Younger and fairer he another saw.

He drew off. Her verses were left unanswered, her reproaches unpitied.

Laura wept, and Sappho raved in vain.

"The poor girl, to whom all this visionary romance had been a serious occupation, which had swallowed up cares and duties, now realized the woes she had so often admired and described. Her upbraidings only served to alienate still more the heart of her deserter; and her despair, which he had the cruelty to treat as fict.i.tious, was to him a subject of mirth and ridicule. Her letters were exposed, her expostulatory verses read at clubs and taverns, and the unhappy Sappho toasted in derision.

"All her ideal refinements now degenerated into practical improprieties.

The public avowal of her pa.s.sion drew on her from the world charges which she had not merited. Her reputation was wounded, her health declined, her peace was destroyed. She experienced the dishonors of guilt without its turpitude, and in the bloom of life fell, the melancholy victim to a mistaken education and an undisciplined mind."

Mrs. Stanley dropped a silent tear to the memory of her unhappy friend, the energies of whose mind she said would, had they been lightly directed, have formed a fine character.

"But none of the things of which I have been speaking," resumed Mr.

Stanley, "are the great and primary objects of instruction. The inculcation of fort.i.tude, prudence, humility, temperance, self-denial--this is education. These are things we endeavor to promote far more than arts or languages. These are tempers, the habit of which should be laid in early, and followed up constantly, as there is no day in life which will not call them into exercise; and how can that be practiced which has never been acquired?

"Perseverance, meekness, and industry," continued he, "are the qualities we most carefully cherish and commend. For poor Laura's sake, I make it a point never to extol any indications of genius. Genius has pleasure enough in its own high aspirings. Nor am I indeed overmuch delighted with a great blossom of talents. I agree with good Bishop Hull, that it is better to thin the blossoms that the rest may thrive; and that in encouraging too many propensities, one faculty may not starve another."

Lady Belfield expressed herself grateful for the hints Mr. Stanley had thrown out, which could not be but of importance to her who had so large a family. After some further questions from her, he proceeded:

"I have partly explained to you, my dear madam, why, though I would not have every woman learn every thing, yet why I would give every girl, in a certain station of life, some one amusing accomplishment. There is here and there a strong mind, which requires a more substantial nourishment than the common education of girls affords. To such, and to such only, would I furnish the quiet resource of a dead language as a solid aliment, which may fill the mind without inflating it.

"But that no acquirement may inflate it, let me add, there is but one sure corrective. Against learning, against talents of any kind, nothing can steady the head, unless you fortify the heart with real Christianity. In raising the moral edifice, we must sink deep in proportion as we build high. We must widen the foundation if we extend the superstructure. Religion alone can counteract the aspirings of genius, can regulate the pride of talents.

"And let such women as are disposed to be vain of their comparatively petty attainments, look up with admiration to those two cotemporary shining examples, the venerable Elizabeth Carter and the blooming Elizabeth Smith. I knew them both, and to know was to revere them. In _them_, let our young ladies contemplate profound and various learning chastised by true Christian humility. In _them_, let them venerate acquirements which would have been distinguished in a university, meekly, softened, and beautifully shaded by the gentle exertion of every domestic virtue, the unaffected exercise of every feminine employment."

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

Ever since Mr. Tyrrel had been last with us, I had observed an unusual seriousness in the countenance of Sir John Belfield, though accompanied with his natural complacency. His mind seemed intent on something he wished to communicate. The first time we were both alone in the library with Mr. Stanley, Sir John said: "Stanley, the conversations we have lately had, and especially the last, in which you bore so considerable a part, have furnished me with matter for reflection. I hope the pleasure will not be quite dest.i.tute of profit."

"My dear Sir John," replied Mr. Stanley, "in conversing with Mr. Tyrrel, I labor under a disadvantage common to every man, who, when he is called to defend some important principle which he thinks attacked or undervalued, is brought into danger of being suspected to undervalue others, which, if they in their turn were a.s.sailed, he would defend with equal zeal. When points of the last importance are slighted as insignificant in order exclusively to magnify one darling opinion, I am driven to appear as if I opposed that important tenet, which, if I may so speak, seems pitted against the others. Those who do not previously know my principles, might almost suspect me of being an opposer of that prime doctrine, which I really consider as the leading principle of Christianity."

"Allow me to say," returned Sir John, "that my surprise has been equal to my satisfaction. Those very doctrines which you maintained, I had been a.s.sured, were the very tenets you rejected. Many of our acquaintance, who do not come near enough to judge, or who would not be competent to judge if they did, ascribe the strictness of your practice to some unfounded peculiarities of opinion, and suspect that the doctrines of Tyrrel, though somewhat modified, a little more rationally conceived, and more ably expressed, are the doctrines held by you, and by every man who rises above the ordinary standard of what the world calls religious men. And what is a little absurd and inconsistent, they ascribe to these supposed dangerous doctrines, his abstinence from the diversions, and his disapprobation of the manners and maxims of the world. _Your_ opinions, however, I always suspected could not be very pernicious, the effects of which, from the whole tenor of your life, I knew to be so salutary.

"I now find upon full proof that there is nothing in your sentiments but what a man of sense may approve; nothing but what if he be really a man of sense, he will without scruple adopt. May I be enabled more fully, more practically, to adopt them! You shall point out to me such a course of reading as may not only clear up my remaining difficulties, but, what is infinitely more momentous than the solution of any abstract question, may help to awaken me to a more deep and lively sense of my own individual interest in this great concern!"

Mr. Stanley's benevolent countenance was lighted up with more than its wonted animation. He did not attempt to conceal the deep satisfaction with which his heart was penetrated. He modestly referred his friend to Dr. Barlow, as a far more able casuist, though not a more cordial friend. For my own part, I felt my heart expand toward Sir John with new sympathies and an enlarged affection. I felt n.o.ble motives of attachment, an attachment which I hoped would be perpetuated beyond the narrow bounds of this perishable world.

"My dear Sir John," said Mr. Stanley, "it is among the daily but comparatively petty trials of every man who is deeply in earnest to secure his immortal interests, to be cla.s.sed with low and wild enthusiasts whom his judgment condemns, with hypocrites against whom his principles revolt, and with men, pious and conscientious I am most willing to allow, but differing widely from his own views; with others who evince a want of charity in some points, and a want of judgment in most. To be identified, I say, with men so different from yourself, because you hold in common some great truths, which all real Christians have held in all ages, and because you agree with them in avoiding the blamable excesses of dissipation, is among the sacrifices of reputation, which a man must be contented to make who is earnest in the great object of a Christian's pursuit. I trust, however, that, through divine grace, I shall never renounce my integrity for the praise of men, who have so little consistency, that though they pretend their quarrel is with your faith, yet who would not care how extravagant your belief was if your practice a.s.similated with their own. I trust, on the other hand, that I shall always maintain my candor toward those with whom we are unfairly involved; men, religious, though somewhat eccentric, devout, though injudicious, and sincere, though mistaken; but who, with all their errors, against which I protest, and with all their indiscretion, which I lament, and with all their ill-judged, because irregular zeal, I shall ever think--always excepting hypocrites and false pretenders--are better men, and in a safer state than their revilers."

"I have often suspected," said I, "that under the plausible pretense of objecting to your creed, men conceal their quarrel with the commandments."

"My dear Stanley," said Sir John, "but for this visit, I might have continued in the common error, that there was but one description of religious professors; that a fanatical spirit, and a fierce adoption of one or two particular doctrines, to the exclusion of all the rest, with a total indifference to morality, and a sovereign contempt of prudence, made up the character against which, I confess, I entertained a secret disgust. Still, however, I loved _you_ too well, and had too high an opinion of your understanding, to suspect that you would ever be drawn into those practical errors, to which I had been told your theory inevitably led. Yet I own I had an aversion to this dreaded enthusiasm which drove me into the opposite extreme."

"How many men have I known," replied Mr. Stanley, smiling, "who, from their dread of a burning zeal, have taken refuge in a freezing indifference! As to the two extremes of heat and cold, neither of them is the true climate of Christianity; yet the fear of each drives men of opposite complexions into the other, instead of fixing them in the temperate zone which lies between them, and which is the region of genuine piety."

"The truth is, Sir John, _your_ society considers ardor in religion as the fever of a distempered understanding, while in inferior concerns they admire it as the indication of a powerful mind. Is zeal in politics accounted the mark of a vulgar intellect? Did they consider the unquenchable ardor of Pitt, did they regard the lofty enthusiasm of Fox, as evidences of a feeble or a disordered mind? Yet I will venture to a.s.sert, that ardor in religion is as much more n.o.ble than ardor in politics, as the prize for which it contends is more exalted. It is beyond all comparison superior to the highest human interests, the truth and justice of which, after all, may possibly be mistaken, and the objects of which, must infallibly have an end."

Dr. Barlow came in, and seeing us earnestly engaged, desired that he might not interrupt the conversation. Sir John in a few words informed him what had pa.s.sed, and with a most graceful humility spoke of his own share in it, and confessed how much he had been carried away by the stream of popular prejudice, respecting men who had courage to make a consistent profession of Christianity. "I now," added he, "begin to think with Addison, that singularity in religion is heroic bravery, 'because it only leaves the species by soaring above it.'"

After some observations from Dr. Barlow, much in point, he went on to remark that the difficulties of a clergyman were much increased by the altered manners of the age. "The tone of religious writing," said he, "but especially the tone of religious conversation, is much lowered. The language of a Christian minister in discussing Christian topics will naturally be consonant to that of Scripture. The Scripture speaks of a man being _renewed in the spirit of his mind_, of his being _sanctified by the grace of G.o.d_. Now how much circ.u.mlocution is necessary for us in conversing with a man of the world, to convey the sense, without adopting the expression; and what pains must we take to make our meaning intelligible without giving disgust, and to be useful without causing irritation!"

"But, my good Doctor," said Sir John, "is it not a little puritanical to make use of such solemn expressions in company?"

"Sir," replied Dr. Barlow, "it is worse than puritanical, it is hypocritical, where the principle itself does not exist, and even where it does, it is highly inexpedient to introduce such phrases into general company at all. But I am speaking of serious private conversation when, if a minister is really in earnest, there is nothing absurd in his prudent use of Scripture expressions. One great difficulty, and which obstructs the usefulness of a clergyman, in conversation with many persons of the higher cla.s.s, who would be sorry not to be thought religious, is, that they keep up so little acquaintance with the Bible, that from their ignorance of its venerable phraseology, they are offended at the introduction of a text, not because it is Scripture--for that they maintain a kind of general reverence--but because from not reading it, they do not know that it _is_ Scripture.

"I once lent a person of rank and talents an admirable sermon, written by one of our first divines. Though deeply pious, it was composed with uncommon spirit and elegance, and I thought it did not contain one phrase which could offend the most fastidious critic. When he returned it, he a.s.sured me that he liked it much on the whole, and should have approved it altogether, but for one methodistical expression. To my utter astonishment he pointed to the exceptionable pa.s.sage, 'There is now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh but after the spirit.' The chapter and verse not being mentioned, he never suspected it was a quotation from the Bible."

"This is one among many reasons," said Mr. Stanley, "why I so strenuously insist that young persons should read the Scriptures, unaltered, unmodernized, unmutilated, unabridged. If parents do not make a point of this, the peculiarity of sacred language will become really obsolete to the next generation."

In answer to some further remarks of Sir John, Mr. Stanley said, smiling, "I have sometimes amused myself with making a collection of certain things, which are now considered and held up by a pretty large cla.s.s of men as the infallible symptoms of methodism. Those which at present occur to my recollection are the following: Going to church in the afternoon, maintaining family prayer, not traveling, or giving great dinners or other entertainments on Sundays, rejoicing in the abolition of the slave-trade, promoting the religious instruction of the poor at home, subscribing to the Bible Society, and contributing to establish Christianity abroad. These, though the man attend no eccentric clergyman, hold no one enthusiastic doctrine, a.s.sociate with no fanatic, is sober in his conversation, consistent in his practice, correct in his whole deportment, will infallibly fix on him the charge of methodism.

Any _one_ of these will excite suspicion, but all united will not fail absolutely to stigmatize him. The most devoted attachment to the establishment will avail him nothing, if not accompanied with a fiery intolerance toward all who differ. Without intolerance, his charity is construed into unsoundness, and his candor into disaffection. He is accused of a.s.similating with the principles of every weak brother whom, though his judgment compels him to blame, his candor forbids him to calumniate. Saint and hypocrite are now, in the scoffer's lexicon, become convertible terms; the last being always implied where the first is sneeringly used."

"It has often appeared to me," said I, "that the glory of a tried Christian somewhat resembles that of a Roman victor, in whose solemn processions, among the odes of gratulation, a mixture of abuse and railing made part of the triumph."

"Happily," resumed Mr. Stanley, "a religious man knows the worst he is likely to suffer. In the present established state of things he is not called, as in the first ages of Christianity, to be made a spectacle to the world, and to angels, and to men. But he must submit to be a.s.sailed by three different descriptions of persons. From the first, he must be contented to have principles imputed to him which he abhors, motives which he disdains, and ends which he deprecates. He must submit to have the energies of his well-regulated piety confounded with the follies of the fanatic, and his temperate zeal blended with the ravings of the insane. He must submit to be involved in the absurdities of the extravagant, in the duplicity of the designing, and in the mischiefs of the dangerous; to be reckoned among the disturbers of that church which he would defend with his blood, and of that government which he is perhaps supporting in every possible direction. Every means is devised to shake his credit. From such determined a.s.sailants no prudence can protect his character, no private integrity can defend it, no public service rescue it."

"I have often wondered," said Sir John, "at the success of attacks which seemed to have nothing but the badness of the cause to recommend them.

But the a.s.sailant, whose object it is to make good men ridiculous, well knows that he has secured to himself a large patronage in the hearts of all the envious, the malignant, and the irreligious, who, like other levelers, find it more easy to establish the equality of mankind by abasing the lofty, than by elevating the low."

"In my short experience of life," said I, when Sir John had done speaking, "I have often observed it as a hardship, that a man must not only submit to be condemned for doctrines he disowns, but also for consequences which others may draw from the doctrines he maintains, though he himself, both practically and speculatively, disavows any such consequences."

"There is another cla.s.s of enemies," resumed Mr. Stanley. "To do them justice, it is not so much the individual Christian as Christianity itself, which _they_ hope to discredit; _that_ Christianity which would not only restrain the conduct, but would humble the heart; which strips them of the pride of philosophy, and the arrogant plea of merit; which would save, but will not flatter them. In this enlightened period, however, for men who would preserve any character, it would be too gross to attack religion itself, and they find they can wound her more deeply and more creditably through the sides of her professors."

"I have observed," said I, "that the uncandid censurer always picks out the worst man of a cla.s.s, and then confidently produces him as being a fair specimen of it."

"From our more thoughtless, but less uncharitable acquaintance, the gay and the busy," resumed Mr. Stanley, "we have to sustain a gentler warfare. A little reproach, a good deal of ridicule, a little suspicion of our designs, and not a little compa.s.sion for our gloomy habits of life, an implied contempt of our judgment, some friendly hints that we carry things too far, an intimation that being righteous overmuch in the practice has a tendency to produce derangement in the faculties. These are the petty but daily trials of every man who is seriously in earnest; and petty indeed they are to him whose prospects are well-grounded, and whose hope is full of immortality."

"This hostility, which a real Christian is sure to experience," said I, "is not without its uses. It quickens his vigilance over her own heart, and enlarges his charity toward others, whom reproach perhaps may as unjustly stigmatize. It teaches him to be on his guard, lest he should really deserve the censure he incurs; and what I presume is of no small importance, it teaches him to sit loose to human opinion; it weakens his excessive tenderness for reputation, makes him more anxious to deserve, and less solicitous to obtain it."

"It were well," said Dr. Barlow, "if the evil ended here. The established Christian will evince himself to be such by not shrinking from the attack. But the misfortune is, that the dread of this attack keeps back well disposed but vacillating characters. They are intimidated at the idea of partaking the censure, though they know it to be false. When they hear the reputation of men of piety a.s.sailed, they a.s.sume an indifference which they are far from feeling. They listen to the reproaches cast on characters which they inwardly revere, without daring to vindicate them. They hear the most attached subjects accused of disaffection, and the most sober-minded churchmen of innovation, without venturing to repel the charge, lest they should be suspected of leaning to the party. They are afraid fully to avow that their own principles are the same, lest they should be involved in the same calumny. To efface this suspicion, they affect a coldness which they do not feel, and treat with levity what they inwardly venerate. Very young men, from this criminal timidity, are led to risk their eternal happiness through the dread of a laugh. Though they know that they have not only religion but reason on their side, yet it requires a hardy virtue to repel a sneer, and an intrepid principle to confront a sarcasm. Thus their own mind loses its firmness, religion loses their support, the world loses the benefit which their example would afford, and they themselves become liable to the awful charge which is denounced against him who is ashamed of his Christian profession."

"Men of the world," said Sir John, "are extremely jealous of whatever may be thought _particular_; they are frightened at every thing that has not the sanction of public opinion, and the stamp of public applause.

They are impatient of the slightest suspicion of censure in what may be supposed to affect the credit of their judgment, though often indifferent enough as to any blame that may attach to their conduct.

They have been accustomed to consider strict religion as a thing which militates against good taste, and to connect the idea of something uncla.s.sical and inelegant, something awkward and unpopular, something uncouth and ill-bred, with the peculiar doctrines of Christianity; doctrines which, though there is no harm in believing, they think there can be no good in avowing."

"It is a little hard," said Mr. Stanley, "that men of piety, who are allowed to possess good sense on all other occasions, and whose judgment is respected in all the ordinary concerns of life, should not have a little credit given them in matters of religion, but that they should be at once transformed into idiots or madmen in that very point which affords the n.o.blest exercise to the human faculties."

"A Christian, then," said I, "if human applause be his idol is of all men most miserable. He forfeits his reputation every way. He is accused by the men of the world of going too far; by the enthusiast of not going far enough. While it is one of the best evidences of his being right, that he is rejected by one party for excess, and by the other for deficiency."

"What then is to be done?" said Dr. Barlow. "Must a discreet and pious man give up a principle because it has been disfigured by the fanatic, or abused by the hypocrite, or denied by the skeptic, or reprobated by the formalist, or ridiculed by the men of the world? He should rather support it with an earnestness proportioned to its value; he should rescue it from the injuries it has sustained from its enemies; and the discredit brought on it by its imprudent friends. He should redeem it from the enthusiasm which misconceives, and from the ignorance or malignity which misrepresents it. If the learned and the judicious are silent in proportion as the illiterate and the vulgar are obtrusive and loquacious, the most important truths will be abandoned by those who are best able to unfold, and to defend them, while they will be embraced exclusively by those who misunderstand, degrade, and debase them.

Because the unlettered are absurd, must the able cease to be religious?

If there is to be an abandonment of every Christian principle because it has been unfairly, unskillfully, or inadequately treated, there would, one by one, be an abandonment of every doctrine of the New Testament."

"I felt myself bound," said Mr. Stanley, "to act on this principle in our late conversation with Mr. Tyrrel. I would not refuse to a.s.sert with him the doctrines of grace, but I endeavored to let him see that I had adopted them in a scriptural sense. I would not try to convince him that he was wrong, by disowning a truth because he abused it. I would cordially reject all the bad use he makes of any opinion, without rejecting the opinion itself, if the Bible will bear me out in the belief of it. But I would scrupulously reject all the other opinions which he connects with it, and with which I am persuaded it has no connection."

"The nominal Christian," said Dr. Barlow, "who insists that religion resides in the understanding only, may contend that love to G.o.d, grat.i.tude to our Redeemer, and sorrow for our offenses, are enthusiastic extravagances; and effectually repress, by ridicule and sarcasm, those feelings which the devout heart recognizes, and which Scripture sanctions. On the other hand, those very feelings are inflamed, exaggerated, distorted, and misrepresented, as including the whole of religion, by the intemperate enthusiast, who thinks reason has nothing to do in the business; but who, trusting to tests not warranted in the Scripture, is governed by fancies, feelings, and visions of his own.