, the Christian, Wilberforce,
became a reformer, and, as a centre of influence for
good, he spread blessings through many a home.
222 The Work, and its Reward.

But it was in regard to the Slave Trade that he
proved the greatest benefactor to mankind, as it was
there that he reaped his best and richest earthly
reward. For forty years the struggle against slavery
was carried on; and through the greater portion of
that time he was the undaunted leader in the war-
fare against that nefarious system. Though assailed
by every weapon which self-interest, malignity, and
rancorous hatred could devise, he persevered through
good report and bad, nor was he without an imme-
diate reward. ‘The applause of every right-hearted
man cheered him on in a work where self-sacrifice
was needed. “ Parliament, the nation, and Europe,
are under great obligations to Mr. Wilberforce,” was
the declaration of Burke. Pitt, Fox, and others, re-
echoed the sentiment; and though baffled again, and
again, and again, through many weary years, he
never once faltered, for he felt that the cause of
justice and humanity must eventually triumph.
Personal violence, indeed, was threatened. “I re-
member well how it was,” he says. “What an
honourable service! How often protected from evil
and danger ! Kept from Norris’s hands, and Kim-
ber’s, furious West Indians, for two whole seasons
together.” But, to show how tranquil he was amid
all such assaults, he has recorded that, whilst a
member of Parliament was railing against him in the
House of Commons, he was calmly making arrange-
Honouring God. 223

ments for one of the most important events of his
life—he was literally hidden from the strife of tongues.
While hundreds assailed and reviled, thousands up-
held him; and of one of his elections about this
period a bystander says, “It was indeed an august
and interesting scene; not one hand was lifted up
against him, and the surrounding countenances wore
expressions of the greatest delight and esteem to-
wards him.” He honoured God, and as he sowed he
reaped.

But what was the secret of all this} Where did
Wilberforce find strength for all he had to do’—
There is a boat floating on the waters of the Lake
of Windermere, It is early morning, and the sun
is just tipping the surrounding hills with light, or
pouring his first rays on the still sleeping waters.
In that boat there is a solitary rower—it is William
Wilberforce on his way from his mansion on the
banks to “find an oratory on one of the woody
islands in the middle of the lake.” His genial and
ever hospitable home was crowded with guests. He
could scarcely find retirement there, even during the
hour of morning twilight; and that he might be alone
with God, he sought the shadow of the island, where,
with the blue lake below, and the blue sky above,
he communed with that God in whom we have right-
eousness and strength. They who are acquainted
with the power which prayer, the grand conductor,
224 The “ Practical View.”

draws down from heaven, will not wonder now that
William Wilberforce attempted and achieved so
much—we now see why

“His glory dies not, while his grief is past.”

But this is not nearly all. While intensely oc-
cupied in many ways, Wilberforce’ meditated yet
more for his God, and prepared a “ Practical View
of Christianity,” in which he contrasts religion as
unconverted men hold it, with religion as God re-
vealed it. Within six months, seven thousand five
hundred copies of that book were sold. To a great
extent it created a revolution in men’s religious
opinions. It was regarded as “ producing an era in
the history of the church.” “Such a book, by such
‘a man, and at such a time,” was hailed with accla-
mations. In India and America it was read with
avidity. It was translated into French, Italian,
Spanish, Dutch, and German. Encomium after en-
comium was heaped uponits author. Many ascribed
their conversion to it. One man “purchased a
small freehold in Yorkshire that he might offer the
author a slight tribute of respect by voting for him.”
Burke, when dying, sent to tell Wilberforce how
much he had profited by his work: in brief, men of
all ranks, and of all attainments, found a blessing in
it. It contained no small portion of God’s truth,
and was honoured to do His work; and the author
Blessings. 225

was permitted to record with joy, that “‘ many, many
communicated to him that it was the means of their
turning to God.”

Here, then, is a remarkable instance vf sowing
well and reaping well. To the Spirit did Wilber-
force sow, and he reaped a harvest of souls. He
read Doddridge’s book “on the Rise and Progress of
Religion in the Soul;” it took hold of his own soul,
and stirred his own conscience. ‘Then he sent forth
his own book. ‘That, in its turn, took hold of hun-
dreds; among others, it was blessed to aid and
irradiate the grand mind of Dr. Chalmers; so that,
from generation to generation, Wilberforce continues
to reap. “His works do follow him.” He laid up
treasures in heaven, and he is rich with them now
beyond what mortal eye has seen, or mortal tongue
can tell. Is not all that the world can give as worth-
less as the toys of children in comparison with this
rich harvest?

But in other ways still did Wilberforce sow to the
Spirit. His charity, for example, was munificent.
At one period, “at least one-fourth of his income
was so employed.” In a single year, he has been
known to give away the sum of three thousand one
hundred and seventy-three pounds. As a steward,
and not a proprietor, as occupying till his Master
came, and not as selfishly grasping at what was only
lent, Wilberforce employed his means for his Lord,

wo 15”
226 The Bible Society.

and he was blessed in his deed. His own intense
enjoyment of life, and the large measure of happiness
imparted, finely illustrate the truth, that “he who
giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.” He loved
to trace the loving-kindness of God guiding him
from his youth upwards, and when he saw that good-
ness and mercy had followed him all his days, he
reaped a richer reward than worldly men can do
when their corn and wine are most abundant.
“Praise the Lord, O my soul,” is his exclamation
on one of these retrospects ; and when reviewing the
way by which God had led him, none ever had
greater reason than he to. re-echo King David's
words. “QO my soul, remember thy portion is not
here. Mind not high things. Be not conformed to
this world. Commit thy way unto the Lord, and
delight thyself in God”—that was his language when
training his soul for glory and immortality amid all
his earthly possessions.

Wilberforce was one of the founders of the Bible
Society, and it would be pleasing to show how he
has reaped abundant fruits from that sowing also.
Many millions of Bibles circulated throughout the
world, and translations of the Scriptures into many
tongues, till they now amount to hundreds, form part
of his harvest here; and if it be true that “God has
magnified His word above all His name,” who will
tloubt that the richest reward awaits the man who
Slavery Abolished. 227

helped to establish the Bible Society! Wilberforce
has been called “ The Friend of Man,” and in this
respect he was pre-eminently so.

But the two grand harvests in the life of Wilber-
force were the abolition of the Slave Trade in 1807,
and the extinction of Slavery itself in the British
dominions in 1833. He had been told on one oc-
casion, “In your hands is perhaps the fate of this
country.” His virtues and his power had been
eulogized by men of all parties, but it was his crown-
ing reward to see the abominable traffic in human
flesh and blood abolished by British statutes, and
modified throughout the world by British influence.
It is true that, as his day declined, stroke after
stroke fell on the old man; but amid them all he
walked in sunshine to the very grave; and we can
scarcely qualify the saying, when we aver that his
was the happiest life ever led by a child of God on
earth. And when, in the goodness of God, he
was brought to London within a few days of his
death, a feeble old man of seventy-four, to hear the
glad tidings of the abolition of slavery, at the cost of
twenty millions sterling, it seemed as if all that was
required to consummate his joy on earth had been
mercifully granted. ‘Thank God,” he exclaimed,
“that I should have lived to see the day in which
England is willing to give twenty millions sterling
for the abolition of slavery !



His toils were all for-
228 The Hero uf Humanity.

gotten. His calumnies, and contumely, and danger,
were no more remembered. If he had sown in tears,
he was reaping in joy; and it really seemed as if
Wilberforce had no more that he could even wish on
this side of the eternal crown, And then, when the
high aristocracy of England, from the right hand of
royalty downward, bore him amid their tears to his
last resting-place in Westminster Abbey, as an hon-
oured and a holy asylum, the nation was honoured
by the honour paid. to the hero of humanity. In
death Wilberforce himself expressed the hope that
he had his feet upon the Rock: he is now under its
eternal shadow.

Now, let no youth fail to notice that it was the un-
faltering Christian principle of Wilberforce which
made him what he was. Had his relatives succeeded
in their infatuated attempt to banish living, earnest
religion from his soul, Africa might still have been
trodden down, a mart for human flesh and blood.
Its swarthy sons might still have been scourged,
manacled, or butchered, at men’s pleasure. But the
light which dawned on the boy could not be quenched
in the man. Nay, it shone more and more unto
the perfect day, and, irradiated by it, Wilberforce
achieved more than the sons of men are commonly
honoured to achieve. He has been compared to
the cereus, which blooms ‘at midnight; for while all
around was often dark, he saw light in God’s light,
Wilberforce Bonaparte. 229

and hoped and laboured on. In the Lord he found
both righteousness and strength, and hence his rich
harvest. Corruption in him put on incorruption even
here. Mortality was swallowed up of life, and faith
like his own exclaims beside his grave—

“Weep not forhim! He is an angel now,
And treads the sapphire floors of paradise.”

Would the young, then, learn the lesson of this
life, and reap as Wilberforce reaped? Let them sow
as he sowed, and then fearnothing. It was his early
resolution, first, to “ fly to God for pardon, pleading
the blood of Jesus;” and secondly, when tempted to
despair, still to cleave to the truth, “ Christ is mighty
to save.” Be these two cardinal truths embraced,
and the soulis safe. God may honour it to do great
things for him. He will bless it and make it a
blessing. : ‘

And O how different was the death of Wilberforce
from that of merely ambitious men! He died in the
bosom of his family, and the tears of thousands in
every land were his dirge. Bonaparte, on the other
hand, for example, died a prisoner on a rock, chafed,
galled, and fretted to death by his chain. Even Pitt,
according to Wilberforce, his bosom friend, died of a
broken heart. The highest subject was also perhaps
the most wretched man in the empire, for it is said
that there was not one friend at hand to close his
dying eye! Who, then, would not exclaim, “ Let
230 The End of All.

me die the death of the righteous, let my latter end
be like his?” But if the young would die the death
of Wilberforce, let them live his life. Let his God
be their God, his Saviour their Saviour, his religion
their religion, and his eternal home will be theirs for
ever—




joy what thou hast won, esteem and love,

1m all the just on earth, and all the blest above,”

was Cowper's address to Wilberforce ; and if the same
principles as guided him shall guide the young,
similar results will follow; for the unchanging God
has made it a law, that ‘“ whatsoever a man sows,
that shall he also reap.




XVI.

The Pustor.

10 doubt, one reason why so few of the young




are godly, is, that they deem religion a
gloomy thing —it imprisons rather than
cmancipates their mind. They have no natural
desire after God. As they leave the nursery, they
enter on the thoughtless career of boyhood. One
object after another solicits and secures their atten-
tion. Curiosity is fresh and insatiable. The world
in ten thousand forms allures. Passion gathers
strength. All opposing barriers are too often swept
away; and when conscience lifts a remonstrating
voice, or affection a beseeching one, it is too fre-
quently drowned in the din of passion. The treat-
ment of Elisha by the children of Bethel is too often
repeated, almost to the letter, by those whom age or
experience would warn and make wise: “Go up,
thou bald-head!” is perhaps the language in which
the contempt of the young for godliness and the
godly is embodied,
232 Hidward Bickersteth

Now, one reason of that is, that the young deem
religion a morose and a gloomy thing. They are
not acquainted with its paths of peace. They have
never seen the chief among ten thousand and alto-
gether lovely. All that they know of religion is,
that they cannot sin if they be religious; and as ini.
quity is bound up in the heart of a child, the love
of that prevails over the love of God, till the young
often turn in weariness away from the chief good—
the Prince of Peace—the very peace of God. We
are about to draw attention to one who was taught
by the Spirit of God to follow a far different course.

Epwarp BICKERSTETH was born in the year 1786,
and soon evinced that, in some respects at least, he
was to be taught to employ aright the seed-time of his
existence. Though his mother then joined without
fear in the amusements of the ball-room and the
theatre, and could consequently, at that period, have
no adequate perception of what is the chief end of
man, in other respects she trained her son in such a
manner as to prompt him often, in his future career,
to acknowledge how much he owed to her early
training. For some time, however, the effect of her
example was deleterious; and when he was only
about fourteen years of age, young Bickersteth’s
accounts of visits to the theatre, and excursions on
the Sabbath, show too plainly that God’s standard
was not yet his,


AMI THE SNOW AND iC
The Young Formalist. 233

Yet very early in life, as he records, he had reli-
gious impressions. When he was only seven or eight
years of age, he prayed of his own accord three
times every day. That was not, indeed, the result
of true conversion, and soon gave place to the native
ungodliness of man’s heart. Religion became irk-
some for a time, or rather it ebbed and flowed, or
waxed and waned, because all was still nature and
not grace, for Edward Bickersteth had not yet passed
the margin between the dead in sin and those who
are alive unto God. But his Confirmation, at the
age of thirteen, produced some serious thoughts,
while other things pressed on his attention the need
of reformation, though “it was only by fits and
starts that he was in earnest.” He “committed sins,”
he says, “known sins, not only in thought and
word, but in deed and action.” “ My religious duties
were cold, formal, and altogether lifeless, without
meaning, done from fear, and as meritorious actions.
I did not neglect private prayer, but it was short
and ineffectual.” Amid all this, however, this
earnest boy took no step without the counsel and
sanction of his parents. His deference to them was
among the most signal characteristics of his younger
years; and when the books are opened, and the
judgment upon men read out, it may yet appear that
there was a close connection between that deference
and what Edward Bickersteth eventually became.


veling after. God.

234

But his growth in knowledge and in conscientious-
ness becomes more apparent as his years increase.
When still only a stripling, he formed the following
resolutions as to his public duty, his religion, his time
and behaviour :—‘“ To attend divine service twice,
if possible, every Sunday, and whilst in church to
behave properly and religiously—to say the Lord’s
Prayer regularly every morning and evening—to read
a chapter in the Tile every evening, and nothing
but what tends to encourage religious thoughts on a
Sunday; and to receive the most comfortable sacra-
ment of our Lord at least four times a year. Also
to devote half an hour every day to religious duties.”
These resolutions indicate that aspiring sentiment,
that anxiety to rise above the world and worldly
things, to mount, as it were, into a purer atmosphere,
which Longfellow has so beautifully symbolized in
his “Excelsior.” Bickersteth bore ever in his up-
lifted hands “that banner with the strange device
—Excelsior!” And if he sometimes rested on his
difficult path, and amid “the snow and ice,” it was
only to resume his journey with the greater vigour.
He had still, it is true, to learn “the more excellent
way,” but he was already asking for it; and step by
step he pressed onward and upward. “Strange,” he
says, in an hour of self-scrutiny, “yet equally true is
it, that knowing my faults, I do not amend them.”
He felt the need of aid, but did not know how to
Pressing into the Kingdom. 235

obtain it, till he learned, while still a youth, to explain
his failures by confessing, “I have not had my great
Redeemer sufficiently in my thoughts.” He now
begins to speak much of God’s assistance, and the
gospel of grace is slowly taking the control of his
mind. Amid declensions and revivals he moves on
his way, exclaiming, “God remembered me when I
forgot him, and suffered me not to perish, though
eternal misery would have been but a just punish-
ment for my continual ingratitude, backsliding, and
forgetfulness of his goodness.”

Edward Bickersteth was one of those who do not
know the period of their conversion, but his inter-
course with others gradually acquired a new tone
and spirit. More light shone upon his path: more
gladness became the portion of his soul, because the
Lamb of God was more singly the object of his
affection and his confidence —he is, in short, not
merely not far from the kingdom of heaven—he is
in it; and there he dwells in peace. Business was
now inlaid with devotion. The duty of every day
was done on the maxim that we must “labour for
a religious end, for whatsoever is not of faith is sin.”
“The alone merits of Christ” became the corner-
stone of hope. He “sought to live devoted to God,
and never to gratify a desire that was inconsistent
with his revealed will.” Not his own strength but
God's had now become his stay, and before he was
236 The Sinner Saved.

twenty years of age he had earned a good degree,
with which he went forward to accomplish his own
wish to be “the best Christian, the best friend, the
best servant, the best master, the best housekeeper,
the best son, the best brother, the best labourer—in
short, to strive to be perfect in his state of life, as
his heavenly Father was perfect.” To promote
these ends, he finally dedicated himself to God in a
covenant never to be broken, and soon thereafter
had reason to exclaim, “O let me rejoice in what
the Spirit of my God has wrought in me! I am
a sinner, but Jesus came to save sinners, and to
make them holy here, and happy hereafter. ‘ Bless
the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me;’
and may [I still labour for an increase of holiness
and goodness, and in the next world the image of
my God will be entirely restored to me. Happy,
happy day! Glory to God alone.”

We cannot follow Edward Bickersteth further in
his early history, or tell how he longed to enter on
the work of the Christian ministry-—how he at last
succeeded —how he went to Africa to organize
missions, and to promote the cause for which the
Saviour died—how unwearied he was in well-doing,
or how he turned many to righteousness by the
blessing of the Spirit on his labour of love in many
lands. But having now seen how well and how
laboriously he sowed, let us next consider how he
The Full Cup. 237

reaped. All his powers were well cultivated. All his
time and talents were well husbanded. His soul was
turned to seek and serve his God ; and what was the
fruit of his labour? What profit had he under the sun?

We can only glance at the blessings which Bicker-
steth enjoyed. The mercies that surrounded him,
he wrote when he was fifty-one, were great beyond
his power of enumeration. A wide door, and an
effectual, was opened before him for doing good.
His books circulated in thousands over the land,
and did good wherever they went. Friends clustered
around him in loving affection. The Gospel as
proclaimed by him was welcomed by many; and
along a hundred channels, with ever-watchful assi-
duity, he was permitted and privileged, in season
and out of season, to do good. “You know how
each hour brings its work,” he wrote to one of his
children; “but the Lord gives me health, and
strength, and usefulness, and hope, and joy in his
service, so that my cup runs over.” “There is such
universal confidence in his remarkable excellence of
judgment, and integrity of purpose,” wrote a devout
American regarding Bickersteth, “such unfeigned
respect for his real learning, and holy and exemplary
ministry, that there are few, if there be any, among
the clergy, who have at all an equal influence over
the minds of others. He seems enshrined in the
affections of his brethren.
238 Children Taught of God.

Regarding his works, and the success which
attended them, we give a single specimen :—He
wrote a Book of Family Prayers, and in about three
months, three thousand two hundred and fifty copies
were scattered over the world. He was not without
his trials and his crosses. Nay, he had often to
endure hardship, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.
Whom the Lord loves he chastens, and Bickersteth
was rarely left destitute of that love-token ; but
mercy was beautifully mingled with the whole.
“While I am so largely blessed in the spiritual state
of my children,” he writes, “the constant and the
severe illness of one of them is the needful ballast
to this mercy ;” and the joyous hope that all his
household were converted to God, imparted, as well
it might, some rays of the radiance of heaven to his
soul. ‘Not one wanderer lost,” was the result of
his love, his labour, and his prayers for his children.
‘They rose up in succession—they called him blessed,
and that was to be blessed indeed.

And what was the character of Bickersteth’s latter
end? It was pre-eminently one of peace. “I place
my whole trust in the Lord Jesus Christ.” “If we
honour the Saviour and his truth, he will honour
us; if we rally round his truth, he will give us
strength to support it.” “TI find all my principles
confirmed by my last hours, I have believed in the
Lord Jesus Christ, and he supports me now.”
Songs of Deliverance. 239

“Have I not ten thousand alleviations of my suffer
ings?—and among the greatest, is to have pious
children attending my dying pillow.” “Another
singular mercy is that all my family have been
enabled to gather round my bed ; and the greatest
of all, that they have one heart and mind with me
in the things of Christ. Glory be to God for all.”
“Christ first, Christ last—Christ all in all”—Such
were some of Bickersteth’s sayings on his dying bed ;
and do they not show at a glance how richly the man
who had sowed so well was permitted to reap? He
trusted in God, and was not put to shame. He was
compassed about with songs of deliverance. His
shepherd’s rod and staff comforted him in the valley
of the shadow of death. In that struggle, faith
triumphed; and its triumph was the harbinger of
glory ; it made Bickersteth more than a conqueror.
And contrast for a moment with this the reward
and the reaping of awicked man. An angry con-
science, or a seared one—a God forgotten, or if
remembered, dreaded and recoiled from.

“Which way I fly is hell—myself am hell!”

—behold the reaping of the ungodly! But Death
robbed of his sting, and the grave of its victory—the
Spirit of God to comfort—the Son of God to save—-
faith just passing into sight, and hope into fruition,
and all into love—bchold the vintage gathered by
240 More than «& Congucror.

the child of God! If ever there was a life of heavenly
sunshine on earth, it was that of Edward Bickersteth ;
and that young soul is not to be envied which does
not seek to follow such a man, as he followed Christ.
If ever a man complied with the injunction to “sow
beside all waters,” or, “in the evening sow thy seed
and in the morning withhold not thy hand,” it was
Bickersteth ; and with the truth of God to shed light
into the future of such a man, it is easy for the eye
of faith, which has seen him reaping an hundred-fold
here, to see him reaping life everlasting beyond the
grave. A satirist once exclaimed—

“Tn life's last scene what prodigies arise,
Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise !”

—But in the case of Bickersteth, these fears were
hushed—these follies were turned into wisdom, by.
Him who is made wisdom unto us ;—his God
“established the work of his hands upon him,” and
both in life and at death he was blessed. %

CAO


XVIII.

Che Wercbant.

OME! What a volume is contained in that
single word! Ask the exile what it‘means,
and his tears will tell more eloquently than

words. Ask the wandering boy who has none to care

for him, or is cared for only by his oppressor, or ask



the prodigal who has hurried away from his father’s
house to sin, and his quivering lip, or his averted
visage will proclaim the spell and the attractions of
home. Necessity may compel us

“To mould the heart anew, to take the stamp

Of foreign friendships in a for
And learn to love the music of strange tongues ;”



but still there is a corner in the heart reserved for
home—sacred, inviolable, and sealed against intrusion
as with the signet of a king.

And yet there are scenes sometimes connected
with home which might rather invest it with gloom,
or urge the sensitive to shun it. Death has crossed
its threshold —he is silently and unsuspectedly doing

a 16
242 Samuel Budgett.

his work. One of that househoid-~perhaps the
mother—is stretched upon a sick-bed; slowly and
reluctantly the impression creeps over the mind that
it may at last prove to be a death-bed. Hopes long
cherished, like flickering tapers, die, and at last the
mother dies herself. She had gathered her little ones
round her dying bed to give them a mother’s warning,
to add a mother’s blessing, and then to fall asleep.
And what of home now? Is it not indeed the valley
of Achor? Is not the silence which reigns there, or
the wail which alone breaks the silence, enough to
dissipate the spell which binds us to home, and con-
vince us that even it too soon becomes an asylum
for mourners instead of an abode of the happy ?

Yet the truth which Jesus brought from heaven to
earth can shed radiance even upon the dwellings of
sorrow—and we are now to glance at the character
of one who well understood that fact—whose early
home was one of privations, but who learned from
the Teacher sent by God how to illumine the dark-
ness, and how to dry men’s tears. He was one of
the merchant-princes of this nation, and it were difti-
cult to say whether the profusion with which he sowed,
or the luxuriance which he reaped was the more re-
markable.

SaMuEL BupceEt? was the son of poor but pious
parents, who lived at Warrington, the birth-place of
John Locke. He was born in the year 1794; and
The Power of Pra



243
happily for him, truth and grace were valued where
he first saw the light. His parents, though poor,
possessed the pearl of great price, and they early
taught their boy to fear and worship Him from whom
our blessings come. His mother in particular was
devout, and her influence was largely blessed to
mould the character of her son. When about nine
years of age, the boy, in passing his mother’s door,
heard her earnestly praying for himself by name.
‘The thought occurred—“ My mother is more earnest
that I should be saved than I am+for my own salva-
tion ;” and his biographer tells that from that hour
Samuel Budgett became decided to serve his God.
‘That impression never was effaced, for the religious
convictions which were thus produced deepened and
gathered strength ; and when he heard of the happy
death of a poor woman, which happened about that
period, the boy “felt an ardent desire to lie down
and die by her side.” Other incidents operated in
the same direction ; even the fall of the leaf had a
salutary effect on his meditative mind; how much
more when the mother whom he loved appeared
drawing near to death! The youth was despatched
for a physician, and as he returned from his melan
choly errand, his prayers were urgent that his parent
might be spared. Nor did he pray in vain on that
dark winter morning. The God who hears the young
ravens when they cry, heard and answered young
244 The First Penny.

Budgett ; and whatever was the cause, he returned
to his sick mother’s cottage fully assured that she
would be restored ; nor was he disappointed. And
it was not wonderful though that mother, after her
recovery, had reason to say, “I have been profited
and humbled by Samuel’s conversation. Although
young in years, he is a companion for age as well as
youth.”

Samuel Budgett once found a horse’s shoe, for
which he received a penny. A friend doubled it by
giving him another penny for removing some rubbish,
with the promise of a third, if the second, which he
marked for that purpose, were kept for a fortnight.
It was kept; and the child became the owner of
threepence. That store slowly increased to some
shillings, and the whole was invested in a copy of
Wesley's Hymns, with which he felt himself to be a
rich and a happy boy. When only a child, he would
sometimes burst into tears in church; and on one
occasion, so deep was his emotion, that he had to be
carried out to be soothed. Watts’ hymns for children
were the first to awaken his fondness for devotional
poetry, and he loved them ever after with the force
of a strong passion.

Thus trained, young Budgett became at length an
apprentice boy at Kingswood, near Bristol, famed
for the moral wonders wrought among its colliers by

the preaching of Wesley and Whitefield ; and how


Tearing for Eternity. 245

different would the condition of apprentices be were
their conduct in general like that of Budgett ! how
happy, how honoured, how rich might they become !
As statedly as the Sabbath returned, he repaired to
his place of worship, thirsting for the water, and
hungering for the bread of life. A sermon, we are
told, was to him a repast, a banquet, a festival ; and
often after he had heard one, he put his fingers to
his ears to prevent the entrance of any distracting or
disturbing idea, while he hastened to the solitude of
an old quarry, there to meditate on what he had
heard. That was his study—his place where prayer
was wont to be made. ‘There he sowed both for
time and eternity, and we shall hereafter see how
abundant was the harvest which he reaped. In taking
heed how he heard, he was growing rich toward God,
and learning how powerful is the word of Him who
said—“I am the light of the world; he that followeth
me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the
light of life.”

But Budgett traded with his spiritual talent. When
an apprentice boy he became a Sabbath-school
teacher, and continued to be so till the close of his
career. The hours thus spent he reckoned among
the most happy of his life; and we need not wonder,
therefore, to learn that oftener than once, in common
with a great cloud of Sabbath-school teachers, he
contemplated going far hence to the heathen, to tell
246 _ Devising Liberal Things.

them of the Saviour whom he loved, and had felt to
be precious. When deciding what should be his path
in life, he was in a great strait, he says, between two
courses—business in the world, or entire consecration,
directly and by designation, to the service of his
Redeemer. On this subject, he on one occasion
wept, till the point of his saddle and the shoulders of
the horse were wet with his tears; and he abandoned
the thought of becoming a missionary, only from a
feeling that he had not received a sufficient education,
and could not overcome his reluctance to open his
mind to any who could have helped him on his way.

Nor were these mere emotions, passing away like
the morning cloud. On the contrary, they embodied
themselves in substantial actions, for Budgett early
learned to adorn the doctrine of God our Saviour.
Marly in life he somehow became possessed of fifteen
shillings. His sisters needed coals—he invested his
entire fortune in that article, and sent the supply to
his sisters. His parents on one occasion were in
straits; Samuel was then in possession of thirty
pounds, and the whole was handed over to relieve
them from their difficulty. On another occasion,
when an elder brother, who had not been a very kind
brother to Samuel, was in difficulty in business, the
latter gave him all that he possessed in the world—
one hundred pounds—to extricate his brother and
uphold his credit. ‘These, and instances such as
Lending to the Lord. 247

these, make it plain that Samuel Budgett was not
merely a hearer, but also a doer of the Word; and he
was blessed in his deeds. He had, in truth, become
a benefactor to not a few while only an apprentice
lad; he was sowing abundantly, and it remains to be
seen how abundantly he reaped. He had thrice
given his all away—did he lend it to the Lord, or
was it only another instance of indiscriminate pro-
fusion ?

In other words, how did Budgett reap? In a way
the most remarkable that ever fell to the lot of
man.

We have seen that even when he was compara-
tively poor himself, he gave to others with a pro
fusion which appears lavish and extreme; but though
he scattered, he increased. Some accounts report
that he gave away £2000 every year in charity; in
one week he gave away £60, while the value of the
property which passed through his hands as a mer-
chant amounted for a single year to about £750,000.
He built a spacious school-house for the poor near
his home ; he founded libraries—he actually made
the poor rich. In short, he gave away, in the ser-
vice of Him to whom his all belonged, a sixth part
of his income, and that upon a formal and deliberate
calculation of what his duty w



Again: we have seen that when an apprentice
boy, Budgett made an old quarry his study, and


248 Pleasant Places.

there meditated on the sermons which he had heard
—such was a portion of his work during seed-time, and
when harvest came, he found that quarry his own by
purchase, He filled it up, and over the spot stood
his mansion, surrounded by acres of garden, and
lawn, and field, interspersed with flowers and foun-
tains, and arbours of weeping ash, and all that could
betoken elegance linked hand in hand with plenty.
The apprentice boy, guided by the godliness which
his mother taught him from the Bible, and blessed
by the Father of lights, has become the lord of that
manor. His lines have fallen in pleasant places—
like David, “he went on and grew great, and the
Lord of hosts was with him ;” or, like Joseph, “ he
was a prosperous man,” for the self-same reason.
Again: it was the practice of Budgett in early life
to look to God for a blessing upon all that he under-
took. He expected no success without that, for he
thoroughly understood that, unless the Lord shall
build the house, they labour in vain that build it.
And as he proceeded in that spirit while sowing, in
reaping he gathered in full sheaves into his bosom.
“Never have I witnessed,” said one concerning him,
“such a remarkable instance of a firm of mercantile
men being guided by the Saviour’s injunction, ‘Seek
ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness,
and all these things shall be added unto you.”
And we have already seen, that such were the addi-
Diligent in Business —Serving the Lord. 249

tions made to him, that the annual value of the
goods bought and sold by one who began with a
penny, amounted to £750,000.

Further: of Budgett’s youth we read that “his
thirst for the means of grace was strong and steady ;
his Bible was beloved—his Sabbath was a day of
eager hearing, cager reading, eager meditating, and
eventually a day of ardent teaching and visiting.
his hymn-book was passing almost entire into his
memory, and his path of filial duty was trodden
with selfforgetting constancy. Inside all this was a
warm delight in God-—a gratitude—a love—a filial
fear.” And while that was the character of his boy-
hood and youth, what was his character in maturer
years? T’or an answer, we observe, that in his vast
premises in Bristol, the visitor was led to one large
room which contained no merchandise, and had no
air of business about it. A long range of forms, and
a table at the head, formed its only furniture. But
on that table lay Fletcher's “Family Devotions,”
and Wesley's Hymns. It was the chapel of the
establishment, and there the men assembled every
day for half an hour after breakfast, to praise that
God who gives power to get wealth, and from whom
all blessings flow. Now, that was a beautiful ex-
ample of that rare combination, “diligent in busi-
ness... . serving the Lord.” Will many of our
youth follow the example of Budgett? Then they


250 The Curse of Prosperity.



may not perhaps arrive at his wealth, but they will
assuredly understand to their blissful experience,
that “ better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than
a stalled ox and strife.” Youth may be—it 7s—the
season of joy, but it is also the season of sowing.
‘The growth will be stinted at the best, or if it be
luxuriant, it will be the luxuriance of noxious weeds,
unless the Sun of Righteousness be sought to expand
the bud into blossom, and fruit, and mellow richness
at the last.

But we have not yet exhausted the story of the
life of Budgett. Once each year, at least, a balance
was struck, that he might know his profits or his loss;
and as soon as that operation was over, he and his
partner retired into an inner office, knelt down be-
fore the Lord of all, acknowledged his goodness in
the increase granted, or his correcting hand in the
loss. Now, was his business less likely to prosper
because he recognised the Sovereign Proprietor?
Nay, is not property only a name—a mirage—a lure
to ruin for ever, when the Supreme Proprietor is not
recognised? ‘The curse of unsanctified prosperity
ranks among the heaviest of all.

But we must look deeper still into the heart of
this merchant-prince, if we would learn all the les-
sons of his | “My soul,” he once wrote, “is
greatly oppressed because of sin. I shall never be
happy till I find a Saviour from the love, the power,


Hungering afler Righteousness, 251

the guilt, and the sad effects of sin—as it respects
future punishment. I believe such a Saviour is pro-
vided, jbut He is not my Saviour—I do not know
Him—He has not saved me from my sins; but I am
resolved to try if I cannot find Him: so then I will
seek Him, first and oftenest, and with the most
diligence, for I am in danger till I do find Him.
Oh, when shall I find Him! How long shall I seek
Him! Lord grant that I may never have rest till I
feel that He is formed in my heart the hope of
eternal glory. Amen.” And as he thus watched
against sin in himself, he strove to counteract it in
the souls of his children. He felt the need of the
close and inward action of God’s Holy Spirit to
make the bad heart good ; and the richest of all his
reaping, next to his own salvation, is thus described
by his biographer :—“ That his children might thus
be changed was his earnest solicitude ; and in that
his heart was comforted ; for early, very early, he
saw them, as one by one they sprang up, smitten
with deep contrition for their sins, turn earnestly
to the Redeemer, seek His mercy, find it, and
live to make his heart glad in life’s warm hey-
day, and to cheer the hours that bordered on the
grave.”

Yet that man lay very low before God ; indeed,
humility was one fountain of his joy. In the class-
meeting, the thought of his own short-comings often
252 Hope in Death.

caused him to shed many tears—as if his whole soul
were abased before the holy God. While Budgett
knew to thank God for the privilege of aiding others,
especially those of the household of faith, he was not
the less, but the more ashamed, when he thought of
the sins which tarnished all that he did. He accord-
ingly often sowed in tears, but the seed which that
bore was precious, and the return was sixty, seventy,
yea an hundred-fold.

But the time came when Samuel Budgett must
die. He had had trials before that period in the
death of some whom he loved—but he himself must
now away to the city of the skies; and what was the
manner of his departure? He was profoundly
abased at the thought of his short-comings—out-
gushing grief for ingratitude, and prayers of piteous
abasement, we read, signalized his closing days.
Yet withal there was joy—a foretaste of the joy
that is unspeakable. When he saw his disease
making progress, he said, “It will only hasten me
home the sooner.” “ Mind, I am a sinner saved by
grace—a brand plucked from the burning,” was one
of his expressions. “I sent for you,” he said to a
friend, “to tell you how happy I am: not a wave—
not a ripple—not a fear—not a shadow of a doubt.
I did not think it was possible for man to enjoy so
much of God on the earth—J am filled with God.”
“T have not a paper to sign—not a shilling to give
Christ is all. 253

away—not a book but any one may comprehend in
ten minutes.” “I this day hang like a little child in
a brook catching hold of a branch that is thrown out
to save it; only there is this one difference in my
case—I hang on the Branch of Jesse’s stem. Christ
will keep me, and I am safe.” “TI would not alter
my lot, if it were in my power to do so, for any
earthly advantage. The blood of Christ is all to me.
Thang upon the atonement.” “Ido not feel my-
self like a sick man; I feel I am luxuriating in God’s
presence.” “Could I live like an archangel, still I
could not merit heaven.” “TI like to hear of the
beauties of heaven; but I do not dwell upon them,
—no—what I rejoice in is, that Christ will be
there””—Such were some of this merchant-prince’s
closing remarks—such the-harvest of hope, nay
of fruition, which he reaped even here. The
field was white unto the harvest, and his soul was
satisfied to the full with the abundance which was
there.

Now, whether would the young reap as this man
did—or like the man who amasses more than he can
count, and yet forgets God amid it all?

Whether would the young live as this man lived,
and die as this man died—fearing and serving God—
or live and die as they do who say to the gold, Thou
art my god ; and to the fine gold, Thou art my con
fidence?
254 The Alternative.

Whether would the young learn to give to the
poor, and so lend to the Lord; or grasp all they can,
and hoard all they grasp—ungenerous in heart—un-
feeling—selfish—unlovely and unloved ? *

* Fora full account of Samuel Budget, the reader should peruse with
care his life as “The Successful Merchant.”




XIX.

Conclusion.

HUS have we attempted to illustrate, from
the life and the actions of men in dif-
ferent ages, the close connection which

God over all has appointed between the character

which we wear, and the misery upon the one

hand, or the joy upon the other, which is infallibly
our lot. And if aught could deepen our impression
of the closeness and the invariableness of that con-
nection, it would be the survey we have taken,



superficial as it has necessarily been. The law
which binds the planets in their orbits is not more
unvarying. Inexperienced youth, indeed, may at-
tempt to escape from that law, and yet be happy or
truly successful in life; but not more unwise were the
attempt to seek life in the grave, or happiness in the
consuming flame. God’s laws are as unchanging as
God himself; and one of these laws may be thus
expressed——T'0 BE WICKED IS TO BE WRETCHED—-TO.
bE HOLY 18 YO BE Happy. ‘I'he history of the world
256 The Conelusion.

—the history of every home, and every heart, is only
a commentary on that law.

Will the young, then, be their own friends, and
learn wisdom betimes? Will they seek Wisdom
early? Will they employ the seed-time of life with
diligence, that its autumn may enrich them with the
peaceable fruits of righteousness ?

Would they see their gray hairs brought in sorrow
to the grave? Then let them neglect their God, or
turn in contempt and indifference from his unchang-
ing laws. But would they see their hoary hairs turned
into a crown of glory? Then, with holy determina-
tion they should enter on the right way—with holy
perseverance they should press forward there ; and
in the world to come, at least, they would reap life
everlasting.