Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

of life, not given by nature, but which nature directs us to acquire." Excellent, to the same effect, are some remarks of the late learned Bishop Horsley, in two beautiful sermons, published since his death, on Phil. iii. 15; on which, as well as on the preceding extract from "the Analogy of Religion," and other observations of a similar nature, he who is intent on virtuous eminence will do well to meditate. Let him only, however, beware of resting in the mere persuasion or contemplation of this subject; for, as Bishop Butler has most acutely and usefully remarked, in the same chapter; "going over the theory of virtue in one's thoughts, talking well, and drawing fine pictures of it; this is so far from necessarily or certainly conducing to form an habit of it in him who thus employs himself, that it may harden the mind in a contrary course, and render it gradually more insensible, i. e. form an habit of insensibility to all moral considerations." Let constant, unwearied action, or exertion, therefore, be the object of the candidate for excellence in virtue; and he will certainly experience the truth of what has just been asserted concerning its propitious influence. He will find, in a word, that "to him that hath shall be given;" and that, by thus giving all diligence to add to his faith virtue, the whole train of moral and of Christian graces will gradually adorn his profession, and render him "neither barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of Christ."

It would be easy to multiply di

[ocr errors]

rections and rules for the attainment of virtue; and I may very possibly have omitted some which to others of your correspondents may appear important. Those, however, which I have mentioned, may serve at least to produce some better observations on this interesting subject; and in the mean time may not, perhaps, be altogether without use to some of your readers. Virtue-I mean, as I originally observed, true Christian virtue-is, or ought to be, the great object of our pursuit. The attainment of it is essential both to our present and future happiness. Virtue is, indeed, happiness itself. Every degree of improvement in the one, is a proportionable increase of the other. Wisdom, justice, temperance, the love of God, the love of our neighbour, purity of heart, heavenly-mindedness, with the rest of those fruits of the Spirit, and works of righteousness, which are held forth to us in Scripture, are only so many different names for branches of that perfect happiness which we all desire, and profess to be pursuing. To these virtues, then, let us direct our chief thoughts, study, and concern. We must in some good measure possess and exercise them, if we expect either the peace of the righteous here, or the blessedness which is reserved for them hereafter. That we may attain them, has, I think, been proved in the preceding observations. It only remains, therefore, that I add, in the words of our Lord," If we know these things, happy are we if we do them." I am, Sir, &c.

PHILARETUS.

MISCELLANEOUS.

To the Editor of the Christian Observer. I HAVE read your work for these nine years, and am so well persuaded that you are a friend to sound

religion, and an enemy to all popish plots, that in my present state of alarm I apply to you without hesitation. Let me, dear Sir, tell you something of my history, and

then say if I complain without

cause.

I was born about eighteen centuries ago, and in a short time sprung up to a size and figure wholly unprecedented in creatures of my kind. My high birth and credentials entitled me to universal empire. I proceeded to assert my rights, and by bloodless contests dethroned many an usurper who occupied my place. At one blow I subjected the whole Roman empire to my dominion, and "looked from my throne of gold o'er half a world." There is no saying to what extent my conquests might have reached, had not one of my own family erected the standard of rivalry. Dexterously seizing my credentials, availing herself of the family like ness, assuming my honoured name, and tricking herself out in such apparel as was calculated to attract the multitude, she wrested the sceptre from my hand, drove me into the wilderness, and, seating herself on the seven hills of Rome, clothed in a robe of scarlet, and crowned with a tiara, gave laws to the whole of Europe. Kings were not only her nursing fathers," but they were her slaves and grooms: they kissed her feet and held her stirrup. To her profligacy, Sir, when once crowned, I lament to say there were no bounds. She drained every land of its treasures, and deluged it with blood. She extended her wing over the guilty, and launched her thunders at the innocent. Under the sanction of my venerable name, she put fetters on the mind as well as on the body; and although wherever she reigned she sapped the very foundations of sound religion and morality, and, of course, left no solid basis for human happiness, she was, nevertheless, regarded by her infatuated subjects as infallible in her decisions, and unerring in her faith.

But, Sir, you will be curious to know how she effected these purposes of delusion.

My original parent, soon after I

was sent into the world, gave me a book, in which my credentials were written; and the tenor of these, if men would read them attentively, and with an honest mind, it was difficult to misapprehend. That they might be universally read, they were written in a plain style, and in a language which was then understood throughout a great part of the world, and whence, therefore, translations could easily be made into other tongues. My rival, however, availing herself of the growing disuse of the original language, contrived, under various pretences, effectually to seal up the sacred volume. She forbade it to be debased by translations into beathenish dialects; and proceeding in the same course of restricting its use, under the pretence of a profound veneration for its contents, she succeeded in so far blinding the minds of men, as to make them believe it a sin to read them in any language, or even to hear them but from the mouth of the priest. At the same time, to support her unjast usurpation, she vamped up a spu rious title (a sort of traditionary codicil to the will of my parent), and passed it on the world as a lucid exposition of the original records. Whoever dared to hint a doubt of its paramount authority, was sure to feel her vengeance.

This bold experiment succeeded for a time; so that, for several centuries, scarcely were either myself or my credentials heard of. Now and then, indeed, some daring searcher into mouldy records as serted my pretensions; but my rival quickly either tortured him inte more correct notions, or burnt him for his contumacy. At length. Sir, neither heaven nor earth could any longer endure this cruel usurpation. One man was raised up, who, under the frown of nations, but with the approbation of God, displayed ny credentials to the world, exposed the crimes of my rival, and re-instated me in the throne of a considerable part of Europe. If you ask

by what means I was thus restored to my rank; I answer, by the display of my credentials. I had no outward pomp to recommend me, no worldly conformity to conciliate prejudice, no indulgences for the profligate, no charms or relics for the superstitious, no absolutions for guilt or indolence unrepented and unforsaken, no palaces where my besotted ministers might slumber, purple as the vines which grew around them. It was the book of credentials, and that alone, which re-established my empire. Judge, then, whether, having first lost my throne by its suppression, and having been restored by a fresh display of it to the world, I ought not to watch over its future circulation with even more than maternal anxiety.

And now, Sir, I come to the detail of the specific grievance under which I at this moment labour. It has always been my unhappy lot to suffer by the schemes of avowed friends. Such persons pretended, in old times, that, to lock up my credentials in a dead language, to let them go into no man's hands, except with an interpreter at his elbow, to seclude them in abbeys and in monasteries, was the only way to secure them from misinter pretation and abuse. But I learnt to my cost the pernicious tendency of this mode of reasoning. My credentials were meant for all the world, and I cannot fail to be abridged of my just dominion if all the world be not suffered to read them. Strongly impressed with this truth, many of my loyal subjects have united, at various times, to circulate my credentials; and a few years since a society arose, which in a short time surpassed all that had gone before, in the warmth of its zeal and the extent of its labours for this object. The plan of this new association is, to publish my credentials in every language; and, sending heralds into all lands, to proclaim them, without the addition or suppression of a let ter, to the inhabitants of both poles, CHRIST. OBSERV. No. 105.

and of almost every circle of latitude. It is true, that this society is not so fastidious about the persons employed to carry these books, as some would wish.. Its managers, knowing that it is only by the credentials themselves I must stand or fall; knowing also that these will not spoil in the longest voyage, nor be at all affected, as some weak persons will argue, by the colour of the flag under which they sail, or by the character of the captain and crew of the ship, are glad to avail themselves of every possible means of dispersion, and are content with a pledge that they shall not be exchanged or mutilated. They know, in short, that, let those who join in this work think or mean what they please, they cannot do otherwise than advance my interests by their co-operation. Surely, Sir, you will allow that such an institution must be dear to me. Can I do less than take it by the hand, recommend it to all similar institutions, and urge them to similar exertions? Can I be otherwise than loud in my expressions of gratitude for the benefits it has conferred on me? Could I suppose, for a moment, that any true friend of mine would be its enemy, would set himself in array against it, would charge its patrons with doubtful designs, with infatuated blindness, with rebellion against the very throne the rights of which they are so anxious to maintain? Consider, then, my horror, Sir, when I see one of my own sons; one who had distinguished himself by his previous labours in my service; one on whom I have already conferred titles of honour, places of trust, rewards for the past, and promises for the future; planting himself on the very steps of my palace, and fulminating his ban against this institution. Sir, I trust you have never felt “how keener than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child." But, dear Sir, it is not your sympathy I want so much as your counsel. What shall I do with this refractory youth? Do you conceive his to be a case

[ocr errors]

4 A

requiring an anti-phlogistic regi-
men? Or shall I lock him up in
the library at Lambeth for a month,
where, I am sure, he might, in the
history of past ages, read much
which might shew him the folly and
danger of his present proceedings?
Or shall I send him to attend the
annual or monthly meetings of my
associated friends, where, I am per-
suaded, he might learn to correct
his facts; and might, perhaps, catch
some spark of generous fire to warm
and enlighten his breast? Or shall
I send him some copious extracts
from old popish writers, to shew him
that he and they are but too nearly
allied in sentiment? Or shall I send
him down to Hertford, where I per-
ceive some of his friends are aware
of his disorder, and are disposed to
minister to a mind diseased? Or shall
I send him to you, who I perceive
mean him well, and in a late num-
ber, with a due share of praise, ad-
ministered to him some friendly cor-
rection? Or shall I remove him en-
tirely from his present residence, the
damp foggy air of which may cloud
his judgment, and weaken his eyes?
Or shall I send him to his own col-
lege, where the air appears less dense,
and where its illustrious head has
espoused my cause? Or shall I, lastly,
insist on his more diligently and
carefully studying my credentials
as likely themselves to supply per-
haps the very best remedy for his
disease? Which, Mr. Editor, of
all these expedients, shall I em-
ploy? for though I am led, by their
past failure, in some degree to doubt
their success, yet I am very anxious
that something should be attempted.
I have begun again to dream of fag-
gots and auto da fe. Philip and
Mary, the Duke of Guise and Bon-
ner, haunt me day and night. It is
true I am barricaded pretty strongly
in the walls of this sacred edifice:
Westminster Abbey, too, is in a state
of repair; and I trust I am still more
strongly entrenched in the hearts of
the people. But, what with the
clamour against this society, and the
Roman catholic petitions; what

with Bonaparte's marriage into a
popish family, and the number of
French priests in Kensington Gar
dens; what with the lukewarmness
of protestants, and the fiery zeal of
the papists; what with the determi-
nation of thousands not to circulate,
and of millions not to read, my cre-
dentials; I confess that my alarm is
great. Do pray assist me in re-
claiming my deluded boy, that he at
least, whom I had hoped to rank
among my most faithful defenders,
may not be made an instrument in
the hands of my enemies, and in-
volved in the guilt of parricide, and
you will still further oblige your al-
ready deeply obliged friend,

THE CHURCH UNIVERSAL.
St. Paul's Cathedral,
St. Bartholomew's Day, 1810.

To the Editor of the Christian Observer.

THE candid acknowledgment of your benevolent correspondent (in the Christian Observer for February last), that his attention had been first drawn to the state of the Gypsies by the letter of Fraternicus, was matter of unfeigned satisfaction to me; and as it is probable there may be no want of inclination in the Christian world to extend relief to that race, provided any likely method could be devised of imparting that relief effectually to them, permit me to solicit a place in your pages for a thought which has occurred to me in my meditations on the subject. It appears, from a letter in your number for May, that they are not totally destitute of a desire for the benefit of instruction. Information might easily be obtained, as to what part of England they are to be found in the greatest numbers; and if a free school could be instituted, and the means of instruction provided for those of their children who were willing to attend (at least in the winter season) might it not be a means of conveying useful and sav ing knowledge to them? By de grees they might be brought to al

end divine worship regularly and if in the parish of a pious clergyman, he would probably embrace the opportunity of teaching them more particularly the way of salvation. Much, however, might be done by a pious schoolmaster, and a schoolmistress, by whom the girls might be instructed in different kinds of work, knitting, sewing, &c.; and if any of the parents should evince a desire for instruction, they could be admitted at different hours in the day. It would be an interesting inquiry, what becomes of orphans among them; and whether there is not a possibility of at least rescuing them from their present state of ignorance and misery. Should these suggestions be deemed worthy of your insertion, they might, perhaps, awaken the attention of some benevolent persons, whose superior talents and experience in the ways of beneficence would enable them to perfect and carry into execution a plan for the effectual benefit of these unhappy partners of our kind. That He may grant it, from whom every good thought proceeds, is the fervent prayer of

FRATERNICUS,

To the Editor of the Christian Observer. YOUR correspondent Sophronia, in your number for July last, expressed a desire that some method might be discovered and published, by which retirement may be enjoyed without resorting to falsehood to secure it. Suffer me, therefore, Sir, to avail myself of your medium to address a few sentences to the lady upon this subject.

A Christian lady of rank may occasionally be placed in circumstances which may require her to mix more with the gay world than her prudence or her inclination would other wise prompt her to do; but it is not very likely that she should be put to the necessity of inviting those to her house whom she is not desirous of seeing there; and the very nature of the case renders it impossi

ble for her to do so conscientiously. She cannot say to such persons, "I should be glad to receive a visit from you," when she foresees that no pleasure will arise from it; unless, indeed, she has reason to think that bearing with the interruption and "tedium" of a morning visit or two will be followed by equivalent advantages of another description; and then the prospect of those advantages may make her "glad of a visit" from those acquaintances by whose means she hopes to obtain them. This case admits of no other hesitation than may arise from a calculation of the proportionate benefits to be derived from the sacrifice of such a certain portion of time. If those benefits, in the estimation of the lady, equal or exceed the value of the time, it is plain she must purchase them at its expense : and would it not be rather unfair to expect them, without parting with something in return? The Christian lady, therefore, in the first place, is not so much tempted to deny herself to be at home as the lady of the world, because she is not at liberty to invite any others than such from whose society she promises herself either pleasure or profit...

But, secondly, it may be observed, that, circumscribed as the limits of the Christian lady's acquaintance will thus necessarily be; yet even still some visits may occur which it would be highly inconvenient to receive, and equally as unpolite to refuse. Here, then, is the dilemma, and from it there appears no lawful middle-way of escape. To deny ones'-self carries criminality upon the very face of it;-so much so, that I believe it impossible for any one's conscience to be at peace who practises the deceit. But may not the refusal be softened by a candid confession of its real cause? The visitors themselves will be aware of the propriety of such a procedure; they will be sensible that if they were engaged in a similar manner, a similar interruption would be

« ZurückWeiter »