Chapter XXII: Part 22

"One difficulty which attends the solution of this question arises from the very _nature_ of the application which it supposes. If coming to Christ were a bodily act, and if the dependence to be reposed in him fell under the cognizance of the senses, we should be able to decide with perfect ease whether we have come to him or not. But it is simply a mental act, which may be performed even while the believer remains in a state of doubt. To believe or to trust in Christ, is the first act of the mind; but to come to a satisfactory conclusion that this act of dependence agrees with the requirements of the Scripture, supposes that a process of examination and comparison has taken place. I am to judge of my faith from its effects; as the worth of a tree is to be decided by the quality of its fruit. And here two questions demand my attention: first, What moral effects does faith produce? Secondly, Have these effects been produced in me? Faith purifies the heart from the love of sin; brings the distant and unseen objects of the eternal world to act with impressive force on the judgment, and affections, and imagination; induces its possessor to walk as seeing him who is invisible; to love the Redeemer with a supreme affection; and constrains him to attempt to advance the glory of God in the world by a life of practical devotedness to his will. These are some of the effects or moral evidences of faith; _and if they always existed in their highest degree_, we should have some certain landmarks of decision, when attempting to ascertain the genuine nature of our dependence on Christ, which neither sophistry nor unbelief would be able to remove. But as an excellent writer observes:--'The mind of every Christian experiences many _alternations_ of holiness and sin. Temptations often and unexpectedly intrude. The objects which engross the whole heart of the sinner, unhappily engage at times in greater or less degrees that of the Christian. Nor is their influence always transient. David, Solomon, and other saints mentioned in the Scriptures, for a length of time sinned. Not a small number of sins are committed in thought, word, and action, in the brighter and better seasons; nay, in the brightest and best. 'I sin,' says Bishop Beveridge; 'I repent of my sins, and sin in my repentance. I pray for forgiveness, and sin in my prayers. I resolve against my future sin, and sin in forming my resolutions. So that I may say, My whole life is almost a continued course of sin.' This is the language of one of the best men that ever lived. A still better man has said, 'For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do' (Rom. vii. 19). If, then, the most eminent saints, in the most improved state of their character, and the most sacred seasons of their devotion, have the evidence of their faith weakened by the force of contrary evidence, ought it to excite our surprise if in us it is often obscured, and sometimes overbalanced?"

"Then I judge from the tenor of your remarks, that, for consolation and hope, we must turn from ourselves, and constantly depend on Christ as a Saviour; whatever may be the varying tone and tendencies of the heart."

"Yes; trust in him at all times--in sorrow, and in joy; when assailed by temptation, and in seasons of triumph; whether in transport on the mount, or abased in the valley--one undeviating act of the mind from the beginning to the end of the conflict."

Our conversation now turned on the honour which the God of all grace confers on an individual whom he condescends to admit into a state of fellowship with himself; and on the consequent obligation which this places him under to make an open and unequivocal profession of religion.

"Yes," said Miss Chester, "the noblest distinction we can attain to, is to be endowed with the faith of God's elect; but it is a distinction which often exposes us to the ridicule and the scorn of the world."

"The semi-Christians of modern times," I remarked, "are as ignorant of the relative dignity of the sons of God, as the ancient Jews were of the personal dignity of Jesus Christ. Nor ought this to excite our surprise, seeing that, as the apostle says, 'the world knows us not, because it knew him not.' But though the world be ignorant of our relative dignity, we ourselves are not; and yet there are some who appear ashamed of it. They desire to gain the crown of glory; but refuse to identify themselves with the disciples of Jesus Christ, that they may escape the odium to which they are exposed."

"There is in this," said Miss Osbourne, "a species of meanness, of which, I think, an honourable mind could not be guilty. But though some who have felt the power of truth to a certain extent, may hesitate to identify themselves with the disciples of Jesus Christ, yet they may be influenced by the purest motives. I have a friend, who has recently been convinced of the truth of the gospel; and yet, when conversing with an eminently pious stranger on some of its sacred topics, very ingenuously said, '_But, madam, I do not wish you to suppose that I am a Christian_. _I admire the doctrines and the precepts of Christianity; and I admire the character of those who display its moral virtues; but I dare not rank myself among their number. O no; I am not good enough!_' Now, this friend has mental firmness enough to withstand the rudest shocks of reproach; but as she has not, in her own estimation, felt the transforming power of the truth, she cannot conscientiously identify herself with those who have."

"This," I remarked, "is neither a singular nor a hopeless case. The reluctance which your friend feels to make a profession of religion, till she is satisfied that she possesses the principle, is a decided proof of her integrity; and though she may remain in this state of dubious perplexity for a still longer time, yet she will never enjoy _perfect_ peace, till she becomes decided."

"But ought a person to make a decided profession of religion before he has attained a full assurance of his personal interest in the redemption and love of Jesus Christ?"

"In my opinion, the very moment a sinner trusts in Christ Jesus for the salvation of his soul, he places himself under an obligation to render obedience to his laws. The first petition is, '_Lord, save, or I perish_;' the next in order, and which should immediately follow, is, '_Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?_' He distinctly states what he would have us do:--'Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven' (Matt. x. 32)."

"But is it not a wise _discretion_ to tarry awhile, to test the strength of the religious principle, before the garb of a public profession is put on? Should we not avoid precipitation in a matter of such importance?"

"But would you, during this probationary period, depend on your own moral strength to sustain the vital energy of your religious principles?"

"Certainly not."

"Then you would depend on the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ to preserve the vitality of your principles, while you are passing through this probationary period; the length of it to be decided by your own discretion."

"I would depend on him to keep me steadfast in his ways."

"And could you not depend on him with as much implicitness and constancy to keep you steadfast after you have put on the yoke of obedience, as you can when preparing to do it?"

"Most certainly."

"There is a little incident recorded in Matthew xvi. 21, which embodies one of the laws of the mediatorial government of Jesus Christ. '_From that time forth_', that is, after his apostles had made a public avowal of their belief in him as the Son of God, he began to show unto them the coming events of his wonderful history. Yes, my friend, the path of duty is the path of safety, and obedience brings its own reward, as clearer manifestations of the love of Christ usually follow an open profession of devotedness to him."

"I remained a spectator the last time the ordinance of the Lord's Supper was administered at your chapel; I thought it a very solemn service, and I was a good deal impressed by it."

"I hope you have outlived the scrupulous objections of your educational training, and now admit that the ordinances of baptism and the Lord's Supper are of perpetual obligation?"

"I must confess that they have engaged some portion of my thoughts, particularly the Lord's Supper. I recently read Joseph Gurney's remarks on it, but they did not satisfy me. I thought them more ingenious than solid; and they seemed to me very much a piece of special pleading. From his book I turned to 1 Cor. xi., and I recollect saying when I had finished, the apostle Paul and Joseph Gurney don't think and write alike on this subject. As they can't both be right, one must be wrong; which shall I follow?"

"I suppose," said Miss Chester, "you don't find that a difficult question to decide?"

"Why, my dear, it is not a very easy matter to get over long cherished scruples--to obliterate early impressions, and adopt new religious habits and customs. But still, I must confess, that an inspired apostle is a safer guide, than an uninspired partizan writer. However, there is a previous question, which, if I may be permitted to mention it, I should like to have answered. What, in your judgment, are the spiritual advantages which are connected with the regular observance of the ordinance of the Lord's Supper?"

"In the first place," I replied, "it tends, and I think very forcibly, to give fixedness and solidity to our faith in the historic truthfulness of our Lord's sufferings and death. He himself instituted the ordinance, even before his death was accomplished; and he assigns his reason for so doing: 'And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body. And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it; for this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins' (Matt. xxvi. 26-28). Immediately after his death, we find, by consulting the Acts, that his disciples partook of it in obedience to his authority, and for the purpose which he specified. The apostle Paul tells us that he had a special revelation from heaven in relation to it (1 Cor. xi. 23, 26). And this ordinance, instituted by Jesus Christ, and observed by all the primitive disciples, is handed down to us as a standing memorial of the wonderful fact that Christ died for our sins, according to the Scriptures."

"Yes, I see. Then this ordinance stands like a monument erected at the time when the event occurred, to commemorate it, and to perpetuate the remembrance of it?"

"It does."

"Then as people are not so foolish as to erect monuments to commemorate what never took place, the historic certainty of the death of Jesus Christ receives an indisputable confirmation from the perpetual celebration of the Lord's Supper?"

"Exactly so."

"This is a new idea to me, and an important one. Then I must disapprove of the conduct of Friends, who have not merely defaced this monumental pillar of the Christian faith, but entirely removed it. Why, the removal of a landmark is more like the work of an enemy, who has an interest in destroying boundary lines, than the work of a friend, who has an interest in preserving them. I wonder that Joseph Gurney did not see this."

"But this ordinance does something more than perpetuate a remembrance of the historic fact of the death of Jesus Christ: it is significant of its moral design. When he gave the cup of wine to his disciples, and commanded them to drink of it, he added, as explanatory of the purpose which he had in view by this arrangement--'For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins' (Matt. xxvi. 28)."

"Yes, I see it is this that attaches supreme importance to the ordinance, which would become an unmeaning ceremony if we exclude the atonement from our theory of belief."

"Very true. The historic fact, and its moral design, are inseparably blended; and the truthfulness of both is confirmed by the same ceremonial rite. When our Lord had supped, he took the cup, saying to his disciples, 'This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me. For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord's death till he come' (1 Cor. xi. 25, 26)."

"I am quite satisfied that the ordinance should be received by the disciples of Christ, in obedience to his authority, when they believe that they are his disciples. And I must say, that I think the Friends are wrong in rejecting it as an obsolete ceremony. By doing so, they remove an ancient landmark."

"It is worse than that," said Miss Chester; "it is destroying an ancient monument which was designed to perpetuate, as long as time shall last, a remembrance of the great event it was erected to celebrate."

"Do you," said Miss Osbourne, "administer the Lord's Supper indiscriminately to persons in general, or do you restrict its administration to the decidedly pious?"

"Amongst us Dissenters it is a test of character; none are permitted to partake of it, unless they profess repentance towards God, and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; and, at the same time, give some practical proof that they are renewed, and walk worthy of the vocation wherewith they are called."

"What is called open communion prevails, I believe, in the National Establishment."

"It does. The clergyman of our national church is the minister of the parish in which he officiates, and he baptizes all children whose parents wish him to do it; and unless they should be excommunicated, which is rarely done, they are treated as members of the church, and have the right of access to the sacrament of the Lord's Supper."

"Indeed! What! are any immoral persons ever permitted by a clergyman to partake of the Lord's Supper? I should judge from what I read in the New Testament, that it belongs exclusively to true believers in Christ."

"Yes; in National Establishments, all the varieties of the human character, from the most pious to the most profane, may be seen mingling together at the sacramental table."

"Indeed! this must be a perversion of the ordinance. The apostles, if I recollect rightly, required repentance towards God, and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, as essential qualifications for admission into the church; and if any member walked disorderly, he was separated from Christian fellowship."

"It is so amongst us Dissenters. We do not profess to have a perfect church, but we do not suffer any one to remain in membership with us who dishonours his profession by any known act of impiety or immorality."

"That seems to me to be adhering to the rule of the Scripture."

"To that rule we should always adhere; and hence it is obligatory on all to observe the ordinance who are trusting in Christ for salvation. They should do so, as a visible expression of their subjection to his authority, and of their gratitude and love to him for his marvellous loving-kindness in shedding his blood for the remission of their sins, and for giving his life a ransom for their redemption. I recently heard an esteemed minister deliver the following address, just before the administration of the ordinance:--

"'We are now, my dear Christian brethren, going to commemorate the death of a beloved Friend, whose friendship derives its value from his death. We often muse with intense interest on the wondrous events of his wondrous life; we repeat to each other, with strong emotions of delight, his soul-inspiring sayings. But it is his death which enkindles the purest, the most powerful, and the most joyous emotions of our heart. It is true, he was crucified by wicked hands, but crucifixion touched no vital part. He could have lived on the cross as long as he pleased, free from pain, and with as much placid ease as, when seated on the mountain side, he dictated the beatitudes to his disciples. He could have stepped down from the cross, had he pleased, and arrayed himself with as much celestial beauty as when he stood transfigured on Tabor; and he could have changed in a moment the humiliating and conflicting scene of Calvary into the awful grandeur of the final judgment; and at his bidding the trumpet would have awakened the dead, to stand before him for their final sentence. But no. Such prodigies of power, and displays of justice were not to take place then and there. The only event to take place then and there was his shedding his blood for the remission of sins, and his giving his life a ransom for sinners. This he did, unsolicited, voluntarily, and cheerfully; and when he calls on you to take the cup, in remembrance of his sufferings and death, will you hesitate to do so? or can you do it with formal indifference?

'O for this love, let rocks and hills
Their lasting silence break,
And all harmonious human tongues
The Saviour's praises speak.'"

"I like the sentiments and expressions of this address; but I think you must admit that hesitation does not always bespeak reluctance."

"Very true; but it arrests the progress of obedience, and entails the loss of spiritual privileges and enjoyments."

"I hope, my dear Miss Osbourne," said Miss Chester, "you now feel no reluctance to yield obedience to the dying command of your beloved Saviour and Friend; and that you will, by one sacred resolve, yield yourself to him as one alive from the dead--have your fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life."

"A sublime termination to a painful, and often a depressing conflict! It would be wrong in me not to confess that I have derived instruction from the conversation of the evening. Some new ideas have been suggested to me, and some lingering doubts have been removed. My hesitation, which sprang from caution, rather than reluctance, now yields to a sense of duty. I will do what my Lord commands me; and because it is his command. You will both pray for me, that my faith fail not, and that I may endure to the end, steadfast in the path of duty."

She kept her promise; and on the first communion day, with us commemorated the death of the Lord Jesus Christ in the way of his appointment. Soon after, I received an interesting letter from her; and as its conclusion is an appropriate sequel to the long and painful conflict through which she had to pass, its transcription may serve as a guide and solace to others.

"'O, happy day, that fixed my choice
On Christ, my Saviour and my God!

* * * * * * * * *

Now rests my long-divided heart.'

"My experience proves the truthfulness of a remark you made in our recent interview 'obedience brings its own reward.'"

Those who have been early initiated into the Christian faith, and who have advanced, under judicious training, from one stage of inquiry and attainment to another, till they have acquired a perfect knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus, both in its unity and harmony, and who have felt it on their hearts, in the spirituality of its power, can form no just conception of the severe and often prolonged conflict to which others are subjected, who have not been favoured with similar advantages. They are in a moral condition somewhat analogous to that of the lonely traveller who, when on a strange road, is suddenly enveloped in a mist--hearing sounds of danger, while unable to discover from whence they come, why they are given, or how he shall effect his escape. Their mind gets bewildered, jaded, and paralyzed by its own fruitless labours and solicitudes; becomes irresolute, unwilling to relinquish the question of inquiry, yet unable to pursue it; and like the maniac amongst the tombs, seeks for rest, but cannot find it. The secret of relief to all such anxious inquirers, lies imbedded in the invitation of Jesus Christ: "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest" (Matt. xi. 28). This invitation has ministered consolation to myriads; its efficacy now, is as powerful as it was when it first fell from his lips; and whosoever receives it in faith, and yields to it, will find rest to his soul.

AN ESCAPE FROM A FALSE REFUGE.

When surveying my congregation one Sabbath evening, I noticed an interesting stranger in the front gallery, whose manner indicated that he had never been in the chapel before. I had selected for my text Isa. lvii. 18: "_I have seen his ways, and will heal him; I will lead him also, and restore comforts unto him, and to his mourners_." As he sat just opposite the pulpit my eye caught his, when delivering the following introductory remarks:--

"No one can read the Bible with serious attention, without feeling that he is brought into contact with God. While intently fixed on the subject which engages his attention, he feels isolated from others--existing apart from others, yet existing in immediate connection with God and the eternal world. The same novel effect is sometimes produced, and often to a greater degree, when a congregation is attentively listening to the ministrations of the pulpit. People are drawn together into a place of worship: the reading, the singing, and the prayer are gone through; and then the preaching commences. The preacher is known, but he is soon lost sight of; his subject absorbs attention, excites emotion; impression succeeds impression; and though, in some instances, there may be a momentary degree of astonishment awakened as to the source from whence the preacher has obtained his knowledge of individual character, yet that astonishment soon subsides, and nothing is left to engross the attention of the hearer, but an overwhelming sense of his own guilt, misery, and danger, which is now discovered, and felt, FOR THE FIRST TIME. Yes, many a person has entered this chapel to scorn, who has left it to breathe the prayer of the publican--'God be merciful to me a sinner.' Yes, many a person has taken his seat with others, and by being blended with the mass of the congregation, has seemed to lose the individuality of his existence; but the high and lofty One, that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy, speaks--and though his voice is not heard, it is felt--'I have seen his ways.' Yes, O sinner, he has seen your ways in the gone-by times of your impenitence, when you were living without him, and without hope in the world. Yes, he has seen your ways, when you either neglected the ordinances of religion, or observed them with careless indifference, as though they bore no relation to the Holy One, who inhabiteth eternity. Yes, he has seen the ways you have adopted to obliterate your religious impressions; to pacify your consciences; and to reconcile your habits of gaiety and folly, with a sense of your obligations to him. But he has never yet seen you walking in the narrow way that leadeth to eternal life. He has never seen you at his footstool deploring the error of your ways, and praying for mercy. Shall he abandon you to your irreligious course, and leave you to perish? or shall he come to heal you, to guide you, and to comfort you?"

His attention was arrested; he looked and listened as though he had never previously seen a minister in a pulpit, or heard a sermon; and on his countenance there was impressed an air of expressive solemnity, indicating profound thought.

I saw him again on the next Sabbath evening, then I missed him for several Sabbaths; he again re-appeared, became more frequent in his attendance, and at length I saw him walking up the area of the chapel accompanied by a lady, whom I presumed to be his wife. On this occasion he was invited into a pew belonging to one of my elders; and at the close of the service they left the chapel together. On inquiry I found that this elder knew him; and from him I obtained the outlines of his history, which he prefaced by saying, "I was not at the chapel on the first night of his attendance, and was rather surprised when he told me of it, because I rather apprehend he is a sceptic, though he does not avow it. However, though he gave me no reason to expect that he should repeat his visit, he made one remark which I was gratified to hear, as it was a proof that he had listened to the discourse, and was rather pleased than otherwise. 'The sermon,' he said, 'was simple and plain, yet somewhat original. I have heard more eloquent, and more argumentative discourses, both in my own country, and in England, but I never heard one which took such a firm hold of my attention, or one which brought after it such a train of novel thought; indeed, I cannot escape from a recollection of it.'"

Mr. Christopher Lobeck, the gentleman in question, was born in Berlin, in 1794. His parents were Protestants, with whom he lived till he had finished his literary education; and then he travelled for two years, visiting Spain, France, and Switzerland, and the principal manufacturing districts and marts of commerce of his own country, to qualify himself to engage in mercantile pursuits. Soon after the termination of the war in 1815, he was introduced to an English merchant, with whom he made an arrangement to serve his establishment in the capacity of a corresponding clerk; and this led to his settlement in London. While in this situation, which he held for seven years, he married the daughter of a citizen of worth and distinction; and by his advice, and with the concurrence of the house in which he had been engaged, he accepted an eligible offer of partnership in a firm of high respectability in ----, to which place he removed in 1822. His private residence was situated about a mile and a half from the centre of the town, a neat snug cottage, with the usual appurtenances, &c., &c. "He is," the elder added, "both intelligent and communicative, and has acquired a large amount of scientific and general information; and notwithstanding his doubts on the great question of the Christian faith, he generally attends church on Sabbath morning with his wife and children. Mrs. Lobeck is a contrast to her husband on religious matters; he looks with equal indifference on all the external forms of Christianity--she is one of the most impassioned admirers of Episcopacy and its clergy I ever knew. She is, in fact, what may be termed a devotee--excited, as by an electrical shock, if she hear any remark derogatory to the absolute perfection of her church and its priestly orders." He concluded by saying, "I think you should now go and see them; as they have both been to hear you preach, I think it likely they will be expecting it as an act of courtesy. It is possible that this may be the opening of a new epoch in their moral history, which may lead to some grand spiritual result."

I made a call, and was gratified by my reception. Mr. Lobeck was very cordial, and Mrs. Lobeck very polite; he was free and easy in chit-chat, but she was rather reserved; yet both seemed to be pleased by my visit. After looking through his museum, which contained a choice though not very extensive collection of birds, reptiles, and fossils, a few coins of different ages and countries, and a good assortment of autographs, I then strolled round his garden and shrubbery, and took my leave of them--both equally pressing for a more lengthened visit. Their attendance at the chapel now became more regular on a Sabbath evening, and occasionally on a Sabbath morning; and after the lapse of a few weeks, I met a select tea-party at their house, and though nearly all were strangers to me, and most of them high church, yet I spent a very pleasant evening. No controversial subject was introduced for debate or discussion; conversation was desultory, without being frivolous, and was sustained without being prosy, or degenerating into dry common-place. Having intimated to Mr. Lobeck that it was my usual habit to conduct family prayer where I spent an evening, the Bible was presented to me; I read Psalm ciii., offering a few expository remarks, and then we knelt together at the throne of grace.

At a subsequent interview, when Mr. Lobeck called on me, he said, "We have decided on attending your chapel if we can be accommodated with a pew." On expressing some degree of surprise that Mrs. Lobeck should be willing to leave her church, with all its long-cherished predilections and associations, he replied--

"She still gives it the preference, but a paramount sense of duty now compels her to take this step. She was pleased with the extreme simplicity of your mode of worship the first time she came; and has on several occasions expressed her approbation of the momentous truths you have inculcated on the attention of your audience; but your discourse on Sabbath evening, from Acts xvi. 14, brought her long-hesitating mind to this decision. As we were returning home, after alluding to the hymn, and to the singing, which she very much enjoys, she remarked she now felt no surprise that I should prefer the preaching at the chapel to the preaching at the church; because, in her opinion, it is more interesting and instructive. 'It is,' she added, 'quite a relief to hear no more prosing about the regular succession question, or about the font and its mysteries. This clergyman makes one think of one's self, of God, of another world, and our Saviour Jesus Christ.'"

As they were now become my stated hearers, a close intimacy soon sprang up between us; and on one occasion, when alluding to the state of religion on the Continent, he said, with emphatic earnestness, "My country, Sir, is the land of spiritual barrenness; death reigns there. Infidelity is awfully dominant, and fatally powerful."

"But I have heard it now assumes an aspect somewhat different from the infidelity introduced by Voltaire, and which I believe was aided in its progress by the more fascinating genius of Rousseau."

"Yes, Sir, it is now the infidelity of Goethe, a man of extraordinary mental power--a most subtle and beguiling writer. Voltaire was an _intellectual_ sceptic, who denounced Christianity as an imposition on human credulity, and he advocated its suppression and extermination. Rousseau was a _sentimental_ sceptic, who contemplated Christianity with the same class of emotions as he surveyed the beauties and the deformities of nature; regarding it as a strange compound of moral grandeur and of meanness, which, in his estimation, might remain amongst a people without doing any social injury, and might be got rid of without their sustaining any irreparable loss. Goethe is a _rational_ sceptic, or what is called in Germany a rationalist. His disposition is not mocking like that of Voltaire and others, nor does he ever indulge in burlesque or ridicule, when speaking of the popular faith. He uniformly evinces a marked respect for the ordinary doctrines and ethics of Christianity, while the drift of his writings is to prove that the real religion of a man's heart, and the real end of his existence, lie in the refined cultivation of his mind and affections, and in subjecting all irregular impulses and passions to a course of due restraint."

"The infidelity of these sceptical writers who have done so much mischief on the Continent, and in England too, is substantially the same in its origin, in its essence, and in its tendencies, though there is a slight variation in its phases, its developments, and in its designs."

"Infidelity, Sir, under any phase, or in any form of development, is a destroying power; and its progress may be traced, like that of an epidemic, by the scenes of desolation which it leaves in its track. There would be some difficulty in adjusting the comparative injury which these distinguished sceptics have entailed on the moral and religious world; but it is very evident to any one who studies their writings, that they all tend to the same issue. The primary lessons which they all teach are these--that man needs no Divine instructor, which supersedes the necessity of revelation; that his own reason is sufficient to enable him to discover the safe road to true happiness and moral greatness, which supersedes the necessity of priestly instruction and training; and that he need do nothing more for his present well-being, and his future destiny, if there be a futurity, than cultivate his own tastes and social virtues."

"But I suppose Goethe has done more moral injury amongst the theologians of Germany than any other sceptical writer."

"I have no doubt of it; and also amongst all classes of literary men. I was once one of his devoted disciples; he ruled my mind with despotic sway. I revered him as an oracle. He stood, in my estimation, both in intellectual greatness and in the accuracy of his moral discoveries, far above any of the writers of the Old or New Testaments. He gave me a distaste for the Bible, and a loathing against its sublime and momentous doctrines; and I believe that his writings have tainted to a fearful extent the theology of the pulpits of Germany. There are a few able and eloquent men, who preach Christ and him crucified, in close imitation of Paul; but only a comparatively small number. Human reason is the popular idol amongst the majority; they keep the cross of Christ in the background; the atonement is repudiated by them. They maintain from the press and from the pulpit, and with as much strenuous earnestness as any of the infidel fraternity, that man has within himself a self-sufficient power to secure his present and his future happiness, without being at all dependent on the grace of God or the love of Christ."

"A sad change since the palmy days of Luther, and the other great Reformers."

"A most melancholy one; I should not like to return to live amidst such signs of decay and scenes of moral desolation--it is as Eden in ruins."

"Your removal, Sir, to England has proved a very important event in your history."

"It has indeed; a local change often leads to many other changes. If I had tarried in Berlin, I had not known my wife or had my three dear children; and most likely I should still have remained a disciple of Goethe, rather than become a disciple of Jesus Christ."

"Will you permit me to ask you one question, What circumstance induced you to come to the chapel the first time you came?"

"Your question, Sir, revives in my recollection a proposition which you illustrated by a series of facts, when delivering a discourse on John iv. 6, 7, and which, if my memory does not fail me, you stated in the following words:--'When a crisis approaches in the history of a nation, or even of a private individual, we may sometimes observe prognostic signs of its coming; and in taking a review after its occurrence, we may sometimes see a marked conjunction of determining events naturally leading to it.' The fact is, on the Sunday of my first visit to your chapel, we had arranged with a few friends to take a drive into the country; but just as we were in readiness to start, a tremendous thunderstorm compelled us to give up our jaunt. After it had cleared off, as it was too late for our country excursion, I took a walk into the town to see an old friend; but the rain again came down in torrents, just as I was passing your chapel; I ran into it for shelter, not for worship. I had no more thought of being converted to the faith of Christ when I entered your chapel, than the woman of Samaria expected to see the Messias when she left home to get some water from Jacob's well."

"The Psalmist, when calling on all the powers of the celestial and terrestrial creation to praise the Lord (Psal. cxlviii.), speaks of fire and hail, of snow and vapour, and stormy wind as fulfilling the Divine purpose; they come and go at his command, doing the work he assigns to them."

"So I _now_ believe. I recollect, when watching the coming up of the dark thunderstorm, feeling vexed that it should come just then, when we were all in such high glee, and in complete readiness to be off. I did not then know that on that storm my future destiny was depending. Had it not come when it did come, we should have been desecrating the Sabbath by recreative indulgence; and had it not been followed by the second storm, I should have been with my friend enjoying the convivialities of hospitality and mirth. In either case, when laying my head on my pillow, on that memorable night, my bosom would have heaved to other emotions than those which your discourse had stirred up within it. There and then I felt what I never expected to feel; and if the strange commotion had been predicted by an angel of God, I should have ridiculed it as a mere phantom. Indeed, my philosophy, which led me to believe that such a moral change as I have experienced was unnecessary, compelled me also to believe that it was impossible."

"I recollect the text from which I preached on the occasion to which you refer, but I do not recollect employing any arguments to expose the fallacy and delusions of scepticism, or any in confirmation of the Divine origin of the Christian faith."

"Argument, Sir, in favour of Christianity I could have withstood; but I could not withstand the great moral power by which I felt awe-struck and subdued."

"Do you think you were renewed in the spirit of your mind during the first service you attended at the chapel?"

"I know I felt very differently when I came out of the chapel that evening, from what I felt on entering; but whether I then actually passed from a state of spiritual death to newness of life, is a question I cannot decide. But now I can say what Paul said--By the grace of God I am what I am."

"Do you ever doubt the reality of the spiritual change which you have undergone?"

"No, Sir, that's impossible. I know that I was once living in a state of spiritual death, or mental alienation from God, neither loving nor fearing him--living without him in the world; but it's the reverse of this now. I now revere him as my sovereign, whose laws are my delight; and I now love him as my reconciled Father through Jesus Christ. All through life, up to my first visit to your chapel, the invisible world flitted before my imagination, more as a fairy land than a real world of spiritual beings; and the immortality of man I considered more a thing of speculation than of positive certainty; but now I am compelled to believe, and by the force of evidence which sophistry cannot falsify, that it is the habitation of the high and lofty One whose name is Holy, and before whom I hope to be presented faultless with exceeding joy when the crisis comes."

"But, Sir, does your old philosophy never suggest to you the idea that these new discoveries and emotions, with their consequent anticipations, may be referable to the mysterious action of a disturbed imagination, rather than the direct action of a supernatural power--what scepticism designates the flights of fancy?"

"I must confess that such an idea has more than once obtruded itself on my mind; but I at once dismiss it as an intangible fiction; for when I turned my attention to study the Christianity of the Bible, which I did very closely as soon as I felt the new impulse from your first sermon, I perceived that it not only offers remission of sin to the penitent and contrite sinner, but that it is essentially a restorative scheme of grace, constructed for the very purpose of rescuing man from the moral ruin in which sin has involved him, and ultimately to re-produce that spiritual similitude to the Divine likeness in which man was created, and which would still have adorned humanity, if the first transgression had not been committed. Hence the discoveries and emotions I have made and felt, and the conflicts through which I am now passing, are the initiate of this grand design of the high and lofty One--the preparatory steps in the progress of recovery, which is to lead to such a glorious issue."

"Have you, Sir, any distinct recollection of the order of thought which followed--the unanticipated impressions and emotions which you felt while listening to the sermon?"

"I recollect saying to myself, when passing home--I have heard many sermons in my own country, and many in England, more elaborate, more argumentative, and more brilliant; and yet no one ever produced such a series of novel and strange convictions and impressions as this simple and plain appeal to which I have been listening. Myself, my moral condition and danger, now absorbed my attention: I felt, and for the first time in my history, that I had been living without God--living the life of a practical atheist--that I deserved his anger, and that he might justly leave me to perish."

"Did you entertain any idea that this new moral discovery would lead to an eventful issue; or did you suppose it would vanish away, and leave you to live as in former years?"

"Why, Sir, I felt that the discovery I had made was no mental illusion, but a palpable and awful reality; and though it excited emotions of alarm and terror which I could scarcely endure, yet I felt more inclined to cherish than repress them; and at times during the ensuing week, I did indulge a vague hope that God would have mercy on me and comfort me."

"Did you tell Mrs. Lobeck where you had been, and what you felt?"

"No, Sir. I deemed it inexpedient to do that; because I knew it would distress her to hear that I had been to a Dissenting chapel. But there were other considerations which imposed silence. I knew not what opinion to form of the issue of the mental process through which I was passing. I thought it might bring on some change in my moral character and history; and I also thought it might end in nothing. I therefore resolved, while in this state of perplexity and confusion, not to say anything to any one on the subject, till I actually knew the result."

"Did you remain long in this state of mental perplexity and distraction?"

"For several months, during which time I accompanied my family to our church every Sabbath morning, and very generally I was at your chapel in the evening. I perceived that the religion of the two places is the same in its broad outlines; yet I soon discovered a great difference, not only in its impressiveness, but even in the doctrines of its public ministrations."

"The Rector and his Curate, I believe, dwell principally on the efficacy of the sacraments, and the absolute necessity of a steady adherence to the church, as an implied condition of salvation."

"Yes, Sir: they virtually reject what many of our Protestant ministers in Germany openly repudiate--the inherent depravity of man, the atonement for sin made by Jesus Christ, and the necessity of the agency of the Divine Spirit to enlighten and renovate the soul of man. In fact, they adopt the leading principle of Goethe's philosophy, and place our hope of future happiness on our doings and attainments. Goethe and his disciples work the principle without the alliance of any auxiliary powers or influences; but the clergymen of our church identify it with ecclesiastic ceremonies and associations. In either case, it is man doing something for himself which makes him his own saviour."

"I often wonder how it is that intelligent persons, who admit the authority of the Bible, can make such egregious mistakes as they often do on the question which relates to the way of salvation, or the method of a sinner's reconciliation with God; when it is stated with so much explicitness and precision by the sacred writers, 'Believe and be saved.' 'For through him we both have access by one Spirit unto the Father' (Ephes. ii. 18)."

"The terms are very explicit and simple--believe and be saved: but judging from my own experience, I should say they are very difficult of apprehension, and for this reason, we cannot trace a connection between such an action of the mind and such a glorious result."

"Nor, Sir, are we required to do so: we are to rest our belief on Christ and his promise, and then expect the issue."

"The discourse, Sir, which you delivered some time since on John iii. 14, 15, set my mind at rest on this simple and important question. You sketched the scene in the camp of Israel--the people dying under the judicial infliction; and when representing one and another, on moving out of their tents, feeling an instantaneous cure when they looked on the elevated brazen serpent, the scales fell from my mental vision, and I saw clearly, through the medium of this illustrative fact, that it is by faith in the death of Jesus Christ that we are to be saved. I shall never forget the effect which this discovery excited within me. I felt joy and peace in believing. The cloud of obscurity which had hung so long over the sacred page, and over the spiritual parts of your ministrations, instantaneously vanished; and I saw THE _truth_ in its clearness, because I again felt it in its power. I hastened home under an impulse of emotion which I know not how to describe; and as soon as I saw Mrs. Lobeck, I disclosed the long pent-up secrets of my heart. She listened to my communications with intense interest; and after offering me her congratulations on my escape from the snares and delusions of my sceptical philosophy, she then added, what both surprised and delighted me to hear--'I will very willingly go with you on a Sabbath evening, where you have received so much spiritual good, if you will continue to go with us to church on a Sabbath morning.' I at once consented to this proposal, and we continued for many months to alternate an attendance at the two churches, till at length she came to the decision which I have mentioned. We are now one in spirit, and I hope one in faith; but I regret to say that at times she feels a mental depression which I know not how to account for, nor can I remove it."

Mrs. Lobeck was a truly interesting person--as genteel in her manners, as she was amiable in her disposition; and as our intimacy increased, she gradually threw off her constitutional reserve, and became more free and communicative. She was naturally more buoyant in spirits than her husband, yet there was an expression of grief in her countenance which excited my sympathy, and I felt desirous of ascertaining the cause of it. She had been, from her youth up, a most rigid devotee of ecclesiastical formalism; no Puseyite could be more scrupulous in observing the times and seasons and ceremonies of his church. I knew, from many incidental allusions, that she had idolized her Prayer Book, which led her to neglect her Bible; and this made me suspect that she was still placing some undue dependence on ecclesiastic ceremonies. I had preached a sermon on the eunuch going on his way rejoicing (Acts viii. 39), to which she made a reference when I was spending an evening with her.

"To be candid, Sir, it is not with me as it was with the eunuch; for I am not quite so easy in my mind now, as I was before I left the church; sometimes I think I must return, though I should regret depriving myself of the benefit I derive from your ministry."

"You do not feel quite so much at ease in your mind now, as you did when attending to your long established religious customs?"

"I do not. Indeed, I feel at times quite unhappy."

"Were you quite happy when you were attending to your religious duties. Did you habitually feel that you were prepared for death; that is, were you assured that your sins were forgiven, and that you would go to heaven when you died?"

"No, Sir, I was never perfectly happy, because I was not quite assured that I should go to heaven, but I always thought that if I continued to the end in the religious course in which I had been trained, the Almighty would take me to himself. I recollect mentioning to our Rector the fears which I occasionally had on this subject, when he quoted a passage from the Bible which gave me much comfort, '_He that endureth to the end shall be saved_.' I now feel that I am failing in this duty, which makes me unhappy."

"Did you, when practising your religious duties, think much about Jesus Christ, and much about coming to him by faith, to save you? Did you ever feel that you loved him?"

"I always thought he was our Saviour, but I have thought more about him lately than I used to think. Your preaching puts some new ideas into my mind about Jesus Christ, but they soon pass away. I cannot retain them, because I do not clearly understand them."

"If I do not mistake, you cherished a hope that the Almighty would save you, because you were regular and conscientious in the observance of your religious duties?"

"Yes, Sir, I did. Was I doing wrong by doing this?"

"You will see presently. In consequence of having left the church, you cannot now attend, with the uniformity of former times, to the same order of duties; and therefore you cannot now indulge the hope that the Almighty will save you. And this depresses your spirits and makes you feel unhappy."

"It does, and very painfully so. I think I have forfeited the blessing, because I am not enduring to the end."

"You say you always thought that Jesus Christ was our Saviour; but do you not perceive, that as long as you indulged the hope of being saved in consequence of your scrupulous and constant attention to your religious duties, you were expecting to be saved without being indebted to him for your salvation? If you had succeeded, you would have got into heaven without his help; how then could he be your Saviour?"

"Then, Sir, was I doing wrong by placing my hope of being saved on my religious life and practice?"

"You were living under the spell of a common, but fatal delusion."

"Indeed, Sir! Such an idea has struck me, more than once, when I have been listening to your discourses; but it has passed from me; I could not entertain it, it is too horrifying."

"If, my dear Madam, to live under the spell of a fatal delusion be horrifying, what must it be to die under one--to pass away from earth, expecting to go to heaven, and when disembodied and alone, to be left to sink into hell!"

"But, Sir, if a person be sincere and constant in his religious duties--if he endure in them to the end of life, do you think the Almighty will suffer him to die under such a delusive expectation as that? The thought of it is truly painful. It makes me shudder."

"Allow me to call your attention to the following passage, which is a quotation from the words of Jesus Christ, the faithful and true Witness--'Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven. Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name done many wonderful works? And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity' (Matt. vii. 21-23)."