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Tovii» causnAiv 



BT JACOB ABBOTT 




THE 



YOUNG CHRISTIAN; 



OB 



A FAMILIAR ILLUSTRATION 



or THK pRiNciPLXf or 




CHRISTIAN DUTY: 



BY JACOB ABBOTT. 

Author of tba " Conier-Stoiiv' •»' " 1^ TMelier.>* 



8IC0ND 8TERE0TTPC EDITION. 



BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM PEIRCE, 
No» », CORNHILL. 

1835. 



Entered, according to Act of GongreM, in the year 18S2, by PsiRes h 
Pabkxr, in the Clerk'a Office of the District Coort of the Distrist ef 
Munchwetti. 



fTEREOTTPED BT T. 0. WJBLU 4 00. 
BOAT OH. 



/j./ 



/fSi^ INTRODUCTION 



I. OfiJECT OF THE BOOK. 

This book is intended to explain and illuvtrate, in a 
simple manner, the principles of Christian dutj; and is 
intended, not for children, nor exclusively for the joung, 
but for all who are just commencing a religious life, and 
who feel desirous of receiving a familiar Explanation of 
the first principles of piety. As it is a fact, however, 
that such persons are generally among the young, that 
is, from fifteen to twenty-five yeiuv of age, the work has 
been adapted in its style, and in the character of its illus- 
trations, to their mental habits. 

I have, however, looked more toward childhood than 
toward maturity in choosing the form in which I have 
presented the truth, and in framing or selecting the nar- 
ratives and dialogues by which I have illustrated it. A 
young man of twenty-five will look back to his boyhood, 
and understand an illustration drawn firom one of its 
scenes, far more easily than the boy can look forward to 
future life, and comprehend and appreciate allusions to 
the pursuits of the man. I trust that the reader of mature 
mind, into whose hands this book may fall, will excuse 
this partiality for the young. 

n. STYLE AND LANGUAGE. 

I have made no efibrt to simplify the language. It is 
not necessary to do this even for children. They, will 
nnderstand the language of maturity easily enough, if 



4 INTRODVGTIOIf. 

the logic and rhdoric ure theirs. I have attempted, there- 
fore, to present each «uhj«et ia s4ioh an aspect, and lo 
illustrate it in sach a way, as is adapted to the young 
mind, using, however^ such language as has suggested 
itself spontaneously. It is a great but a very common 
error, to suppose that merely to simpKfy diction, is the 
way to gain access to the young. Hence a sermon for 
children is seldom any thing more than a sermon for men, 
with easy words substituted for the hard ones. This goes 
on the supposition that the great difficulty is, to make 
children understand religious truth. Whereas there is 
lk> difficulty at all in this. The difficulty is in interesting 
them in it. They will understand readily enough, if they 
are interested in the form and manner in which the subject 
comes before them. 

These principles will explain the great number of nar- 
ratives, and dialogues, and statements of facts, which 
are introduced to give vividness to the conceptions of my 
readers. Many of these are imaginary, being cases sup- 
posed for the purpose of illustration. Where this is the 
case, however, it is distinctly stated; and all those ac- 
counts which are introduced as statements of facts, are 
strictly true. I am not certain but that some individuals 
may object to the number of imaginary incidents which 
I have thus introduced. If the principles stated above 
are not considered satisfactory, I must appeal to authority. 
This book is not more full of parables than were the 
discourses of Jesus Christ. I shelter myself under his 
example. 

> III. REQUEST TO PARENTS. 

j^ Every parent knows there is great danger that children 

will run over the pages of a book where narrative and 



diiloguo ar9 u^roduced (o illustrate religious truth» aad 
that they will, with peculiar dexterity^ find out and read 
all that has the interest of a story, and skip the rest. 
There will, perhaps, in this volume be less danger of this, 
firom the fact that the whole is so intimately interwoven 
as to render it in most cases difficult to separate the parts 
in this manner. A mother can, however, effectually pre- 
vent it, if she pleases. If her children are young, and 
she fears this danger, let her read the book to them, or 
let her assign a distinct and a limited portion for each 
SabbaUi; and afler it is read, let her examine them in it, 
asking questions in regard to the plan and design of the 
chapter — the circumstances of each narrative — and espe- 
cially the pwrpase for u>hieh it U introduced. This however 
must be done, not in the suspicious manner of hearing a 
lesson which you fear has not been learned, but with 
the winning tone of kindness and confidence. 

IV. THEOLOGY OF THE WORK. 

As to the theology of the work, it takes every where 
for granted, that salvation is to be obtained through 
repentance for past sin, and trust for forgiveness in the 
atonement of Jesus Christ. It is not, however, a work 
on theology. It is designed to enforce the practice, not 
to discuss the theory of religion. . Its object is to explain 
and illustrate Christian duty; but it exhibits this duty as 
based on those great principles in which all denominations 
of evang^ical Christians concur. 

V. OTHER BOOKS OF THE KIND. 
There are already several most interesting and useful 
books before the public, whose object is the same as 

1* 



6 mTBODUCTIOlC. 

the purpose of tbifr— to giro Christian instruction to the 
yonng. This work appears not as their riralj but as 
their companion. Most young Christians have, in the 
course of half a dozen years, time to read a great many 
pages; and as each writer discusses different topics, or 
presents common ones in new aspects and relatioflas, it 
is well that this class of books should be multiplied. 
If twenty dilEferent indiyiduals in various parts of our 
country, whom Providence has placed in such circum- 
Mances as to interest them particularly in the young, 
would write for them, the books would all be read if they 
were properly written, and would all do good.. They 
would be different, if they were the results of the inde- 
pendent reflection and observation of the authors, and 
each would co-operate with and assist the others 



t r 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTEB I.-^0NFE8SI0N 

latroductlon. Nature of confessioa. Case supposed. Story of the 
boy's disobedlencQ on the ice. Consequences. Their anbappi- 
ness. Guilt a burden. Means of relief. The buy's confession. - 
His conversation with his father. Confession of little faults. The 
torn letter. The anonymous letter. Reparation compared with 
confession. Confession of great crimes. Punishment. Story of 
boys on the ice continued. To parents and teachers. Confes- 
sion a privilege. Depression of spirits. Its remedy. Careless 
confession. Anecdote. Punishment. An experiment. Story of 
the dulled tool. Story continued. Confession to God. Anxiety 
unnecessary. Common mistakes. Immediate repentance. Salva- 
tion by Christ. Page 18 



CHAPTBR II,— THE FRI£ND. 

Scory of an Infant School. The new scholar. The protector appoint- 
ed. Qualifications. ' Power and sympathy. Story of the sailor 
boy. The captain's want of sympathy. The little ship. The 
Savior. His thirty years of life. Howard. Story of Howard. 
Imaginary scene. Tlie voluntary prisoner. The Saviin*. The 
child's little difficulties. Human sympathy. The murderer's 
cell. Sympathy for the guilty. The keeper's kindness to the 
prisoner. The Savior. The Savior's sympathy. Common dif- 
trust of it. Illustration. Case of the sick man. Jesus Christ a 
physician. Struggling with temptation. The benevolent teacher. 
The teacher imagined to become a scholar. Howard. Sympathy 
of Christ. The bruised reed. The metaphor of the bruised 
reed. 29 



CHAPTER III.-.PRAYER. 

Tke absent son. The father's promise. Its implied limitations. Im- 
proper requests. Requests in an improper manner. The letter. 
Our Savior's promise. Prayers denied. Power of prayer. Grant- 
ing requests in another form. The boy asking for a knife. The 
■ick man unexpectedly cured. Submissive spirit. Prayers of 
the young. The packet. Description of the packet. The calm. 
Tlie Christian traveller. Books and tracts. The long passage. 
The approaching storm. They watch the light. The storm in- 



8 CONTENTS. 

ereasM. Going about. Splittiag of the topsail. Danger. Pro- 
tection never certain. Object of prayer in danger. Socrates. Hit 
peace of mind. True composure in danger. The prayer at sea. 
EflectB. Sincerity of prayer. Ardor in prayer. All can pray who 
wish to. 
A difficulty about selfishness. Reply. Invitation to the weary. The 
prodigal. The nobleman. The desk. The father's refusal. Real 
•elfisbness. Prayer of faith. The morning prayer meeting. The 
Young Christian's difficulty. The mother. God decides. A la- 
Torable answer to prayer never certain. . Danger of perversion. 
The humble teacher. Conclusion. Story of the ship concluded. 
The storm subsides. They arrive safely at Provincetown. 45 



CHAPTER IV.— CONSEaUENCES OP NEGLECTING DUTY. 

Neglecting duty. Injury which this book will do. The disobedient 
child. The message disregarded. The Christian message. 

Story of LouUa, Her character. The evening meeting. Louisa's 
interest in religion. Conversation witli lier. Incresising interest. 
Unwilling to yield to God. Her sickness. She sends for her pas- 
tor. Her alarm. Her increasing anxiety. Death-bed repentance. 
Increasing sickness and mental suffering. Danger. Louisa's de- 
spair. Her advice to her young friends. Last visit. Her suffer- 
ings. She dies at midnight. Her feelings at last. 72 



CHAPTER V.-^ALMOST A CHRISTIAN. 

AlnHMt a Christian. Louisa's case a common one. Neglecting doty 
when it is clearly pointed out. Secret causes of continuing in sin. 
First, Procrastination. The student's evening walks. The admis* 
■ion to college. Resolutions for vacations; for senior years; for 
liiture life. Now is the accepted time. Second, Love of tlie world. 
Sacrifices necessary in becoming a Christian. Losing a friend; 
an enjoyment. Third, Fear of the world. Difficulties foretold by 
the Savior. Entire surrender required. Real submission. Chang- 
ing sides. Address to a young man. 84 



CHAPTER VL—DIFFICULTIES IN RELIGION. 

Story of the Chinese and the map. Difficulties in all subjects. Astro- 
nomical difficulties. Difficulties in religion to be expected. First 
difficulty. Attempt to avoid it. Conversation continued. Second 
diffiksulty. Extent of the creation. Difficulty. The existence of 
tuflfering inexplicable. The pirate condemned to die. Accounta- 
bili^. Fore-knowledge. Story of lather and son. Imaginary 
CMveraatioQ with an infideL Answering prayer. Que suppoaed. 



CONTBlfTS. 

Tl» tick toil. MinicukMMiiiterlsrencetnMifweriBg prayer. SooroM 
of difficulty. Algiebrs. Thesurd. Dificulty tbooretical. NoMm 
practioe* 
Objects of thifl dmpter. 1. Inqairies. DitobtodieDt •diool4wy. 2. 
Perplexitiefl of Chri«tian8. Way to avoid than. Plaatible reaaoii- 
ing Boraetimefl nnsafe. Scbalara in geoaietry. Drawing inferenoai. 
Story of the knights aod die statae. The shield of brass and imu 
One kind of controversy. 3. Difficalties of chikiren. Children's 
qnestions. 4-. Difficulties of parents and teachers. The school-boy's 
question. An humble, docile spirit. 



CHAPTER VII.— EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY. 

The donbting clerk. The unexpected letter. The sick child. Possibb 
mistakes. Men act from reasonable evidence. Evidences of Chris- 
tianity, Historical, Internal, and Experimental. Illustration. The 
phosphorus. 

1. Historical JEvidenee. Seal. Miracles. Examining witnesses. 

The court. The court-room. The prisoner. His accusation and 
trial. TfMtinony of the owner; of the watchman. The lawyer's 
qnestion. The watchman's story. The prisoner convicted. 
Points secured on trials. Three points to be attended to. Irrup- 
tion of the barbarians. Old manuscripts. Genuineness of the 
Scriptures. Quotations. Illustration. Use made of quotations. 
Paley's Evidences. Necessity for proving the genuineness of the 
Scriptures. The original records not remaining. The second 
point. Opportunities <^ knowing. The housebreaker's trial. 
Sacred writers could not have been mistaken. They were eye- 
witnesses. Third point. Their style of writing. Impartiality. 
Elevated views. They wem disinterested. Our Savior's farewell 
address. Interested witnesses. Battle of Lexington. Parliament 
and Congress. Points proved. Argument from prophecy. Proph- 
ecies. False prophecies. Subject difficult. V^ere the Christian 
witnesses believed? Contest with paganism. Power of truth. 

2. Internal Evidence. Unity of the Scriptures. 7lie Bible a number 

of books. Its single object. The Bible a history of Christ. Sac- 
rifices. Meaning of sacrifices. Their moral influence. Conclu- 
sion of the book. Appropriate language. The advent of the Sa- 
vior. Its time and place. The Mediterranean Sea. Interesting 
associations. Character of God. Language of nature; of the 
Bible. The sufferer in the hospital. Jehovah just as well as mer- 
ciful. Butler's Analogy. 

3. Experimental Evidence. Case of sickness supposed. Medicine. 

Proof of it. Tlie mother. The mother and her sick son. The 
unbeliever. Power of Christianity. Particular case. Prisons. 
Old and new system of discipline. Stories of the convicts. The 
disobedient son. Conversation. Struggles with sin. Second 



10 COVTSIVTS. 

•tory. Nature of ferdent spirit. W.'i crime. Learning to read 
iQ prison. First lesson. Effect of the Bible upon W. Sine 
against God. W.'s mental saffierings. His prayer. His way of 
finding the 61st Psalm. His relief. Close of the convicts* stones* 
Charlestown state Prison. Old building. Crowded night roome 
Arms. Prison yard. Chapel. Prisoners going to Sabbath scluxJ. 
Aspect of tlie school. Prisoners' dress. Limited circulation of the 
Bible. Fear of death. The sick young man. Sting of death. 
The dying mother. Practical directions. Difficulties. Disputes. 
Doing duty. 124 



CHAPTER VII r.— STUDY OP THE BIBLE. 

Way to study the Bible. The young man's experiment. The family 
circle. Distribution of books. Interest of the children. Partic- 
ular directions. Familiar sounds. The motto in the school-soom. 
Description from the Bible. Vivid conceptions. Picturing the 
scene to the mind. -Clear conceptions* West's picture of Christ 
Rejected. Effect upon the assembly. Writing questions. God's 
command to Abraham. Questions upon the passage. Questions 
written by a boy. Many faulty. Utility of writing questions. 
Many questions on one verse. Experiment tried by a mother. A 
Sabbath-schoolteacher. Re-writing Scripture. The boy's evening 
work. Actual case. Passage. Difficulty arising. Explanation 
of it. Story of Micah, a specimen. Two specimens on the saoM 
subject. Questions. Collating the Scriptures. Plan tried by 
James and John. Effect of this method. Three accounts of Paul's ' 
conversion. Advantages of the plan. List of lessons. Difficulties 
to be anticipated. Studying by subjects. The Sabbath. Jerusa- 
lem. List of topics. Too little intellectual study of the BiUe. 
Object of the historic form. Readingf^ractically. Daily reading 
of tlie Bible. Useless reading. The apprentice. Reading two 
verses aritfht. 210 



CHAPTER IX.~THE SABBATH. 
History of the Sabbath. * Change from Saturday to Sunday. Beginning 
of the Sabbath. Idle controversies. A Other's command to his 
boys. The question about the clock and the dial. Universal 
principle. Two doves. A day of twenty-three and a half hours. A 
day at the pole. A day lost. No sunset for months. Sabbath in 
Greenland. Change to first day. No change in the command. 
The creation. Principle important. Non-essentials. Liability to 
evasion. Human and divine laws. Spirit of the law. James's 
way of reading the Bible. A boy studying his lesson. The boat. 
The careful mother. Way to interest children. Conversation with 
the children. Ingenuity and effort necessary. The heart to be 
reached. Variety. Remarks of a clergyman. Necessity of va- 



C0NTXNT8. 11 

rieCy. KeligioiM books. Way of spending the Sabbftth. Variooi 
dndoi* Systeiii in religions exercises. Waste of tioae psevaited* 
Best OD the Sabbath. Distinct duties to be perfonnod. Way to 
fluike self-exainioation interesting aod nsefol Minnleness oi sel& 
examination. Prayer. Studying the Bible, and conversation on the 
Sabbath. Frivolous conversation. Pablie worship. Responsibility 
of the hearers. The farmer and his boys. Duty of the hearen to 
be interested. Sinister motives at church. Way to delect tbea. 
Heartless worship. Way in which it is indicated. Appearance of 
^U. The sommer evening. A walk. Walking, riding, sailing on 
the Sabbath. 244 



CHAPTER X.— TRIAL AND DISCIPLINB. 

|. Nature of Trial. The steam-boat on trial. Efforto of the engi- 
neer. Improvements. Final results. Her power. Safe and 
socoesefol action. Life a time of trial. Trials of childhood. The 
child and the forbidden book. Commands. Pain. Advantage of 
trial in childhood. Putting phythings out of reach. Conversation 
with a mother. Trials not to be shunned. Instmction and prac* 
tice. The merchant's plan for his son. A voyage of difficulty* 
Its effects. 

2. The usee of Trial, Self-knowledge. The deceived mother. Tmn 
submission distinguished from &]se. The engineer was watchful. 
Trial a means of improvement. The boy studying division. The 
moral and arithmetical question. Practical directions. God's 
providence universal. Losses of every kind from God. The care- 
lass engineer. Neglect of duty. Conchiding remarks. 280 



' CHAPTER XI.— PERSONAL Itf PROVEMENT. 

!• JlfoTitf Improvement. General improvement a Christian duty. 
Moral improvement. Faults. The vain boy. Way to reform him. 
Conversation with his father. Instances of vani^. The boy's list. 
Effect of this confession. Secret confession to be minute. Secret 
prayer often too general. Way to make prayer interesting. For- 
mal confession. Excuses. Way to make secret prayer interest* 
ing. Private prayer. Examples of minute confession. The 
Other's letter. Object of this illustration. Faults to be corrected. 
Young and old persons. Other means of correcting faults. Ex- 
posure to temptation. Conversation between the boy and his 
friend. Great and small temptations. 

Crowing in grace. Unavailing efforts. The mother. The man of 
business. The dejected Christian. Direct efforts. Freedom of 
leeling and freedom of action. Way to mould the heart. Metaphysi- 
cal controversy. Story of the Uuke of Gloucester. Richard's 



it CONTBNTS. 

mrtfA plan. The cemcil. Violent meBMirai. Murder oi the boyi* 
Awmbfmm of the Htorj. RiclMHrd's wicked character. Seoai in 
which character ib vohintary. Distioctioa between character aa4 
«ioiidaet« Importance of it. Moml obligation. Wayi of infloenc- 
ittg the character. Effect of Christian knowledge. The mother. 
Tlie child. Gratitude. Christian action. Why Howard became 
intereeted for priaoners. Paul. Dependoioe i^ion the Holy Spirit. 
An evil heart. Divine influence nec eo a ar y. 
2. HUellectttMl Bmprovemtnt, A fiaifibed education. Object of educa- 
tion. 1. To Btreogtben the powers. Robinson Crusoe's supposed 
experiment with Friday. Conic sections. Difficult . studies. 2. 
Acquisition of knowledge. 8. Skill. Three experiments with 
Friday. Teaching him to count. Study of Mathematics. Imper- 
fect education. Neglect of important duties. Intellectual progress 
<^a young mother. 1. Reading, System. Variety. Thorough 
reading. Short works. 2. Conver$ation. Difficulty of cultivat- 
ing it. Means of cultivating it. Experiments proposed. Plans 
and experiments. Digesting knowledge. 3. Writing, Private 
Journals. Form and manner. Running titles. Family Journal. 
By brothers and sisters. Its advantages. Subjects. Notes and 
Abstracts. True design of taking notes. Form of books. Plan. 
Variety. Specimens. Reynolds. Humboldt. Chronology. Syn- 
agogues. History of the Bible. Sir Humphrey Davy. Story of 
the sea Captain. Hiring children. The Savior's thirst on the 
cross. Deceiving children. Narratives. Ellen, or boast not thy- 
■elf of to-morrow. The dying bed. The patient's interest in re- 
ligion. Her address to her husband. Her affecting remarks to her 
children. Moral aspects of what is seen and heard. Power of the 
1)80. 300 



CHAPTER XII.— CONCLUSIOIC. 

Responsibility of religious teachers. Injury to be done by this book. 
Imperfect self-application. A useless way of reading. 864 



THE 



YOUNG CHRISTIAN 



CHAPTER I. 

CONFESSIOX. 
" Confett your faults one to another.** 



Incroduction. Nature of Coofenion. Case suppoeed. 

I wish, m this first chapter, to point out to my reader 
something in the nature and effects of car^essian which everj 
one has perhaps, at some time, experienced, but which few 
sufficiently consider — I mean its power to bring peace and 
happiness to the heart. But to make myself clearly under- 
stood, I must suppose a case. 

Two boys, on a pleasant winter evening, ask their father 
to permit them to go out upon the river to skate. The 
father hesitates, because, though within certain limits he 
knows there is no danger, yet he is aware that above a cer- 
tain turn of the stream the current is rapid and the ice con- 
sequently thin. At last, however, he says, ''Tou may go, 
but you must on no account go above the bend." 

The boys accept the condition, and are soon among their 
twenty companions, shooting swiflly over the smooth black 
ice, sometimes gliding in graceful curves before the bright 
fire, which they have built in the middle of the stream, and 
sometimes sailing away into the dim distance, in search of 
new and unexplored regions. 

Presently a plan is formed by the other boys fer going in 
a cheerful company far up the stream to explore its shores, 
and then return again in half an hour to their fire. Our 
two boys sigh to think of their father's prohibition to them. 
They faintly and hesitatingly hint that the ice may not be 

2 



14 . TOJJSQ CHRISTIAir. [Ch. 1. 

Btoiy of the boyg' disobedience on the ice. Cooaequeneea. 



strong enough, but their caution has no efiect upon their 
comrades, — and the whole set forth, and soon are fljing 
with full speed toward the limit prescribed. Our bojs think 
they may safely accompany them till they reach the boun- 
dary which they are forbidden to pass ; — but while they do 
so, they become animated and intoxicated with the motion 
and the scene. They feel a little foreboding as they ap- 
proach the line, but as it is not definitely marked, they do 
not abruptly stop. They fall a little in the rear, and see 
whirling through the bend of the river the whole crowd ^f 
their companions — and, after a moment's hesitation, they 
follow on. The spot once past, their indecision vanishes ; 
— they press forward to the foremost rank, — forget their 
father, — their promise, — their danger. God protects them 
however. They spent the half hour in delight, — ^return 
down the river to their fire, — and at the close of the eve- 
ning they take off their skates and step upon the firm 
ground, and walk toward their home. 

The enjoyment is now over, and the punishment is to come. 
What punishment? I do not mean that their father will 
punish them. He knows nothing of it. He trusts his boys, 
and, confiding in their promise, he will not ask them whether 
they have kept it. They have returned safely, and the for- 
bidden ice over which they have passed never can speak to 
tell of their disobedience. Nor do I mean the punishment 
which God will inflict in another world upon undutiful chil- 
dren. I mean another quicker punishment, and which al- 
most always comes after transgression. And I wish my 
young readers would think of this more than they do. 

I mean the lou of peace of mind. 

As the boys approach their father's dwelling, urless their 
consciences have become seared by ofl repeated transgres- 
sions, their hearts are filled with uneasiness and foreboding 
care. They walk slow and silently. As they enter the 
house they shrink from their father's eye. He looks pleased 
and happy at their safe return. But they turn away from 
liim as soon as they can, and prefer going to another room. 



Ck. 1.] GOKTESSION. 15 

TiMir vnliappineM. Guilt a burden. Means of relief. 



or in some other way avoiding his presence. Their sister 
perhaps, in the gaiety and kindness of her heart, tries to 
talk with them about their evening's enjoyment, — but they 
wish to turn the conversation. In a word, their peace of 
mind is gone, — and they shrink from every eye, and wish to 
go as soon as possible to bed, that they may be unseen and 
forgotten. 

If they have been taught to fear Grod, they are not happy 
here. They dare not — strange infatuation, — ^repeat their 
evening prayer; — ^as if they supposed they could escape 
God's notice by neglecting to call upon him. At last how- ^ 
ever they sink to sleep. 

The next morning they awake with the customary cheer- 
fulness of childhood — until, as they look forth from their 
window, they see the clear ice-bound stream, which tempt- 
ed them to sin, winding its way among the trees. They 
say nothing, but each feels guilty and sad. They meet 
their father and mother with clouded hearts, cmd every 
object at all connected with their transgression, awakens 
the remorse which destroys their happiness. They carry 
thus about with them a weary and a heavy burden. 

I suppose that in such cases most boys would continue 
to bear this burden; until at last they should become in- 
sensible to it, i. e. until conscience is seared. But though 
by habit in sin the stings of remorse may be blunted, yet 
peace never would return. By repeated transgression a 
great many times, we all come at last to feel a general and 
settled uneasiness of heart , which is a constant burden. Ask 
such an individual if he is unhappy. He tells you no. He 
means however that he is not particularly unhappy jtut at 
that time. His burden is so uniform and constant that he 
comes to consider it at last as a necessary part of his exist- 
ence. He has lost all recollection of what pure peace and 
happiness is. A man who has lived long by a waterfcdl, at 
last becomes so habituated to the noise, that silence seems 
a strange luxury to him. So multitudes, who have had an 
unquiet conscience for many years, without a single inter- 



16 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. £Clt 1. 

Tbe boy's confeMion. His conTersatlon with his ftuher. 

yal of repose, when thej at last come and confess their 8iii8« 
and find peace and happiness, are surprised and delighte4 
with the new and strange senBation, 

This peace cannot come by habit in sin. A seared con- 
science is not a relieved one. But what is the way by 
which peace of mind is to be restored in such a case as 
the above ? It is a very simple way. I wish it was more 
generally understood and practised. 

Suppose one of these boys should say to himself, some 
day as he is walking alone, '' I am not happy, and I have 
not been happy since I disobeyed my father on the ice. I 
was very foolish to do that, for I have suffered more in 
consequence than ten times as much pleasure would be 
worth. I am resolved to go and confess the whole to my 
father, and ask him to forgive me, and then I shall be happy 
again." 

Having resolved upon this, he seeks the very first oppor- 
tunity to relieve his mind. He is walking, we will imagine, 
by the side of his father, and for several minutes he hesi- 
tates — not knowing how to begin. He makes however at 
last the effort,* and says in a sorrowful tone, 

"Father, I have done something very wrong." 

"What is it, my son?" 

He hesitates and trembles, — and afier a moment's pause, 
says, " I am very sorry that I did it." 

"My son," says the father, " I have observed, for a day 
or two, that you have not been happy, and you are evident- 
ly unhappy now. I know that you must have done some- 
thing wrong. But you may do just as you please about 
telling me whaf it is. If you freely confess it, and submit 
to the punishment, whatever it may be, you will be happy 
again ; if not, you will continue to suffer. Now you may 
do just as you please." 

" Well, father, I will tell you all. Do you remember that 
you gave us leave to go upon the river and skate the other 
evening?" 

"Yes." 



Cb. 1.] CONFESSION. 11 

■ . ■ ■ . ■ ■ . a 

ConfeMion of little faults. ' ■ liappineM. 

**Well, I disobeyed you, and went upon the ice; where 
you told us not to go. I have been unhappy ever since, 
and I resolved to-day that I would come and tell you, and 
ask you to forgive me." 

I need not detail the conversation that would follow. But 
there is not a child among the .hundreds and perhaps thou- 
sands who win read this chapter, who does not fully under- 
stand, that by such a confession the boy will relieve himself 
of his burden, restore peace to his mind, and go away from 
his father with a light and happy heart. He will no more 
dread to meet him, and to hear the sound of his voice. He 
can now be happy with his sist«r again, and look upon the 
beautiful stream winding in the valley, without feeling his 
heart sink within him under a sense of guilt, — ^while all the 
time, perhaps, his brother, who would not come and ac- 
knowledge his sin, has his heart still darkened, and his 
countenance made sad by the gloomy recollection of unfor- 
given sin. Yes, confession of sin has an almost magic power 
in restoHng feace of mind. 

Providence seems to have implanted this principle in the 
human heart, for the express purpose of having us act upon 
it. He has so formed us, that when we have done wrong, 
we cannot fed at peace again until we have acknowledged 
our wrong to the person against whom it was done. And 
this acknowledgment of it removes the uneasiness as ef- 
fectually as fire removes cold, or as water extinguishes fire. 
It operates in all cases, small as well as great, and is infal- 
lible in its power. And yet how slowly do young persons 
and even old persons learn to use it. The remedies for 
idmost every external evil are soon discovered, and are at 
once applied; but the remedy for that uneasiness of mind 
which results firom having neglected some duty or commit- 
ted some sin, and which consists in simple confession of it 
to the person injured, — ^how slowly is it learned, and how 
reluctantly practised. 

I once knew a boy who was intrusted with a letter to be 
carried to a distant place. On his way^ or just afier his ar- 

9# 






18 TOimO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 1. 

' Tbe torn totter. Peace of mind. The anonymona letter. 

rival,, m attempting to take the letter out of his pocket sud- 
denly, he tore it completely in two. He was in consterna- 
tion.' What to do he did not know. He did not dare to 
carry the letter in its mangled condition, and he did not 
dare to destroy it. He did accordingly the most foolish 
thing he could do; — ^he k^t it for many days, doubting 
and waiting, and feeling anxious and unhappy, whenever 
it came in his sight. At last he thought that this was. 
folly, and he took his letter, carried it to the person to 
whom it was addressed, saying, 

'* Here is a letter which I was intrusted with for you, and 
in tcdcing it out of my pocket, I very carelessly tore it in 
two. I am sorry for it, but I have no excuse." 

The receiver of the letter said it was no matter, and the 
boy went home suddenly, and entirely elieved. 

My reader will say, ** Why, this vas a very simple way 
of getting over the difficulty. Why did not he think of it 
before?" 

I know it was a simple way. The whole story is so sim- 
ple, that it is hardly dignified enough to introduce here; 
but it is true, and it exactly illustrates the idea I am endea- 
voring to enforce, viz., that in little things, as well as in 
' great things, the confession of sin restores peace of mind. 

I will now mention one other case which illustrates the 
same general truth, but which is in one respect very dif- 
ferent from all the preceding. 

A merchant was one morning sitting in his counting 
room, preparing for the business of the day, when his boy 
entered with several letters from the Post Office. Among 
them was one in a strange hand-writing and with the words, 
" Money inclosed,^' written upon the outside. As the mer- 
chant was not at that time expecting any money, his atten- 
tion was first attracted to this letter. He opened it and 
read somewhat as follows: 

, January 4, 1831. 

'* Sir, — Some time ago I defrauded you of some money. 
You did not know it then, and I suppose you never would 



Ch.' 1.] CONFBSSIOIV 19 

The anonymoua letter. Reparation compared with eoofeesion. 

have known it, unless I had informed you. But I have had 
no peace of mind since it was done, and send you back the 
money in this letter. Hoping that Grod will forgive this and 
all my other sins, I am, yours. 



> 



C( ^ ft 



I remarked that this case was totally different from all 
the others in one respect. Reader, do you notice the dif^ 
ference ? It consists in this, viz. that here not only was the 
sin confessed, but reparation wa$ made. The man not only 
acknowledged the fraud, but he paid back the money. And 
if any of my readers are but little acquainted with -human 
nature, they may perhaps imagine that it was the reparo' 
fton, and not the confesnon^ which restored peace of mind. 
But I think I can show very clearly, that mcdcing reparation 
is not effectual. Suppose this man, instead of writing the 
above letter, had just come into the store and asked to buy 
some article or other, and in paying for it, had managed 
dexterously to put into the hands of the clerk a larger sum 
than was due, so as to repay, without the merchant's know- 
ledge, the whole amount of which he had defrauded him. 
Do you think this would have restored his peace of mind ? 
No, not even if he had thus secretly pdid back double what 
he had unjustly taken. It was the confession; the achnow- 
ledgment of having done torong, which really quieted his 
troubled conscience, and gave him peace. 

It is not proba^^le that this confession was sufficient to 
make him perfectly happy again, — ^beqause it was incom- 
plete. The reparation was perfect, but the acknotoledgment 
was not. The reader will observe that the letter has no 
name signed to it, and the merchant could not by any means 
discover who was the writer of it. Now if the man had 
honestly told the whole — ^if he had written his name and 
place of residence, and described fully all the circumstan- 
ces of the original fraud, he would have been much more 
folly relieved. All confession which is intended to bring 
back peace of mind when it is gone, should be open and 
ihorough. There are, indeed, many cases where, from pe- 



20 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. h 

Confession of great crimes. Effects of confession. Punishment. 

culiar circumstances, it is not the duty of the individual to 
give his name. This, however, does not affect the general 
principle, that the more full and free the confession is, the 
more perfect will be the restoration of peace. 

So strongly is this principle fixed by the Creator in the 
human heart, that men who have committed crimes to which 
the laws of the land annex the most severe public punish- 
ments, after enduring some time in secrecy the remorse 
which crime almost always brings, have at last openly come 
forward, and surrendered themselves to the magistrate, — 
and acknowledged their guilt, — and have felt their hearts 
relieved and lightened by receiving an ignominious public 
punishment, in exchange for the inward tortures of remorse. 
Even a murderer has been known to come forward to re- 
lieve the horrors of his soul, by confession, — though he 
knew that this confession would chain him in a dark stone 
cell, and after a short, but gloomy interval, extend him in 
a coffin. 

My reader, you can try the power of confession, and en- 
joy the relief and happiness* it will bring, without paying 
such a fearful price as this; — but these cases lead me to 
remark upon one other subject connected with confession — 
I mean punish men/. Sometimes, as I before remarked, when 
a person confesses some wrong, he brings himself under 
the necessity of repairing the injury done, and at other times 
of submitting to punishment. Parents oflen forgive their 
children when they have done wrong, if they will only con- 
fess it; and though this ougL*!: sometimes to be done, there 
is yet great danger that children, in such cases, will soon 
acquire a habit of doing wrong, and then coming to confess 
it with a careless air, as if it was not of much consequence^ 
or rather as if confessing the sin destroyed it, and left them 
perfectly innocent. 

I should think, on this account, that the father whose 
sons had disobeyed him on the ice, would be muchjat a loss 
to know what to do, afler one of his boys had so frankly 
acknowledged it I can suppose him saying to his son^ 



Ch. 1.] CONFESSION. 31 



Story of the boys on tbe ice continaed. 



" Well, my son, I am glad jou have told me freely all about 
this. You did very wrong, and I am very much at a loss 
to know what I ought to do. I will consider it, and speak 
to you by jand by about it. In the mean time you may be 
assured that I forgive you from my heart, and if I should 
conclude to do any thing farther, it will not be because I am 
now displeased, but because I wish to save you effectually 
from the sad consequence of doing wrong in future." 

When the father is left to muse by himself upon the sub- 
ject, we may imagine him to be thinking as follows. 

'* Well, I should not have thought that my boys would 
have broken their promise and disobeyed me. I wonder 
if my eldest disobeyed also. The youngest only spoke of 
himself — shall I ask him? — No. Each shall stand on inde- 
pendent ground. If the other sinned too, he too may come 
voluntarily and obtain peace by confession, pr he must con- 
tinue to bear the tortures of self-refH'oach. And now if I 
take no further notice of the transgression, which is already 
acknowledged, I am afraid that my son will the next time 
yield more easily to temptation, thinking that he has only 
to acknowledge it, to be forgiven. Shall I forbid their skat- 
ing any more this winter?— or for a month? — or shall I 
require them, every time they return, to give me an exact 
account where they have been ? — ^I wish I could forgive and 
forget it entirely, but I am afraid I ought not." 

Thus he would be perplexed; and if he was a wise pa- 
rent, and under the influence of moral principle, and not of 
mere parental feeling, he would probably do something more 
than merely pass it by. The boy would find that confes- 
sion to such a fatlj^er is not merely nominal, — that it brings 
with it inconvenience, or deprivation of enjoyment, or per- 
haps positive punishment. Still he would rejoice in the 
opportunity to acknowledge his sins ; for the loss of a little 
pleasure, or the suffering of punishment, he would feel to 
be a very small price to pay for returning peace of mind, 
and he would fly to confession, as a refuge from sel^ 
reproach, whenever he had done wrong. 



82 TOUKO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 1. 

■ » ■ ■ ' - 

To parents and taaehera. ConfMsion a privilege. 

Let the parents or the teachers who may read this, take 
this view of the nature of confession, and practice upon it 
in their intercourse with their children and their pupils. 
Let them meet them kindly when they come forward to 
acknowledge their faults. Sympathize with them in the 
struggle, which you know they-must make at such a time, 
and consider how strong the temptation was which led them 
to sin. And in every thing of the nature of punishment 
which you inflict, be sure the prevetUion of future guilt is 
your sole motive, and not the gratification of your own 
present feeling of displeasure. If this is done, those under 
your care will soon value confession as a privilege, and will 
often seek in it a refuge from inward suffering. 

Yes, an opportunity to acknowledge wrong of any kind, 
is a great privilege, and if any of my readers are satisfied 
that what I have been advancing on this subject is true, I 
hope they will prove by experiment the correctness of these 
principles. Almost every person has at all times some little 
sources of uneasiness upon his mind. They are not very 
well defined in their nature and cause, but still they exist, 
and they very much disturb the happiness. Now if you 
look within long enough to seize hold of and examine these 
feelings of secret uneasiness, you will find that, in almost 
every case, they are connected with something wrong which 
you have done. That anxious brow of yours then is clouded 
with remorse; — ^we call it by soft names, as care, solicitude, 
perplexity, — but it is generally a slight remorse, — so weak 
as not to force its true character upon your notice, but yet 
strong enough to destroy peace of mind. A great deal of 
what is called depression of spirit arises from this source. 
There are duties which you do not faithfully discharge: or 
inclinations which you habitually indulge when you know 
they ought to be denied. Conscience keeps up, therefore, 
a continual murmur, but she murmurs so gently that you 
do not recognise her voice — and yet it destroys your rest. 
You feel restless and unhappy, and wonder what can be 
the cause. 



Ch. 1.] CONFltSION. 



DcpraMkNi oftpirite. Its nmedy. Carelett coofiiMkw. • 

Let no one now say or even sappose thai I think that all 
the depression of spirits which exists in human hearts ia 
nothing but a secret sense oi guilt. I know that there is 
real solicitude about the future, unccmnected with remorse 
for the past; — and there is often a sinking of the spirits ia 
disease, which moral remedies will net touch. These cases 
are, however, comparatively few. A far greater propor- 
tion of the restlessness and of the corroding cares of human 
hearts is produced, or at least very much aggravated, by 
being connected with guilt. 

I suppose some of my readers are going over these pages 
only for amusement. They will be interested, perhaps, in 
the illustrations, and if of mixture or cultivated minds, in 
the point to which I am endeavoring to make them tend. 
I hope, however, that there are some who are reading 
really and honestly for the sake of moral improvement. To 
those I would say: Do you never feel unquiet in spirit, 
restless or sad.^ Do you never experience a secret unea* 
siness of heart, of which you do not know the 'exact cause, 
but which destroys, or at least disturbs your peace? If 
you do, take this course. Instead of flying from those feel- 
ings when they come into your heart, advance boldly to meet 
them. Gra^p and examine them. Find tlieir cause. Yon 
will find in nine cases out of ten that their cause is some- 
lAtng' ftrong in your own conduct or character. Young 
persons will generally fmd something wrong towards their 
parents. Now, go and confess these faults. Do not en- 
deavor to palliate or excuse them, but endeavor on the 
other hand to see their worst side, and if you confess them 
freely and fully, and resolve to sin no more, peace will 
return, at least, so far as these causes have banished it 
from your heart. 

After I had written thus far, I read these pages to a gen- 
tleman who visited me, and he remarked that before I 
closed the chapter, I ought to caution my readers against 
acquiring the habit of doing wrong and then coming care- 
lessly to confess it, without way real sorrow, as though the 



24 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 1. 

Anecdote. Heartleei confeaiion. An experiment. 

acknowlegment atoned for the sin and wiped all the guilt 
twaj. 

'I was once,' said he, 'visiting in a family, and while 
we were sitting at the fire, a little boy came in and did some 
wanton, wilful mischief. 

•* Why, my child," said the mother, " see what yon have 
done. That was very wrong; — ^but you are sorry for it, I 
suppose. Are you not?" 

''Yes, Ma," said the boy carelessly, running away at 
the same time to play. 

"Yes," said the mother, " he is sorry. He does wrong 
sometimes, but then he is always sorry for it and acknow- 
ledges it. You are sorry now, are you not, my son?" 

" Yes, Ma" said the boy, as he ran capering about the 
room, striking the furniture and his little sister with his 
whip.' 

My friend thought there was some danger that this sort 
of confession might be made. And it is undoubtedly often 
made. But it does no good. Confession must come from 
the heart, or it will not relieve or improve the heart. 

This anecdote shows the necessity of some punishment in 
all governments. If a father forgives the disobedience of 
his children simply upon their confessing it — I mean if he 
makes this his settled and regular course — his children will 
often disobey, expecting to make peace by confession as a 
matter of course; and the confession will thus not only 
become an useless form, but will become the very lure 
which tempts them to sin. 

A teacher once made a rule, that if any irregularity oc- 
curred in any of the classes, the assistant who heard the 
classes was to send the person in fault to him. At first the 
pupils felt this very much. One and another would come 
with tears in their eyes to acknowledge some fault, although 
it was perhaps only a very slight one. The teacher inflicted 
no punishment, but asked them to be careful in future, and 
sent them away kindly. Soon, however, they began to feel 
less penitent when they had done wrong. They came more 



Ch. r.] coffw^Miotr. 25 

Sincere coofenion. Story of the dulled tool. 



and more as a matter of form, until at last they would come 
and state their fault as carelessly as if they were merely 
giving their teacher a piece of indifferent information. 
No; — confession must never be understood as making any 
atonement for sin. Whenever you acknowledge that you 
have done wrong, do it with sincere penitence, — and with 
a spirit which would lead you to make all the reparation in 
your power, if it is a case which admits of reparation,— 
to submit to the just punishment; if any is inflicted,-^ 
and always to resolve most firmly that you will sin no 
more. 

Let all my readers, then, whether old or young, look at 
once around them, and seek diligently for every thing 
wrong which they have done toward their fellows, and try 
the experiment of acknowledging the wrong in every case, 
that they may see how much such a course will bring peace 
and happiness to their hearts. W&en, however, I say that- 
every thing wrong ought to be acknowledged, I do not mean 
that it is, in every case, necessary to make h formal confe»' 
aion in language. Acknowledgments may be made by 
actions, as distinctly and as cordially as by words. An 
example will best illustrate this. 

A journeyman in a carpenter's shop borrowed a plane of 
his comrade, and in giving it back to him, it was accident- 
ally dropped and dulled. The lender maintained that the 
borrower ought to sharpen it, while the borrower said that 
it was not his fault, and an angry controversy arose between 
them. It would have taken but a few minutes to have 
sharpened the instrument, but afler having once contended 
about it, each was determined not to yield. The plane was 
laid down in its damaged state, each declaring that he 
would not sharpen it. 

The borrower however did not feel easy, and as he lay 
down that night to rest, the thought of his foolish contention 
made him unhappy. He reflected, too, that since his friend 
had been willing to lend him his instrument, he ought to 
have borne, himself, all the risk of its return. He regretted 



S6 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 1 



BUNT conUniMd. CoofeMion to God. 



that he had refused to do what now, on cool reflection, he 
saw was clearly his duty. 
^ On the following morning, therefore, he went half an 
hour earlier than usual to the shop, and while alone there, 
with the help of grindstone and hone, he put the unfortunate 
{Jane in the best possible order, — ^laid it in its proper place 
-—and when his companion came in, he said to him pleas- 
antly, 

** I wish you would try your plane, and see how it cuts 

this morning." 

Now, was not this a most full and complete acknowledg- 
ment of having been wrong ? And yet there is not a sylla- 
ble of confession in language. Any way by which you can 
openly manifest your conviction that you have done wrong, 
and your determination to do so no more, is sufficient. The 
mode best for the purpose will vary with circumstances. — 
Sometimes by words, sometimes by writing, and sometimes 
by action. The only thing that is essential is, that the 
heart should feel what in these various ways it attempts to 
express. 
>, I doubt not now, but that many of my readers, who have 
taken up this book with a desire to find religious instruclion 
in it, have been for some time wishing to have me come to 
the subject of the confession of sin to God. You feel that 
the greatest of all your transgressions have been against 
him; and that you can have no true peace of mind until he 
has forgiven you. I have no doubt that this is the state of 
mind of very many of those who will read this chapter. But 
confession of sin is the same in its nature and tendency 
when made to God as when made to your fellow man. 
When you have finished this chapter then, shut the book, 
and go alone before your Maker, and acknowledge all your 
sins. Acknowledge them frankly and fully, and try to see 
and feel the worst, not by merely calling your offences by 
harsh names, but by calmly looking at the aggravating 
circumstances. While you do this, do not spend your 
strength in trying to feel strong etnotion. You cannot feel 



Ch. 1.] coNFBssroir. 27 

Anxiety unneceraaiy. Common mistakM. 

emotion by merely trying to feel it. There is no necessity 
of prolonged terror, — no need of agony of body or of mind, 
—no need of gloom of countenance. Just go and sincerely 
acknowledge your sins to God, and ask him to forgive you 
through Jesus Christ, and he will. 

But perhaps some of you will say, " I am surprised to 
hear you say that there is no need of strong agitation of 
mind, before we can be forgiven for sin. I am sure that 
there oflen is very strong feeling of this kind. There is 
terror and agony of mind, and afterward the individual be- 
comes a sincere Christian." 

It is true, there is sometimes strong and continued agita- 
tion, but it is only because those who suffer it are unwilling 
«o yield to God and confess their sins to him. As soon as 
this unwillingness is gone, and they come to their God and 
Savior with all their hearts, the mental suffering vanishes. 
I said that if you were mlling now to confess your sins to 
God with sincere penitence, you may at once be happy. 
Of course, if you are unwilling, — if you see that you are 
sinning against him^ and will not come and make peace, 
you then have indeed cause to tremble. 

There is a great mistake prevalent on this subject, espe- 
cially among the young, though the subject is oflen clearly 
enough explained, both from the press and the pulpit. 
God's command is, repent at once, and believe on the Lord 
Jesus Christ, and you shall have peace. I have, in this 
chapter, used the word confess, instead of repent, for sin- 
cere confession is only a manifestsUion of penitence. Now 
I do not find that the Bible requires any thing previous to 
repentance. It does not say that we must be miserable a 
week or a day or an hour. I never heard any minister 
urge upon his hearers the duty of suffering anguish of 
mind, and all the horrors of remorse, a single moment, in 
order to prepare the soul for Christ. It is doubtless true, 
that persons do oflen thus suffer, and are perhaps led by it 
in the end to fly to the refuge. But they oughi to have fled 
to the refuge without this suffering in the beginning. The 



28 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 1. 

Immediate zepeatance. BalTftUoa hy Chriit. . 



truth is, that Grod commands "men every where to repent.'' 
It is a notorious fact, that they will not comply. When the 
duty of humbly confessing their sins to God is clearly 
brought before them, there is often so great a desire to 
continue in sin, that a very painful struggle continues for 
some time. Now this struggle is all our own fault, — ^it is 
something that we ctdd, altogether; — God does not require 
H. He says come to me at once. Ministers in the pulpit 
GO not urge this continued struggle, while sin is cherished 
in the heart; so far from desiring it are they, that they urge 
their hearers to come at once to the Savior and be happy; 
— and when any of their hearers are suffering in conse- 
quence of their indecision, the pastor, so far from wishing 
them to continue in this state as a part of their duty, urges 
them with all his power to termii^ate it at once, by giving 
up their hearts to God and to happiness. And yet so 
reluctant are men to give up their hearts to God, and so 
exceedingly common is this guilty struggle, that by the 
young it i^ often considered as a pair^ul part of duty. 
They think they cannot becopae Christians without it 
Some try to awaken it and continue it, and are sad because 
they cannot succeed. Others^ who are serving their Ma- 
ker, and endeavoring to grow in grace and to prepare for 
heaven, feel but little confidence in his sympathy or affec- 
tion for them, because just before they concluded to yield 
to God, sin did not make such violent and desperate efforts 
in their hearts, as in some others, to retain its hold. 

No, my reader, there is no necessity of any prolonged 
struggle, or suffering. If this chapter has led you to be 
willing to confess your sins, you may confess them now, and 
from this moment be calm, and peaceful, and happy. 

My readers will recollect that I mentioned in the early 
part of this chapter two points connected with confession, 
viz. reparation and punishment. In confessing sins to God, 
we have no reparation to him to make, and no punishment 
to suffer. We have a Savior, and we fly to him. He 
makes reparation, and he has already suffered for us. .We 



Ch. ^J] THB FRIEND. 2$ 

Story of tbe infant school. Tiie bcw aeliotar. 

must come trosting in him. I hope very manj of my read- 
ers will see that both duty and happiness urge them to take 
the simple course I have endeavored to describe and illus- 
trate, and that they will now take it, and follow me through 
the remaining chapters of this book with hearts bent on 
loving and serving Grod. 



CHAPTER II. 

THE FEIEND. 
** To wbom diall we go 1 



»» 



There is a very excellent infant school in one of the 
chief towns of Switzerland, where many young children are 
collected under the care of a most kind and &ithful super- 
intendent and assistant, to receive moral and intellectual 
instruction. Whenever a sew pupil is admitted, she looks 
with fear smd trembling upon the strange scene before her. 
A large open room is filled with the children standing in 
rows or collected in busy groups, and in the pleasant play- 
ground, verdant with grass and trees, many others are seen 
full of activity and happiness. 

It is the custom whenever a new scholar enters the 
school, for the teacher to collect all the children in the 
great room, extending them in a line around it; and then 
he walks into the midst, leading the little stranger by the 
hand, and something like the following conversation ensues. 

Teacher. "Here is a little, girl who has come to join 
our school. She is a stranger, and is afraid. Will you 
all promise toltreat her kindly?" 

Pupils, (All answering together, ) ' * Yes, sir, we will. " 

Teacher. ** She has told me that she will try to be a 
good girl and to do her duty ; but sometimes she will forget, 
I am afraid, and sometimes she will yield to temptation and 
do wrong. Now which of the older children will be her 
little friend, to be with her for a few days till she becomes 

3* 



30 Touiro CHRitTiAK. [ CIl 2> 

The protMUir ftppointed. Power mad cympathy. 



acquainted with the school, and tell her what she ought to 
do, and help her to watch herself, that she mky avoid doing 
wrong ? 

Several voices at once, " I will, I will, sir." 

The teacher then selects from those who thus volunteer, 
one of the best and oldest children, and constitutes her the 
friend ftnd protector of the stranger. They are together 
wherever thej go. A strong mutual attachment springs up 
between them. If the stranger is injured in any way, the 
protector feels aggrieved: kindness shown to one touches 
almost as effectually the other, and thus the trembling 
stranger is guided and encouraged, and led on to duty and 
to strength by the influence of her protector, though that 
protector is only another child. 

We all need a protector, especially in our moral interests. 
The human heart seems to be formed to lean upon some- 
^ing stronger than itself for support. We are so surround- 
ed with difliculties and temptations, and dangers here, that 
we need a refuge in which we can trust. Children find 
such a protector aj^id such a refuge in their parents. How 
much safer you feel in sickness if your father or your mo- 
ther is by your bedside. How often, in a summer evening, 
when a dark heavy cloud is thundering in the sky, and the 
window glitters with the brightness of the lightning, do the 
children of a family sigh for their father's return, and feel 
relieved and almost safe when he comes among them 
But when man is mature he can find no earthly protector 
He must go alone unless he has a friend above. 
^ A protector and friend ought to possess two distinct qual- 
ifications, which it is very difficult to find united. He 
ought to be our supeAor both in hnowledge and poicer, so 
that we can confide in his protection; and yet he ought to 
be in the same circumstances with ourselves , that he may un- 
derstand and appreciate our trials and difficulties. 

Now my object in this chapter is to endeavor to show my 
readers that they need, and that they can have just such a 
protector and friend — one that has power to save to the ut- 



Cb; 2.] THX PRIEITD. dl 

A rare protector. Story of Uie mUot boy. 

m . ■ I JL«_-«- I. m. ^» I ■ ■ ■ I I ■ B^M i-^M I r-i ' 

tennost, and yet one that knows by his own experience all 
your trials and cares. I know that if any of yon go and 
confess your nns to God, and begin a life of piety now, 
that you irill, without aid from above, wander away into 
sin, forget your resolutions, displease God more than ever, 
and more than ever destroy your own peace of mind. I 
wish, therefore, to persuade all those who desire henceforth 
to do their duty, to come now and unite themselves in in- 
dissoluble bonds, with the moral protector and friend, whose 
character I am about to describe. 

In the Epistle to the Hebrews, 2nd chapter and 16th 
verse, there occurs the following remarkable passage: — 
**For verily he," i. e. Christ, '* took not on him the nature 
of angels, but he took on him the seed of Abraham. 
Wherefore in all things it behoved him to be made like un- 
to his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful high 
priest in things pertaining to God." Here you see how 
the two qualifications named above were united in our Sa- 
vior. He might have come from heaven and died upon the 
cross to make atonement for our sins, without suffering, as 
he did, so long a pilgrimage below, as a " man of sorrows 
and acquainted with grief." But he came and lived here 
thirty years, tasted of every bitter cup which we have to 
drink, in order that he might know by experience all our 
trials and troubles, and be able more effectually to sympa- 
thize with us and help us. He took not on him the nature 
of angels, but he took on him the seed of Ahrahaniy i. e. the 
fuUure of man. 

I wish my readers would pause and reflect a moment 
upon these two elements in the character of a valuable 
protector, — viz. power and sympalhy, and consider how 
seldom they are united. I will give one or two examples 
which may help to illustrate the subject. 

A mother with a large family, and but slender means to 
provide for their wants, concluded to send her eldest son to 
sea. She knew that though the toils and labors of a sea- 
faring life were extreme, they could be borne, and they 



as TOOMO CBBISTIAN. l^a. ». 

brought with them many pleasures and many useful results. 
She agreed, therefore, with a sea captain, a distant rela- 
tive of hera, to admit her boy on board his ship. The cajn 
lain became really interested in his new friend — iaid he 
would take good care of him, teach him his duty on ship* 
board, and help him on in the world, if he was diligent 
and faithful. 

The boy looked with some dread upon the prospect of 
bidding farewell to his mother, to his brothers and sisters, 
and his quiet home, to explore unknown and untried scenes, 
and to encounter the dangers of a stormy ocean. He, 
however, bade alt farewell, and was soon tossing upon the 
waters, feeling safe under his new protector. He soon 
found, however, thai the captain had power, but that he 
had not sympalky. He would eometimea, in a stormy night, 
when the masts were reeling to and fro, and the bleak wind 
was wliistling through the frozen rigging, make him go 
aloll, though the poor boy, unaccustomed to the giddy 
height, was in an agony of terror, and in real danger of 
falling headlong to the deck. The captain had forgotten - 
what were his own feelings when he was himself a boy, or 
he would probably have taught this necessary part of sea- 
manship in a more gentle and gradual manner. He thought 
liie boy ought to learn, and bis want of sympalAy with his 
Ibclings led him to a course which was severe, and in fact 
cruel, though not intentionally so. 

The captain never spoke to his young charge, e.^cepting 
uj command him. He took no interest in his little concerns. 
Once the boy spent all his leisure time industriously in rig- 
ging out a little ship complete. " This," thought he, " will 
|i!ease the captain. He wants me to learn, and this will 
show him that I have been learning." As he went on, 
however, from day to day, the captain took no notice of his 
work. A word or a look of satisfaction from his protector 
would have gratified him exceedingly. But no; — the stem, 
weather-beaten officer could not sympathize with a child or 
appreciate his feelings at all, and one day when the bo^ 



Ch. 2.] THB FRIBlfD. 5S 

The little itbip. The captain a raai fktond. 

- *■■' " ' '■ ■■ - " — ■ - ' ... ■ -. 

had been sent away from his work for a moment, the ci^h 
tain came upon deck, and afler looking around a moment, 
he said to a rough looking man standing there, "I saj, 
Jack, I wish you would clear away a little here— coil those 
lines — ^and that boys bauble there, — ^you may as well throw 
it overboard, he never will make any thing of it." 

Commands on board ship must be obeyed ; and the poor 
cabin-boy came up from below just in time to catch the 
captain's words, and to see his little ship fly from the sai- 
lor's hands into the waves. It fell upon its side — ^its sails 
were drenched with the water, and it fast ^receded from 
view. The boy went to his hammock and wept bitterly. 
His heart was wounded deeply, but the stem captain did 
not know it. How could he sympathize with the feelings 
of a child? 

And yet this captain was the real friend of the boy. He 
protected him in all great dangers, took great care of him 
when in foreign ports, that he should not be exposed to 
sickness nor to temptation. When they returned home he 
recommended him to another ship, and where,^ through the 
captain's influence, he had a better situation and higher 
wages, — and he had assisted him in various ways for many 
years. Now this boy had a protector who had power, but 
not sympathy. 

This boy however might have had a friend who would 
have sympathized with him fully, but who would have had 
no power. I might illustrate this case also, by supposing 
in the next ship which he should enter, that the captain 
should feel no interest in him at all, but that he should 
have with him there a brother, or another boy of his own 
age, who would be his constant companion and friend, — 
entering into all his feelings, sympathizing with him in his 
enjoyments and in his troubles, — ^but yet having no power 
to protect him from real evils, or to avert any diuigers 
which might threaten. I might suppose such a case, and 
following the boy in imagination into the new scene, 
I might show that sympathy alone is not sufficient. But it 



S4 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch* 2. 

Tbe BsTior. Hii thirty years of life. H«wmrd. 



is not necessary to do this. All my readers, doubtless, 
already fully understand the distinction between these two, 
and the necessity that they should be united in such a pro- 
tector as we all need. 

The great Friend of sinners unites these. He is able to 
save to the uttermost all that come unto God through him, 
and he can fiilly sympathize with us in all our trials and 
cares ; for he has been upon the earth, — suffering all that 
we have to suffer, and drinking of every cup which is pre- 
sented to our lips. He became flesh, i. e. he became a 
man, and dwelt among us; so that, as the Bible most forci- 
bly and beautifully expresses it, ''we have not an high priest 
which cannot be touched with a feeling of our infirmities, 
but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without 



sin." 



It must be borne in mind that our Savior did not com- 
mence his public ministrations till he was thirty years of 
age. Thirty years he spent — in what? Why, in learning, 
by slow and painful experience, whcU it is to be a human 
being in this world of trial. Have I a reader who is only 
ten or twelve years of age ? Remember, the Savior was 
once as young as you,— exposed to such little difficulties 
and trials as you are. He has gone through the whole, 
from infancy upward, and he does not forget. You may be 
sure, then, that he is ready to sympathize with you. If any 
thing is great enough to interest you, you may be sure it is 
great enough to interest him in your behalf. He remem- 
bers his own childhood, and will sympathize with the feel- 
ings of yours. 

This plan of coming into our world and becoming one of 
us, and remaining in obscurity so long, that he might learn 
by experiment what the human condition is, in all its de- 
tails, was certainly a very extraordinary one. It is spoken 
of as very extraordinary every where in the Bible. 

You have all heard of Howard, the philanthropist. When 
he was thirty or forty years of age, there were, everywhere 
in Europe, jails and dungeons filled with wretched prison- 



Ch. 2«] THB FRIKND. 36 

Blei7 of Howwd. ImagiMoy seoas. 

era, some of whom were guilty and some innocent. They 
were crowded together in small, cold, damp rooms. Their 
food was scanty and bad,— dreadful diseases broke <Hit 
among them; and when this was the case, they were, in a 
vast multitude of cases,' left to suffer and to die in unmiti- 
gated agony. Very few knew their condition, and there 
were none to pity or relieve them, until Howard undertook 
the task. He left his home in England and went forth, 
encountering every difficulty and every discouragement, 
until he had explored thoroughly this mass of misery and 
brought it to public view, and had done every thing he 
could to mitigate its severity. 

This was extraordinary enough, and it attracted universal 
attention. All Europe was surprised that a man should 
devote years of his life to a most arduous and hazardous la- 
bor, thus exposing himself to the most loathsome influences 
and to the worst diseases, without any prospect of remunera- 
tion, and all for the sole purpose of relieving the sufferings 
of criminals, --^f men whom the world had cast off as unfit 
for human society. It was, I acknowledge, extraordinary; 
— but what would have been the sensation produced, if 
Howard could not have gained admission to these scenes, 
so as effectually to accomplish his object without becoming 
hiviiself a prisoner , and thus sharing for a time the fate of 
those whom he was endeavoring to save? Suppose he 
should consent to this. Imagine him approaching for this 
purpose some dreary prison. He passes its dismal thresh- 
old, and the bolts and bars of the gloomiest dungeon are 
turned upon him. He lays aside the comfortable dress of 
the citizen for the many-colored garb of confinement and 
disgrace. He holds out his suin for the manacles, and lies 
down at night upon his bed of straw, and lingers away 
months, or perhaps years of wretchedness, for no other 
purpose than thai he may know fully what wretchedness is. 
He thus looks misery in the face, and takes it by the hand, 
and he emerges at last from his cell, emaciated by disease, 
worn out by the gloom of perpetual night, — and his heart 



36 TOUNO CHRISTIAN [Ch. S. 

The* Savior. Human •ympathjr. 

sickened by the atmosphere of sin and shame. Suppose 
he had done this, how strongly could he, after it, sympa- 
thize with the sufferings of a prisoner, and how cordially 
and with what confidence can the inmates of those abodes 
come to him with their story of wo. 

Now, we have such a Savior as this is. He has been 
among us. He has himself experienced every kind of trial 
and suffering which we have to endure. So that if we 
choose him for our friend, we may come to him on every 
occasion, sure of finding not only sympathy to feel for us, 
but power to relieve us. No matter what may be the source 
of our trial, whether great or small: if it is great enough to 
interest us, it is great enough to interest him for us. Per- 
haps some young child who reads this has been pained to 
the heart by the unkindness of some one in whom he had 
reposed all his confidence. The action which showed this 
neglect or unkindness was so trifling, that perhaps the little 
sufferer feels that no one can sympathize with him in appa- 
rently so small a cause of sorrow But Jesus Christ was 
once as young a child as you ; he too, doubtless, had com- 
panions and friends, and if he did not experience unkind- 
ness and ingratitude at their hands, childhood was the only 
time of his life in which he was free from these injuries. 
He, doubtless, knows them full well ; and there is one thing 
in which the sympathy of our Savior differs from that of 
every other friend — ^he judges not from the magnitude of ike 
cause of sorrow, but from the real effect of that cause upon 
the heart which suffers it. If a child is agitated by a tri- 
fling cause, he looks at the greatness of the agitation and 
suffering, — ^not at the insignificance of the cause. But it is 
not so with men: — thby judge from external circumstances. 

In all the greater trials of life, I mean those which come 
from greater and more permanent causes, we may confi- 
dently expect sympathy and fellow feelrtig if we come to the 
Savior. Does poverty threaten you ? He knows what pov- 
erty is better than you, — for years, he knew not where to 
lay his head. Do you sufler from the unkind treatment of 



Ch. S.l THE FRIBin>. 37 

The murderer's cell. Sympathy for the guilty. 

— B — -r -* — ^ ' -■_-_ __-__■ ^ 

others.^ He has tried this in the extreme, and can fullj 
sympathize with you. Do you weep over the grave of a 
heloved friend? Jesus wept from this cause long hefbre 
you. In fact, he went about the world, not only to do good, 
but to taste of suffering, that he might know, with all the 
vividness of experience, exactly what suffering, in all its 
variety, is. 

Y We all love sympathy when we are suffering, — ^but there 
is one occasion oh which we feel the need of it still more — 
I mean in temptation. We need sjrmpathy when we are 
struggling^ with temptation, and still more when we have 
done wrong, and are reaping its bitter fruits. A dreadful 
murder was once committed, which aroused the alarm and 
indignation of an extensive community — every one express- 
ed the strongest abhorrence of the deed, and made the 
greatest effort to procure the arrest and punishment of the 
criminal. And this was right. But with this feeling there 
should have been, in every heart, strong compassion for the 
miserable criminal. 

He was arrested, tried, and condemned to die ; and a few 
hours before the execution of the sentence, I went with a 
clergyman who oflen visited him, to see hidi in his cell. 

When we had entered his gloomy prison, the jailor 
closed behind us its massive iron door, and barred and 
locked it. We found ourselves in a spacious passage, with 
a stone floor, and stone walls, and stone roof, and with 
narrow iron doors on each side, leading to the cells of the 
various prisoners. We ascended the stairs, and found 
every story assuming the same rigid features of iron^and 
stone. In a corner of the upper story was the cell of the 
murderer. 

A little grated window opened into th^ passage-way. 
The jailor tapped soflly at the window, and informed the 
[Hisoner, in a kind and gentle tone, that the clergyman had 
come. 

'* Should you like to have us come in?" asked the jailor. 

The prisoner instantly assented, and the jailor unbolted 

4 



$8 TOmrO qBHISTf AN. [Ch. 2. 

^4 

T]|« ke«per*s kindjieas to the prisoner. Tlie Smvior. 



and unbarred the door. ''Strange!" thought I. ''Here is 
a man who has outraged the laws of both Grod and man, 
and a whole community has arisen in justice, and declared 
that he is unworthy to live, and to-morrow, by the hand of 
yiolence, he is to die. And yet his very keeper treats him 
so tenderly that he will not come into his cell without first 
obtaining permission!" 

As we passed through the narrow aperture in the thick 
stone wall which the iron door had closed, the whole aspect 
of the room and of the prisoner was one which effectually 
removed my surprise that he should be treated with kind- 
ness and compassion. He was pale and haggard, and he 
trembled very exceedingly. He seemed exhausted by the 
agony of remorse and terror. A few hours before, his wife 
had been in the cell to bid him a final farewell, and the 
next day he was to be led forth to execution in the presence 
of thousands. In the meantime the walls, and floor, and 
roof of his cell— -of continued, uninterrupted stone and iron 
— seemed to say to him, wherever he looked, ^* You shall 
not escape.'* It seemed as if the eye would have rested 
with a feeling of relief upon a board or a curtain, even if it 
concealed a stone behind, — with so forbidding and relent- 
less a gripe did this dismal cell seem to hold its unhappy 
tenant. As I looked between the heavy iron bars of his 
grated window upon the distant plains and hills, and thought 
how ardently he must wish that he were once more inno- 
cent and free, I forgot the cold-blooded brutality of the 
crime, and only mourned over the misery and ruin of the 
man. 

The world does in such cases sympathize with one suf- 
fering from remorse; but, generally, men are indignant 
with the offender if his crime is great, and they treat him 
with ridicule and scorn if it is small. Jesus Christ, how- 
ever, pities a sinner. He loved us while we were yet in 
our sins; he came to save us. He came, not to inflict the 
punishment which our guilt deserved, but to redeem us 
from the s^erings into which it had brought us. 



Ch. 2.] THB FRIEND. * 59 

Tbe fiavlof't eympathy. Commoii dUMmt of It. 

" ■ ' ' III 11 I ■ 11 11 ^.^^—1 I I.I ^^^^m^^m^m^^mm 

This is everj where very apparent in hia whole history. 
Often the greatest sinners came to him, and he never re- 
proached them when they came with a humble and penitent 
heart. He always endeavored to relieve them of their 
burden of guilt,, and to give them assurance of pardon and 
peace. On one occasion, how kindly does he say to a very 
guilty sinner, " I do not condemn thee, go and sin no 
more." Instead of intending to add to the burden of guilt 
by ezhibiting coldly the contrast of his own bright example, 
or by his severe rebukes, he says, '* Come unto me, all ye 
that labor and are heavy laden, and I wiU give you rest.'' 

Persons who wish to be saved from sin, very often dis- 
trust the Savior's willingness to receive them. They ac- 
knowledge, in general terms, his kindness and compassion, 
and think that he is, in all ordinary cases, willing to save 
the chief of sinners; but they think there is something 
peculiar in their case, which should prevent them from 
coming to him in confidence. I observed that this pecu- 
liarity is almost always one of two things* — 1. That they 
do not engage ardently enough in the work of salvation; 
or, 2. That they have oflen resolved before, and broken 
their resolutions. 

Do not some of you, my readers, feel unwilling to come 
to the Savior, because you think that you do not feel a 
sufficient interest in the subject? You know that you are 
sinners, and would like to be free from sin. Tou would 
like such a friend as I describe the Savior to be, but you 
have no sufficiently strong conviction, and you think the 
promises are not for you. 

Or perhaps some of you, though you feel a deep interest 
in the subject, may be discouraged and disheartened by 
the sins you find yourselves constantly committing, and by 
your repeatedly broken resolutions. You think the Savior 
must be wearied out by your continual backslidings and 
sins, and you are ready to give up the contest, and to think 
that final holiness and peace is not for you. 

Now, there are throughout our land vast multitudes who 



40 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. fCh, 2. 

Illujrtration. Cam of tbe aick man. 



are vainly endeavoring to make their hearts better, in order 
to recommend themselves to their Savior's care. You 
must indeed eadeavor by every effort to make your heart 
better, but not as a means of recommending yourself to the 
Savior. Come to him at once, just as you are, and seek 
.his sympathy and assistance in the work. 
J Inquirers after the path of piety are very slow to learn 
that the Savior is the friend of sinners. They will not learn 
that he comes to help us while we are in our iriah and diffi- 
culties, not after we get out of them. How many say in 
their hearts, I must overcome this sin, or free myself from 
that temptation, and then I will come to the Savior. I must 
have clearer views of my own sins, or deeper penitence, or 
awaken true love to God in my heart, and then, but not till 
then, can I expect Christ to be my friend. What! do you 
suppose that it is the office of Jesus Christ to stand aloof 
from the struggling sinner until he has, by his own unaided 
strength, and, without assistance or sympathy, finished the 
contest, and then only to come and offer his congratulations 
after the victory is won? Is this such a Savior as you 
imagine the Bible to describe ? 

At the door of one of the chambers of the house in which 
you reside, you hear a moaning sound, as of one in distress. 
You enter hastily, and find a sick man writhing in pain, 
and struggling alone with his sufferings. As soon as you 
understand the case, you say to him, 

** We must send for a physician immediately; there is 
one at the next door who will come in a moment." 

** O no," groans out the sufferer, '^ I am in no state to 
send for a physician. My head aches dreadfully — I am al- 
most distracted with pain. I fear I am very dangerously ill." 

**Then we must have a physician immediately," you re- 
ply. ** Run and call him," you say, turning to an attend- 
ant, **ask him to come as soon as possible." 

**0 stop! stop!" says the sick man, **wait till I get a 
little easier; — ^my breath is very short and my pulse very 
feeble, and besides I have been getting worse and worse 



Ch. ^.] - TMB F&IKITD. 41 

Jetvt ChrM m pbjrBldaa. 8tniggli«f wttk mmptMOoa. 

every half hour for some time, and I am afraid there is no 
hope for me. Wait a little while, and perhap$ I mmf leel 
better, and then I will send for him." 

Ton would turn after hearing euch words, and say in a 
gentle voice to the attendant, '* He is wandering in mind. 
Call the {^yncian immediately." 

Now Jesus Christ is a physician. He comes to heal 
your sins. If you wish to be healed, come to him ai once, 
just as you are. The soul that waits for purer motives, or 
for a cleeper sense of guilt, or for a stronger interest in the 
subject, before it comes to Christ, is a sick person waiting 
for health befbre he sends for a phjrsician. Jesus Christ 
came to help you in obtaining i^eae feelings, not to receive 
you after you have made yourself holy without him. You 
have, I well know, great and arduous struggles to make 
with sin. Just as certainly as you attempt them alone, you 
will become discouraged and fail. Come to the Savior be* 
fore you begin them, for I do assure you, you will need 
help. 

One great object which bur Savior had in view in re- 
maining so long in the world, was to understand our temp» 
tations, and the contests which they bring up in the heart. 

It is very often the case, that persons are struggling 
with temptations and sins almost in solitude, and those to 
whom they are directly accountable do not appreciate the 
circumstances in which they are placed, and the efforts 
they make to overcome temptation. I presume that teach- 
ers very often blame their pupils with a severity which they 
would not use if they remembered distinctly the feelings of 
childhood. Perhaps a little boy is placed on a seat by his 
intimate friend, and commanded upon pain of some very 
severe punishment not to whisper. He tries to refrain, and 
succeeds perhaps for half an hour in avoiding every temp- 
tation. At last some unexpected occurrence or some sud- 
den thought darts into his mind,— his resolutions are for- 
gotten, — 4he presence of the master, the regulations of the 
school, and the special prohibition to him, all flit from his 

4* 



42 Touifo cHBimAN. [Ch. 2. 

The beiMTolent teacher. The teaeher ImagUied » echolar. 



mind, and after the forbidden act, which occupied but aa 
instant, is done, he immediately awakes to the conscious- 
ness of having disobeyed, and looks up just in time to see 
the stern eye of his teacher upon him speaking most dis- 
tinctly of displeasure and of punishment. Now if any se- 
vere punishment should follow such a transgression, how 
disproportionate would it be to the guilt ! The boy may in- 
deed have done wrong, — ^but how slight must die wrong be 
in the view of any one, who could look into the heart, and 
estimate truly its moral movements in such a case! It is 
unquestionably true, and every wise teacher is fully aware 
of it, that in school discipline there is constant danger that 
the teacher will estimate erroneously the moral character 
of the actions he witnesses, just because he has forgotten 
the feelings of childhood. He cannot appreciate its temp- 
tations or understand its difficulties, and many a little strug 
gler with the inclinations which would draw him from duty, 
is chilled smd discouraged in his efforts, because the teach- 
er never knows that he is making an effort to do his duty, 
or at least never understands the difficulties and trials which 
he finds in his way. 

Suppose now that such a teacher should say to himself, 
and suppose he could by some magic power carry the plan 
into effect, — ** I will become a little child myself, and go to 
school. I will take these same lessons which I assign, and 
endeavor to keep, myself, the rules which I have been en- 
deavoring to enforce. I will spend two or three weeks in 
this way, that I may learn by actual experience what the 
difficulties and temptations and trials of childhood are." 
Suppose he could carry this plan into effect, and laying 
aside his accumulated knowledge and that strength of mo- 
ral principle "which long habit had formed, should assume 
the youth and the spirits and all the feelings of childhood, 
and should take his place in some neighboring school, un- 
known to his new companions, to partake with them in all 
their trials and temptations. He toils upon a perplexing 
lesson, that he may know by experience what the perplexi- 



Ch. S.] THK VKIEND. 4S 

Sympathy of Chrlai. Howard. 

ty of childhood is; he obeys the strictest rules, that he' 
may understand the difficulty of obedience; and he expo- 
ses himself to the unkindness or oppression of the vicious 
boys, that he may learn how hard it is patiently to endure 
them. Afler fully making the experiment, he resumes his 
former character and returns to his station of authority. 
Now if this were done, how cordially, how much better can 
he afterward sympathize with his pupils in their trials, and 
with what confidence can they come to him in all their 
cares. 

Now we have such a Savior as this. The Word was 
made flesh, i. e. became man and dwelt among us. He 
took not on him the nature of angels, but the nature of man. 
''Wherefore it behoved him in all things to be made like 
unto his brethren, that he m^ht be a merctful and faithful 
high priest,*' ''We have not an high priest that cannot 
be touched with the feeling of our infirmities, but was in 
all points tempted like as we are." 

My reader will doubtless observe that this case is some- 
what similar to that of Howard, which I imagined in the 
former part of this chapter; and perhaps you may imagine 
that if my paragraphs had been well arranged, this suppo- 
sition would have come in connection with that. But no. 
I was then upon the subject of sympathy with suffering. 
I imagined Howard to become a prisoner, that he might 
understand and sympathize with the sufferings of prisoners. 
Now I am speaking of the subject of temptation and strug' 
gle against sin, and I imagine the teacher to become a 
child, that he may appreciate the trials and temptations of 
childhood. 

We may trust in the sympathy of our Savior in this last 
respect as well as in the other. His disposition to feel 
compassion and sympathy, and not indignation, in regard 
to those who had brought themselves into difficulty by do- 
ing wrong, was very oflen manifested while he was upon 
the earth, and we may be sure his character is not in this 
espect altered now. 



44 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Cb. S 

The benevolent gentleman. BympnUiy of Cbilst. 

But it is time that I should bring this chapter to a close. 
The sum and substance of what I have been endeayoring 
to illustrate in it is this: If you confess all your sins and 
seek their forgiveness in the way in which the Gospel points 
out, and resolve henceforth to lead a life of piety, you will 
need a friend and helper. You will want sympathy, both 
in your sufferings and in your struggles with sin. Jesus 
Christ will sympathize with you and help you in both. 

I once knew a reverend gentleman whose fortune render- 
ed him independent, but whose medical knowledge and 
skill were of a very high order, and he practised constantly 
without fee or reward, for the simple purpose of relieving 
suffering. The only things necessary to secure his atten- 
tion were to be sick, to need his aid, and to send for him. 
He did not wish his patients to become convcUesceni before 
he would visit them ; nor did he inquire how oflen they had 
been sick before. There was one poor lad who took cold, 
I believe, by breaking through the ice in the winter, and 
he was rendered a helpless cripple for years, and yet this 
gentleman or some of his family visited him almost daily 
during all this time, and instead of getting tired of their pa- 
tient, he became more and more interested in him to the 
last. Now our Redeemer is such a physician. He does 
not ask any preparation before we send for him ; nor does 
he get tired of us because he has helped us back from our 
wanderings to duty and happiness a great many times. 
Some one asked him once, how often he ought to forgive 
his brother after repeated transgressions. *' Shall I forgive 
him seven times?" was the question. ** Forgive," said the 
Savior, **not only seven times, but seventy times seven." 
How strange it is, that after this a backsliding Christian 
can ever hesitate to come back at once after he has wan- 
dered, with an assurance that God will forgive. 

He will not break the bruised reed. How beautiful and 
striking an illustration of our Redeemer's kindness to those 
who have sinned. A planter walks out into his grounds, 
and among the reeds growing there, there is one — young, 



Ch. 3.] PRAT£R. , 45 

Tbe bruiaed reed. Prayer. The abeent sod. 

green and slender — which a rude blast has broken. Its 
verdant top is drenched in the waters which bathe its root; 
and perhaps he hesitates for a moment whether to tear it 
from the spot and throw it away. But no; he raises it to 
its place, carefully adjusts its bruised stem,, and sustains it 
by a support, till it once more acquires its former strength 
and beauty. Now Jesus Christ is this planter. Every 
backsliding humbled Christian is a bruised reed; and O 
how many are now thriving and vigorous, that in the hour 
of humiliation have been saved by his tenderness. 

Come then to this Friend, all of you. Bring all your in- 
terests and hopes and fears to him; he will sympathize in 
them all. And whenever you have wandered never hesi- 
tate a moment to return. 



CHAPTER III. 

PRAYER. 
** Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, I will do it.*' 

As I have on this subject many separate points to 
discuss, I shall arrange what I have to say under several 
distinct heads, that the view presented may be the better 
understood and remembered. 

I. The poioer of prayer. This subject may be best 
illustrated by describing a case. 

A kind and afiectionate father, whose son had arrived at 
an age which rendered it necessary for him to prepare for 
the business of life, concluded to send him from home. 
Their mutual attachment was strong, and though each 
knew it was for the best, each looked upon the approach- 
mg separation with regret. The father felt solicitous for 
the fature character and happiness of his boy, as he was 
now to go forth into new temptations and dangers; and the 
son was reluctant to leave the quiet and the happiness of 
his father's fireside for the bustle of business and the rough 



46 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 3. 

Tbe Ikther'a promises. Its implied limitations. Dnproper requests. 

jj I _ — — ' ' ■ ^— ^^^^»- 

ezposurea of the crowded city, where he was for the future 
to find a home. The hour of separation, however, at last 
arrived, and the father says to him at parting, 

"My son, be faithfiil, do your duty, and you will be hap- 
py. Remember your parents — the efibrts they have made, 
and the afiection they now feel for you. Watch against 
temptation, and shun it. I will supply all your wants. 
When you wish for any thing, write to me and you shall 
have it. And may Grod bless you, and keep you safe and 
happy." 

My reader will observe that this language, which is not 
fiction, but fact, for it has in substance been addressed in 
a thousand instances under the circumstances above de- 
scribed, contains a promise to send the son whatever he shall 
ask for. But the meaning of it is not — and no boy would 
understand it to be — ^that every possible request which he 
might make would be certainly granted Although the pro- 
mise is made in the few simple words, " whenever you want 
any thing, write to me and you shall have it," yet the mean- 
ing expressed fully would be, " whenever you wish for any 
thing, which as far as you can see is proper for you, if you 
will let me know it I will send it, unless I see that it is 
better for you not to have it, or unless there are other spe- 
cial reasons which prevent my complying." 

Now a boy may in such a case make a great many re- 
quests which the father might refuse without being consid- 
ered by any one as breaking his promise. 

1. He may ask something which the father knows would, 
in the end, injure him. Suppose he should request his 
fdther to supply him with double his usual quantity of 
pocket money, and the father should see clearly that the 
effect of granting the request would be to cultivate in him 
careless and extravagant habits of expenditure, and to 
divert his attention from his business. In such a case the 
father would undoubtedly refuse, and no one would imagine 
that he was breaking his promise. The boy, if he had done 
tight, would not have asked 



Baqimms ia ta improper manner. The Letter. 

2. He may ask something which, if granted, would tnter* 
fen w& Hkt v%^hJi9 or happimesM of olhers. There was a 
watch, we will imagine, hanging up in his father's house, 
used -by all the family, — the only time-piece accessible to 
them. Now supposing the boy, growing selfish and vain, 
and thinking that his importance among his comrades 
would be a little increased by a watch, should write to his 
father to send that to him. Who would think that his 
father would be obliged to comply on account of his parting 
promise to his son to supply all his wants? Christians very 
often make such selfish requests, and wonder why their 
prayers are not heard. A farmer who has one field which 
needs watering, will pray for rain with great earnestness, 
forgetting that God has to take care of the ten thousand 
fields all around his own, and that they perhaps need the 
sun. A mother who has a boy at sea, will pray for pros^ 
perous winds ybr him, forgetting that the ocean is whitened 
with sails all under God's care, and that the breeze which 
bears one onward, must retard another. But more cm this 
subject presently. 

3. He may ask in an improper manner. Suppose the 
father should take from the post office a letter in his son's 
hand-writing, and on breaking the seal, should read as 
follows: — 

" Dear Father, — 

" You must let me come home next week to Christmas. 
I wanted to come last year, but you would not let me, and 
now / must come. I want you to write me immediately, 
and send it back by the driver, telling me I may come. 

** I am your dutiful son, 

• 

Who would think that a father ought to grant a request 
made in such a way as this? It is to be feared that Chris- 
tians sometimes bring demands, instead of requests, to God. 

I have mentioned now three cases in which the father 
might, without breaking his promise, refuse the requests of 



48 YOUNG CHKISTIAN. [Ch. S. 

Our Savior's proioise. Prayers denied. 



his boy ; where it would be injurious to him, unjust to others, 
or where the request is made in an improper manner. All 
promises of such a sort as this are universally considered 
as liable to these exceptions. 

Our Savior tells us, ** Whatsoever ye shall ask the 
Father, in my name, he will do it." This is common 
language, such as men address to men, and is to be under- 
stood exactly in the same way — in just such a sense, and 
with just such exceptions. The language means, if it is 
honestly used, that one of our requests will, in ^ordinary 
cases, have a real influence with the Creator in regard to 
things entirely beyond our .control. It must mean, that, 
generally, all our proper requests will be granted. At the 
same time it must be liable to the exceptions above stated, 
which apply in all similu* cases. God must reserve the 
right to deny our requests when they are made in an im- 
proper spirit, and when they ask what would injure us, or 
interfere with the general good. 

If any of you have, in accordance with the views pre- 
sented in the two preceding chapters, confessed your past 
sins and chosen Jesus Christ for your friend, you will take 
great pleasure in bringing your requests to God. And you 
may, in doing this, sometimes pray for success in some 
enterprise, when God sees that it is on the whole .best thpt 
you should fail. A man may ask that God will place liim 
in some important station of influence or usefulness, when 
the eye that can see the whole discovers that the general 
good will be promoted by another arrangement. Thus in 
many similar ways your prayers may sometimes come 
within the excepted cases, and then God will not grant 
them. These cases, however, it may be hoped, you will 
generally avoid, and thus in a vast majority of instances 
your prayers will be heard. 

There is even among Christians a great deal of distrust 
of the power of prayer. Some think that prayer exerts a 
good influence upon their own hearts, and thus they con- 
tinue the practice, without, however, having any very 



Ch. 3.] PRATER. 4A 

Power ftf pny«f . Tba boy wkiog for a knife. 

c<Mrdial belief that thej are really listened to and granted 
08 requests, by the great Jehovah. Many persons imagine 
that prayer has an efficacy in some such way as this. A 
man asks God to protect and bless him in his business. 
By offering the prayer every day, he is reminded of his 
dependence, he thinks of the necessity of his own industry 
and patient effort, and thus, through the influence of his 
prayer, the causes of prosperity are brought to operate 
more fully in his case, and prosperity comes. 

This is indeed often one of the happy results of believing 
prayer; but it by no means embraces the whole import of 
the promise, *' Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father, he 
shall do it." The Father shall do it. This is a promise 
that God shall do something which we ask him to do, — ^not 
simply that the natural effect of our asking will be favorable 
in its influence upcMi us. 

There is another way in which it seems to me there is 
a great deal of want of faith in Grod in regard to the effi- 
cacy of prayer. It is oflen said that requests may not be 
granted in the precise form in which they were offered, but 
that they are always answered in some way or other. A 
mother, for instance, who has a son at sea, prays morning 
and evening for his safe return. Letter after letter comes, 
assuring her of his continued safety, until at last the sad 
news arrives, that his ship has been dashed upon a rock or 
sunk in the waves. Now can it be said that the mother's 
prayer was granted ? Suppose that she was, by this afflict- 
ing providence, weaned from the world and prepared for 
heaven, and thus inconceivably benefited by the event. 
Was this, in any common or correct use of language, 
granting the request in another form, or was it denying it 
because it was inconsistent with her greatest good? Sup- 
pose a child asks his father to let him keep a knife lie has 
found, and the father takes it away, knowing that he will 
probably injure himself with it. Is this granting the re^ 
quest in another form? No. We ought, whenever the 
particular request we make is not granted, to consider it a 

6 



60 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 3. 

The sick man uDexpectedly cured. BubmiwiTe spirit. 

denial, and to suppose that it comes under one of the cases 
of exceptions I have already specified. 

There is, indeed, such a thing as granting a request in 
another form from that in which it was made. A family, 
one of whose members is in feeble health, prays for that 
member, that God would restore him. They come sincere- 
ly and earnestly to the throne of grace, and ask God to 
spare his life and make him well. Instead however of 
growing better, he grows suddenly worse. He is attacked 
with violent sickness, and his friends think that their 
prayers cannot be heard, and suppose that they must follow 
him to the grave. The sickness however soon passes 
away, and instead of carrying him to the tomb, by means 
of some mysterious influence which is in such cases often 
exerted upon the constitution, he rises from his sick bed 
with renewed bodily powers, and as his strength gradually 
returns, he finds that his constitution is renewed and health 
entirely restored. Now this is granting the request, be- 
cause the thing requeatedy that is, the restoration to health, 
is obtained, but the manner was unexpected; but if the 
man should die, no matter what great benefits to all result-r 
ed from his death, it is certainly not right to say that the 
request was granted in any way. It was denied, because 
God saw it was best that it should be denied. 

Let us then keep constantly in view the fact, that our 
petitions are and must be often denied, — positively and 
absolutely refused. The language which our Savior uses, 
though without any specified exceptions, contains the ex- 
ceptions that in all human language are in all such cases 
implied. The feelings however which, in this view of the 
subject, we ought to cherish, may properly be presented 
under the following head. 

II. A submissive spirit in prayer. We ought unquestion- 
ably to bring a great many requests to God, relating to our 
daily pursuits. We ought to express to him our Common 
desires, ask success in our common enterprises and plans. 
Young persons, it seems to me, ought to do this far moi^ 



Ch. 3.] PRATER^ 61 

Prayen of tbe yoang. Delivemnee from dasfer. 

than they do. They ought to bring all their little interests 
and concerns, morning and evening, to their Friend abore. 
Whatever interests you, as I have already once or twice 
remarked, will interest him. Bring to him freely your lit- 
tle troubles and cares, and express your wants. If the 
young cannot come to Grod toiih their oton appropriaie and 
peculiar concerns^ they are in reality without a protector. 
If however we are in the habit of bringing all our wants to 
God, we shall oflen ask for something which it is far better 
for us not to have. We cannot always judge 'correctly; 
but unless we know that what we want is dangerous, or 
that it will be injurious, it is proper to ask for it. If we do 
or might know, to request it would be obviously wrong. 
David prayed very earnestly that his child might live, but 
God thought it not best to grant the petition. David did 
right to pray, for he probably did not know but that the re- 
quest might be safely granted. Let us feel therefore when 
we come with our petitions, that perhaps God will think it 
best for Us that they should be denied. 

This is peculiarly the case In praying for deliverance 
from danger. Our hearts may be relieved and lightened by 
comnutting ourselves to God's care, but we can never feel 
on that account sure that we are safe. God very oflen 
. makes sickness, or a storm at sea, or the lightning, or any 
other source of common danger and alarm, the means of 
removing a Christian from the world. You do not know 
but that he will remove you in this way. The next time a 
thunder storm arises in the west, it may be God's design to 
bring one of its terrific bolts upon your head, and you can- 
not of course avert it by simply asking God to spare you. 
He will listen to your prayer, take it into kind considera- 
tion, and if you ask in a proper spirit, he will probably give 
you a calm and happy heart, even in the most inmiinent 
danger. But you cannot be sure you will escape the light- 
ning. The ground of your peace must be, that God will 
do whcU 18 best, not that he will certainly do what you Vfish, 
"Ss, From one of the small seaport towns of New England, 



62 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Clu 3. 

The packet. The calm. Tbe CbristiaB timveller. 

a packet once set sail for Boston. These packets, which, 
are intended to carry passengers, have one large cabin. 
The berths (which perhaps I ought to infcnrm some of my 
young readers, are a sort of shelves, upon which pas- 
sengers at sea sleep, one above the other) are arranged 
around this cabin, and a movable partition, which can be 
thrown open by day, divides the room at night into two 
parts. On board one of these packets then, a few years 
ago, a number of persons, ladies and gentlemen, previously 
entire strangers to each other, found themselves slowly 
sailing out of an eastern harbor, on a coasting voyage of 
about two hundred miles. They did not know how long 
they were to be together, — ^what adventures might befall 
them, or what dangers they might share. They were how- 
ever to spend their time in the same room, and as they 
were tossing upon the waves in the same vessel, a sense of 
common interest and of common danger brought them at 
once to terms of intimacy. 

The next morning there was scarcely a breath of air. 
The vessel heaved gently on the water, whose surface was 
polished like glass, though it swelled and sunk with th^ 
uHuUlatiGns of distant storms. In the tedium of waiting 
for wind, each one of the passengers and crew amused 
himself in his. own way. Here you might see a cluster 
talking, — ^there two or three passengers gathering around 
a sailor who was letting down his line for fish. Others in 
various places, had their books. 

A Christian traveller who was present, sat down upon the 
quarter deck, and opened a little bundle of books and news* 
papers and tracts, which he had provided for the occasion. 

Presently a gentleman who had been sitting for half an 
hour gazing, for want of other employment, upon every 
sprig of sea weed or floating bubble he could see, advanced 
to him, and asked, ** Will you lend me something to read ?'* 

'* Certainly, sir, any thing I have; but most of my stock 
here is of a religious character, and I do not know whether 
you will take any interest in it." 



Gh. 3.] PRATSR. 5^ 

Books and tracts. The long passage. Tbe appraaelilDg slonB. 

The gentleman replied that he should. He selected a 
newspaper or a tract, took his seat again, and began to 
read. Presently a lady made the same request ;-Hothers 
looked as though they wished to, but hesitated. Our 
traveller observing this, said to all within hearing, 

*' If others of the company would like any thhig I have, 
I should be happy to have them take it. I always carry 
a supply of reading when I travel, though I select my 
books, perhaps too much to suit my own taste alone. 
What I have here is chiefly of a religious character, and it 
may not be so generally interesting on that account. You 
are heartily welcometoany of these however, if you please. 
Sitting here with nothing to do is rather dull." 

The books and tracts were soon generally in circulation, 
the passengers were nearly all busy in reading them, and 
the time passed swiftly away. Our traveller became 
known as a Christian; and were I now upon the subject of 
Christian influence, I might describe many interesting oc*- 
currences which took place, the Christian acquaintances 
which he formed, and the conversations which he had with 
various persons on board the vesseL But I am going so 
much into detail in this story, that I fear you have almost 
lost sight of our subject, which is the duty of praying to 
God with the feeling that he will, after all, do as he pleases 
about granting the request. I must hasten to the conclu- 
sion of my story. 

The passage was an uncommonly long one. They 
hoped to reach their port in two days, but after ten had 
passed away, they were still far from Boston, night was 
oomiAg on, and what was still worse, the captain, who stood 
anxiously i^ the helm, said there were signs of a terrific 
storm. A dark haze extended itself over the whole south- 
em sky. The swell of the sea increased. The rising 
wind moaned in most melancholy tones through the rigging. 
The captain gave orders to take in sail, to make every 
thing snug about the vessel, and had*supper prepared ear- 
lier than usual, " because," said he, ** I expect, from the 

6* 



54 revNQ camisTiAir. [Ch. 9. 

The iloffm iaeiettna. Tbey watch the light. 



looks of the sky yonder, that an hour hence you will not 
manage a cup of tea very handily.*' 

The passengers ate their sapper in silence. Their 
hearts were AiU of foreboding fears. The captain endea- 
vored to encourage them. He said that they were not far 
from Boston. He hoped soon to see the light. ' If they 
could make out to get into the harbor before it began to 
blow very hard, they should be safe. ** Yes," said he, ** I 
am in hopes to land you all safely at the T before ten 
o'clock.* Unless we can get fairly into the harbor, how- 
ever, I shall have to put about and stand out to sea; for if 
we are to have a storm, we must not stay tossing about 
near the rocks." 

The storm increased. Sail after sail was reefed or taken 
in, but still the spirits of the company were sustained by 
knowing that they were advancing toward Boston, and by 
the hope that they should soon stand upon the firm shore. 
So great however was the pitching and rolling of the ship, 
that most of the passengers retreated to their berths and 
braced themselves there. A few of the more hardy or ex- 
perienced remained upon deck, clinging to the masts or to 
the rigging, and watching with intense interest the distant 
glimmering of the Boston light, which had a short time be- 
fore come into view. 

** We are not very far from the light," said the captain, 
** but it blows pretty hard." 

" Do you think we shall get in ?" asked a passenger. 

'' I do not know," said he, shaking his head, "it is a 
bad night. I will however try for it." 

The passengers watched the light. They observed that 
the captain did not like to talk while he was at the helm, 
and they forbore to ask him questions. They knew that 
as long as they were going toward the light there was 
hope, and they watched it therefore with a very eager eye. 
Sometimes the ship would veer a little from her course and 
as the light moved olT to the right or to the lefl, they were 

* The T, a noted wharf at BostQn. 



Ch. 9.] FEATsm. 55 

The itoni teciwMS. Going about. Sjriittiiii of the topMil. 



filled with solicitude lest the captain was going to abandon 
the effort and put out again to sea. 

He kept however steadily on another half hour, though 
wind and waye seemed to do their utmost to compel him to 
return. The light grew larger and brighter as they ap- 
proached it, but the wind increased so rapidly that the cap- 
tain seemed much perplexed to know what to do. He put 
the helm into the hands of a sailor, and went forward and 
stood there looking upon the ditfk gloomy horizon until he 
was completely drenohed with the spray. In a few min* 
utes he returned suddenly. 

** 'Tis of no use," said he, and then taking the helm 
again, he called out in his loudest voice to the sailors who 
were before, which however the roaring of the waves al- 
most drowned, *' Ready, about." 

The sailors answered, *' Ready." 

A moment afler the captain's voice was agnin heard, in the 
loud but monotonous tone of command, '* Helm's a-lee." 

There was bustle at the bows of the ship. A great sail 
flapped in the wind with a sound of thunder; the ropes rat- 
tled; the boom swung with violence across the deck; and 
the bow, which had been pointed directly to the light-house, 
their only star of hope, now swept swiftly around the hori- 
zon, until it lefl it behind them. The vessel plunged into 
the waves; and to complete this scene of terror, a loud 
sound, like a clap of rattling thunder, burst close over their 
heads, arousing every passenger and producing universal 
alarm. It was the splitting of the topsail. 

The melancholy intelligence was soon spread below, that 
the effort to reach Boston was abandoned, and that they 
were now standing out to the open sea„ and that consequently 
they must be all night exposed unsheltered to the violence 
of the storm. Although the commotion had been already 
enough to fill the passengers with fear, yet to an eye ac- 
customed to the ocean, there had not been any real danger. 
But real danger soon came. The wind increased, and the 
vessel labored so much in struggling against its fury, that 



56 TOUNO cHmisTiAir. [Ch. S 

D^ger. Protection never oeitaia* 

even the captain thought it doubtful whether the^ ahould 
ever see the land. 

When I commenced this description I had no intention 
of giving so full a narrative of the circumstances of a storm 
at sea, and perhaps mj reader has ahnost forgotten what is 
my subject, and for what purpose I have introduced this in- 
cident. Mj design was to illustrate the feelings with which 
prayer ought to be offered in danger, and I wished there- 
fol^e to give jou a vivid idea of a situation of danger on 
the deep. Our passengers were now in imminent danger. 
They were all in their berths below, for so violent was the 
motion of the vessel that it was not safo to attempt to stand. 
The wish was intimated by some, and the desire soon ex- 
tended to all, that a prayer should be ofiered, and they 
looked to our Christian traveller to express their petitions 
at the throne of grace. 

Now, many persons may have such conceptions of the 
nature of prayer, as to suppose that if this company should 
now sincerely unite in commending themselves to God's 
protection, that he would take care of them, and that they 
might feel perfectly safe. Many cases have occurred in 
which Christians, who have been in the midst of danger, 
have fled to Jehovah for protection, and have had their 
fears immediately quelled, and felt a calm and happy assu- 
rance that God would bring them through in safety. But 
such an assurance is not well grounded. Are real Chris- 
tians never lost at sea ? Do real Christians who on their 
sick beds pray that God will restore them to health, never 
die 7 Is a Christian who, on commencing a journey asks 
divine protection, never overturned in a coach ? Is the 
family which always asks, in its evening prayer, that God 
will grant them quiet repose, never called up by the sudden 
sickness of a child, or aroused at midnight by a cry of fire? 
Facts universally testify that God does not grant every re- 
quest. He reserves to himself the right, afler hearing the 
petition, to grant or to deny, as may seem best io him. 

Then you will say, what good does- it do to pray to God 



Ch. 3.] YEATKR. 67 

Object of pnyer io danger. Socrates. Hia peace of mind 

in danger, if we can have no assurance that we shall be 
safe? It does great good. You cannot be sure that yon 
will be certainly preserved from that danger, but you can 
rest calmly and peacefully in the assurance that God will 
do what iaonthe whole for the best. ' * And will this feeling, " 
you ask, ** enable any one to rest in peace while he is out 
at sea in a. storm, and in danger every moment of sinking?" 
Yes, it will, if fully possessed. If we could feel assured 
that God was our friend, and if we had entire confidence in 
him, no danger would terrify us; we should be calm and 
happy in all situations. Christians have very often been 
calm and happy when not danger merely but certain death 
was approaching, so strong has been their confidence in 
God. Even Socrates, who had no revelation to guide him, 
and to whom the future must have been consequently very 
dark and uncertain, even he met his fate not merely with 
fortitude, but with calmness and peace, through the trust he 
reposed in his heavenly Protector. 

He was in a cold dungeon, where his enemies had im- 
prisoned him from jealousy of his extensive influence in 
behalf of virtue. He had been condemned to die, and in 
a few days the cup of poison was to be given him to drink. 
His wife came to his prison to bid him farewell; but she 
was so overwhelmed with agitation and sorrow that she 
could not remain. His other friends were around him in 
tears, — but he was all the time unmoved. He talked of 
the principled of duty, and of his hopes of a happy immor- 
tality after the poison should have done its work. Pres- 
ently they brought him the fatal cup. His friends were 
overwhelmed with the most agitating sorrow, — ^but he did 
not fear. He seemed to confide in divine protection, and 
took the poison from the jailor's hands and drank it all. 
He walked about a little while, and then laid down upon 
his bed and died with apparent resignation. And shall a 
Christian, who knows the affection of his heavenly Father, 
and who knows that there is a future world of peace and 
joy, shall he refuse to be calm in danger, unless he can 



58 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 3. 

Tnie compoflure in danger. The prayer. 

^M. I _ I ■■ — ■ ■ 

first be sure that he shall certainly be preserved uninjured.^ 
No. When we ask God's protection in danger, we may, 
in all ordinary cases, expect protection. He has promised 
to grant our requests, unless special reasons prevent. Now 
as we may not know what these special reasons are, we 
cannot be certain of security, and consequently the foun- 
dation of our peace and happiness at such times must be, 
not the belief that we are certainly safe, but a calm and 
happy acquiescence in God's will. Not a sparrow falls to 
the ground without his knowledge — still sparrows often do 
fall. All that we can be absolutely certain of is, that what- 
ever happens to us will come with the knowledge and per- 
mission of our best and greatest Friend — and every calami- 
ty which comes in this way, we ought to be willing to meet. 
But to return to our ship. The passengers were all be- 
low. It was no longer safe for them to attempt to stand in 
any part of the vessel, and the Christian traveller, looking 
out from the berth to which he had retreated, called upo):i 
God to save them from their common danger. What 
prayer he offered I do not know. I learned the circum- 
stances of the danger of this packet, first from a father on 
shore who was waiting the arrival of his boy, who was on 
board when the storm came on, and aflerward from several 
of the passengers when they had all safely reached the 
land. I do not therefore know what the prayer was, but 
that I may the more distinctly convey to my young readers 
an idea of the spirit with which prayer in danger should be 
offered, I will write one which, it seems to me, might with 
propriety, on such an occasion, be offered. Let us imagine 
then that the terrified passengers in their various berths in 
the dark cabin listen and hear, as well as the howling of 
the tempest and the roaring of the waves will permit, the 
following petition, in which they endeavor cordially to join: 

" Almighty God, thou hast promised to be with two or 
three who unite to call upon thee, wherever they are ; we 
come therefore with full confidence that thou art with us 



f 



Ch. 9.] FRATKR. 59 

The imiyer at tea. Elfects. 

now, and that thou, who dost rule wind and waves, art 
really present, to hear what we have to say as we come 
before thee. 

** Grant, Holy Spirit, that all of us who are now present, 
exposed to this danger, may come with our whole hearts to 
thee. When in health and safety we break thy commands 
and neglect our duty, and then when danger comes, and no 
arm but thine can help, we are ashamed and afraid to come 
to thee. But O, our Father, let not one of us hesitate 
now. We thank thee for teaching us, by so irresistible a 
proof, how dependent we are upon thee. May we all be 
willing to learn the lesson, and may we bow humbly before 
thee now, even if we have never bowed before. 

'* We come to ask that thou wilt protect us in this dan- 
ger, and bring us safely to our hom^s. Thou canst pro- 
tect from greater dangers than these. WiU thou protect 
us. Save us from finding our watery grave here in the 
deep, and save our beloved parents and brothers, and sis- 
ters, at home, from the anxiety they must even now feel, 
and from the anguish such tidings of our destruction must 
give. Almighty Father, save us, we pray thee. 

" Nevertheless, not our will but thine be done. We see 
But a part, and thou seest the whole. If thou seest it to 
be best that we should go down here to a watery grave, we 
would acquiesce in thy will. We have solemnly given 
ourselves to thee, and chosen thee for our portion. We 
have, if we love thee -at all, committed ourselves to thy 
care and to thy disposal. We have rejoiced in this depen- 
dence upon thee when we have been in health and safety, 
and we will not shrink from our covenant to be thine, now 
we are in danger. Do with us as seemeth good in thy 
sight, only give to us all a calm and happy acquiescence 
in thy will. Pardon our sins, so that we may be at peace 
with thee; and whether we are to live or die, may our 
hearts be thine, through Christ; our Redeemer. Amen." 

Such may have been the spirit of the prayer. Such I 
presume was the spirit of the petition offered on this occa- 
sion. Every heart which will sincerely offer such a prayer 
when in danger, will feel relieved from its solicitude and 
fear. I am aware that in a case of imminent exposure of 
life, the terror excited is often a physical feeling which 
moral causes will not fully control. Still this calm acqui- 



60 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch, 3. 

. - ■ — 

Sincerity of prayer. Ardw in prayer. All can imiy who like to. 

escence in Grod's superior wisdom and power will do more 
than any other feeling can to produce peace. 
r- III. Sincerity of prayer. Prayer is, in all ordinary cases^ 
and it ought to be, a calm and peaceful exercise, not an 
agitating one. Many persons wait the hour of prayer in 
trying to feel some deep agitation, imagining that sincere 
and acceptable prayer cannot be offered without it. You 
must be sincere when you pray, but you may be calm. 
Read our Savior's model of prayer — "Our Father who art 
in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come ; 
thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this 
day our daily bread, &c." What a peaceful, quiet spirit 
it breathes! The great question in regard to your prayer 
being acceptable is this: Do you wish for any thing which 
you know no one but God can grant, and are you willing 
to ask him in the name of Jesus Christ.^ If so, come at 
once and ask him. Ask with that degree of feeling which 
your interest in the request prompts, and no more. If you 
wish to increase your feeling, you cannot do it in any way, 
except by increasing your interest in the request. You may 
give additional vividness to your idea of the value of the 
object sought, by thinking of it, and considering how great 
a blessing it would be to you if granted, and thus you may 
increase your ardor in prayer. But all direct attempts to 
produce this ardor by effort will fail ; or if they succeed in 
producing some sort of excitement, it is not a healthy, 
acceptable interest in prayer. 

Now, after this explanation, those who read this can 
easily tell whether they are prepared to offer, this night, 
acceptable prayer to God. Do you wish to have God take 
care of you while you sleep ? I do not mean, do you wish 
to be safe — every body wishes to be safe; but do you wish 
to have God at your bedside, protecting you ? If you do 
not, if the feeling of his presence would be a burden to you 
and a restraint, of course you will not ask him to come. 
But suppose you are desirous of having him present, are 



Ch. 3.] FRATEE. 61 

Eight i^lrit of prayer. Diffleoltf. 

^ ■ 

you then willing to ask him? I do not inquire whether you 
are willing to struggle a long time with your heart to awa- 
ken deep feeling enough to justify, in your opinion, coming 
to God. Are you willing, as you retire to rest to-night, to 
breathe a short and simple petition to Grod to come and be 
your friend and protector for the night, to acknowledge that 
you do not deserve his protection, and that you ask it in 
the name of Jesus Christ? If you are willing to do this, 
and if you actually do it, and if you ask with that degree 
of*feeling which your sincere desire for God's protection 
prompts, you may lie down in peace, sure that you have 
offered acceptable prayer. 

But here I must mention a difficulty which many and 
many a time has been brought to me by serious-minded 
persons who wish to pray to God, but who think they should 
not pray aright. I presume this difficulty has occurred to 
many who will read this chapter. I fancy I can perceive 
thoughts like these passing through the mind of some 
thoughtful conscientious one, who has taken up this book 
honestly desiring to find in it religious instruction. 

*' If I understand the author right, he says, that if I tp' 
night pray to God to protect me, just becatue I want pro^ 
ieetion, or rather because I want his protection, that will be 
acceptable prayer. But it seems to me that that would be 
mere selfishness. I wish for a great many things which I 
know none but God can grant, but I ask them only because 
I feel the need of them, it is only a selfish desire for my own 
happiness, and I cannot expect to be heard. I should like 
such a friend as Jesus Christ, that I might come to him in 
all my trials- and troubles, and might seek strength from 
him in temptation. But then this is all love of my own 
happiness. I cannot be happy in sin; — there is a fore- 
boding and a burden from which I wish to be relieved. 
But unless I have a higher motive than a wish to obtain 
pe^e and happiness myself, I cannot expect to be heard." 

I have no doubt there are multitudes who are substan- 
tially in this state of mind. They are deterred by thi« 

6 



[Ch. 3. 



difficulty from coining cordially to their great Friend above. 
I have stated the difficulty as distinctly and fully as I can, 
adopting as nearly as possible the wordg ia which it has 
often been presented to me. I hope you will attend care- 
fully to my reply, and if it ia satisfactory now, lay it up in 
your memories, and neyer be embarrassed by this difficulty 
again. 

My reply is substantially this — that a detire for Ike peace 
and happinett of ptely is a perfectly proper motive for 
coming to God. It is the motive which the Bible every 
where presents. It is not, in any proper sen^ of the term, 
selfishness. 

First, I say it is a perfectly proper motive. God is our 
great Creator and Protector, and he made us weak and 
dependent, but desirous of peace and happiness, for the 
very purpose of having us look to him for it. He never 
intended to make a universe of stoics, in which each one 
should be entirely inditTerent. about his own happiness. 
The spectacle which he wishes to see is all happy, and all 
happy tn kim. He wishes us to desire and seek his happi- 
ness, and to come to him for it. 

Again, I say that Ike Bible every where presents the 
peace and liappiin'^s of piety as the motive why we should 
seek it. Jesus slood and cried in a great concourse of 
people, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy 
laden, and I will give you rest." How strange that any 
one cau imngiiie ;ifter this, that a love of rest and a desire 
to be relieved of burden, is not a proper motive for coming 
to Jesus Christ! The prodigal son, perhaps the most 
Striking and complete emblem of the penitent sinner which 
the Bible contains, saya, "How many hired servants of my 
father have bread enough and to spare, while I perish with 
hunger! I will arise and go to my father," Who would 
(bink, after reading this parable, that any sinner would be 
afrud to come to the Savior because his motive ia to have 
his wants supplied i Look at the thousands who came to 
our Savior to be healed of their diseases, or to be rescue^ 



Ch. 3.] PRATER. 63 

A nobleman. Tlie deak. 

from some suffering. Did he ever turn them away because 
they came for their own benefit ? A nobleman came once. 
His son was at the point of death. Parental afiection 
urged him on. He came and begged the Savior to come 
and save his son. He was so far from being under the 
influence of any high philosophical notions, of faith ''and 
disinterestedness, that when the Savior began to speak of 
faith and the influence of miracles upon it, he almost inter- 
rupted him by saying, **Come down, ere my child die.** 
And did the Savior repulse him, and say he was influenced 
by wrong motives ? It was not a wrong motive. He 
wanted happiness, and he was willing to come to Jesus Christ 
for it. And God wishes to see the whole human race 
eager for the pure joys of piety, and flocking around his 
throne to obtain them. O, if any of you are weary with 
the burden of sin, and long for the peace and happiness of 
piety, come boldly for it. Never fear that God will call it 
selfishness, and drive you away. 

Once more; I said this could not be called selfishness; 
desiring the happiness of virtue, and taking the proper 
measures to preserve it, never is called selfishness^ except 
by persons lost in the mazes of metaphysics. Suppose 
two children, whose parents had taught them habits of 
regularity and order so fully that they take pleasure in the 
systematic arrangement of all their little property, come 
and ask their father to let them have a large desk which 
stands useless in the garret, to bring to their little room, 
as a place of deposit for their books, aftd papers, and toys. 
Suppose now he should inquire of the boys, and should 
find that they have planned the disposal of their eflects 
exactly in the shelves and drawers of the desk, and are 
anticipating much enjoyment from the expected acquisition. 
He sees their countenances brightened with animation as 
they wait breathlessly to catch his answer, and then to fly 
away and commence the removal. Now suppose the father 
should stop them by such absurd words as these: 

"My boys, I am very sorry to find that you are so 



• ^ 



64 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 3 

Tbe father*! reAiaal. Heal MlfishneM. Prayer of iaith. 



selfish. I strongly suspect that the reason why jou want 
that desk is because you expect some pleasure from it. 
Perhaps you think you will enjoy your property more by 
seeing it well arranged in such a good store-house, or per- 
haps you think you can spend rainy afternoons in your 
room more pleasantly if you have it. Now, that is very 
wrong; that is selfishness. To desire any thing for the 
sake of the happiness which it affords, is selfishness. Un- 
less you can ask for some better motive than that, I cannot 
grant your requests." 

I do not think that any gravity of countenance which 
could be assumed would lead the boys to imagine that 
their father could be serious in this. Certainly no parent 
would ever say it ; and if earthly parents know how to give 
good gifts to their children, how much more shall your 
heavenly Father give his holy Spirit to them that ask him? 
that is, to them that ask him for it as a good gift^ — some- 
thing which is to do good to them. 

But what is selfishness? Why, if the desk, instead of 
lying useless in the garret, was used by the older brothers, 
and th« younger wished to take it away, that would be 
selfishness. A disposition to encroach tipon the rights and 
enjoyments of others in order to secure our own, is selfish- 
ness; and we must not come to God with this spirit. If 
any one however desires peace and happiness, and is sat- 
isfied that God only can give it, let him come and ask. 
** Ho, every one that ihirsteth, come ye to the waters." 
God never will repulse you, because thirst urges you to 
come. 

It is a very common impression among young persons, 
and perhaps some of mature minds are not entirely free 
from the same perplexity, that in order to render prayer 
acceptable, the Christian must have a full belief that his 
request will be granted. This is called the prayer of faith. 
Hence many persons when they strongly desire soi^e 
spiritual blessing for themselves or others, make a great 
deal of effort, when they pray for it, to believe that they^ 



Ch. 3.] PRAYER. 65 

The morning prayer meeting. Prayer for a reTiyaL 

«Aa// receive ii. Come with me to the morning prayer 
meeting. A few Christians whose duties of business press 
upon them- during the day, assemble by the gray light of 
the dawn around the early fire of some Christian neighbor. 
They read and reflect a moment upon a few verses of the 
Bible. They sing a hymn, and are just about to kneel 
before God to unite in prayer lor his blessing upon them- 
selves and upon their families and neighbors during the 
day, when perhaps one of the number addresses the meet- 
ing as follows: 

*' My brethren, we come this morning to ask great bless- 
ings, but tre must have faith, or we cannot expect that God 
will hear us« He has promised to hear us, and to give us 
whatever we ask, believing. Let us believe then firmly and 
cordially that God will hear us. And let us aak for great 
blessings. God is ready to give us the greatest, if we only 
have faith." 

They then unite in prayer; and there kneels with them, 
in a comer of the room, unnoticed perhaps by all but God, 
a young disciple who has hesitatingly asked of the master 
of the house permission to enjoy the privilege of joining 
that circle of prayer. She understands the exhortation 
which was given to mean, that she must fully believe that 
the blessings to be asked will certainly be granted. She 
tries therefore, as she listens to the words of the prayer, 
to believe this. Perhaps the first request is that God 
would pour out his Spirit upon all present, and purify them, 
and keep them that day devoted to his service and free 
from all sin. Now she thinks it right to pray for this ; she 
sincerely desires it, but she cannot really believe that it 
will be fully grantad. Then she reproves herself for her 
unbelief ; that is, for the feeling that it is not probable that 
all present will be perfectly pure and holy during that day. 
She struggles against this feeling, but she cannot conquer 
it. Belief rests on evidence, not on determination. 

The next petition is for a powerful revival of pure re- 
ligion in that neighborhood; that, by a divine influence 

6* 



66 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 9 

Prayer for a revWal. Difficulty. God decides. 



exerted over their hearts, Christians niaj.be led to love 
their Maker more and to serve him better; and that those 
wlio are living in sin may univ^srsally be aws^ened to a 
conviction of their guilt and danger, and be persuftded to 
serve Jehovah. Now our young Christian sincerely de- 
sires this, — she hopes for it, — ^but she is distressed be- 
cause she -cannot cordially believe that it will certainly 
come, and she considers this feeling a want of faith. She 
rises from her posture of devotion anxious and unhappy, 
because she does not feel absolutely sure that what she 
has asked is on the whoie for the best, and that it will cer- 
tainly be granted. 

Now all her difficulty arises from misunderstanding the 
nature of the faith which ought to be exercised in prayer. 
The remarks made meant, or they ought to have meant^ 
that we are to come to God confident that he will do wkai 
is on the whole for the best, — ^nbt positive that he wOl do 
exactly what we ask. God never has given assemblies of 
Christians authority to mark out a course for him to pursue, 
in such a sense as that he shall be bound to pursue it. He 
has promised to give us what we ask ; but still the excep- 
tions, universally understood to be implied by this language 
in other cases, are attached to it in this. We must offer 
. our petitions, trusting in God, — believing, as the Bible ex- 
presses it, that he is, and that he is the rewarder of them 
that diligently seek him; but after we have offered our 
most earnest requests, we must leave the matter with him. 
This is what is meant by the prayer of faith, so often allu- 
ded to by Christian ministers. And this was the kind of 
faith our Savior required of those who came to him to be 
healed. <* Believest thou," said he, " that I am able to do 
this?" not that I shall do it. When the apostles and 
brethren came together to pray for Peter, they were so far 
from believing that their prayer for his deliverance would 
be granted, that they were incredulous when they saw him. 
They trusted in God, and believed that he would do what 
was right. This confidence in him was the faith they exer- 



Ch. 3«] PRATER. 67 

The mother. God daeidM. 

cised. Believing that ye shall receive them, then, must 
mean — ^believing that Grod is able and willing to grant, 
except in those lew cases where imperious reasons compel 
him to denj. He sees many material considerations in 
every case which are entirely beyond our view, and we 
must leave him to decide. 

It is very often said that prayer for Bpiritual hletsings will 
always be heard and granted. But we can be no more abso- 
lutely certain in this case than in others. Grod does often 
withhold the influences of his Spirit, as we all know full 
well. Who of us can tell what are the causes? Look at 
yonder mother. She has an only son. Her first prayer in 
regard to him was that God would make him his. She 
consecrated him to his Maker's service at his earliest 
breath. She rocked him to sleep in infancy, singing a 
hymn of acknowledgment that he was the Lord's. As 
soon as he could understand the lesson, she taught him his 
duty to his great Creator. She has often knelt 'with him 
in prayer, and her whole heart is set upon having her only 
son devoted to the service of God. But all her efforts are 
fruitless, and her prayers are not answered. Her son 
grows up in indifference about God, which perhaps be- 
comes, when he has arrived at maturity, open hostility 
How many such mothers there are ! She was praying, too, 
for spiritual blessings, for the convergion of a son to God, 
but the sovereign Ruler leaves him, notwithstanding these 
supplications, to his own chosen way. 

Yes, God is a sovereign. He dispenses all his favors as 
he himself thinks best. He listens to our requests, and 
takes them into kind consideration, but he reserves to him- 
self the right to make the ultimate decision. Let us come 
to him then with real sincerity, and with a deep sense of 
our need of the blessings we ask, but always with this 
humble feeling, that God sees farther than we, and can 
judge better, — and thiat he will himself make the ultimate 
decision in regard to every thing we ask. 

And we must remember that this is just as true with 



68 . TOUNO CHRISTIAN. "[Ch. 3. 

A fltvorabia answer to prayer never certain. Bub^piaaive eplrit. 

regard to spiritual blessings as to any other. The cause 
of religion advances in the world in a manner which we 
cannot predict or account for. I do not pretend to say 
precisely how far and in what respects this . progress de- 
pends upon the agency of man, and how far upon power 
which is in the hands of God. But every one, whatever 
may be his ideas of the boundlessness of human freedom, 
acknowledges that a most important agency in determining 
where the Grospel shall triumph, and where it shall fail, and 
in regulating its progress throughout the earth, rests in the 
hands of the Supreme. Now what Christian is there who 
can understand the principles which guide Jehovah in the 
exercise of the power which he so obviously possesses? 
How many secretly think that the sudden conversion of a 
whole city, perhaps, to God, would be a glorious achieve- 
ment of the Redeemer, and fancy that if they had the 
power over the heart which God possesses, they would 
produce the effect at once, and exhibit the magnificent 
spectacle of the undisputed reign of holiness and peace 
in a community of one hundred thousand. Suppose now 
every Christian in some great city were to unite in a 
sincere and heartfelt prayer that God would pour out his 
Spirit universally among them, and in a single day awaken 
all the multitudes around them to piety. It is indeed un- 
questionably true, that if this united prayer should be 
offered, and should be accompanied by the efforts ' which 
sincerity in the prayer would insure, most uncommon ef- 
fects would follow. But who believes that the whole city 
would be converted in a day? No one. Why? Because 
this is not according to the analogy of God's working in 
spreading the Gospel. And why docs he not work in this 
way, converting whole communities at once, leading them 
to him by his own direct agency upon the heart, as he now 
oflen leads individuals in silence and solitude ? Why does 
not God work in this manner ? Some one may say, because 
Christians are so cold and negligent in duty. Why then 
does not the power which raised up Paul, raise up thou- 



Ch. 3.] PRATER. 69 

Prmyara for tin young. Danger of perrerrion. 

sands like him now, and enkindling within them the spirit 
and devotedness of the great apostle, send them^ forth to 
bring the world at once to him? — ^Who can tell? 

No: we cannot direct. God guides by his own wisdom 
the chariot of his coming. We can ask, but we cannot 
dictate. If we attempt to take the reins, he holds them up 
far above our reach, and the wheels roll on where God 
points the way. 

The experienced Christian who reads these remarks, 
intended to show that God really controls and directs every 
thing relating to the progress of piety in the world, will 
immediately say, ''How liable are we to pervert this truth, 
so as to excuse our own neglect of duty." Yes, it is so. 
Men are every where so prone to throw off responsibility 
from themselves, that the minister of the Gospel is oflen 
almost afraid to prescribe fully and cordially Grod's supreme 
power over the heart, for fear that men will lose their sense 
of their own accountability. A mother will ask that God 
will change the hearts of her children, and sometimes wait, 
as she expresses it, for Grod's time to come, while she in 
the meantime does nothing, or at most she goes over the 
same formal round of duties, without any of that spirit, and 
enterprise, and ingenuity which she would exercise if she 
knew that something depended upon her own eETorts. But 
this perversion of scripture truth is not necessary or una- 
voidable. However difficult it may be for us to understand 
how man can be fully free and fully accountable, while God 
retains so much* direct power over his heart as the Bible 
80 distinctly describes, — it is possible cordiaUy to feel the 
accountability, and at the same time sincerely to acknow- 
ledge the dependence. Look at the case of that Christian 
teacher. She prays most earnestly that God would come 
and bless the school to which she belongs. She brings 
individual cases in secrecy and solitude before Grod. She 
prays that faults may be forgiven — ^froward dispositions 
softened — and all brought under the influence of Christian 
love. She asks that Grod will pour out his Spirit and difiuse 



70 yOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 3 

\ — — ■ ' 

The humble yet active tORcber. . Conclusion. 

peace and happiness over the school-room, improving every 
character, purifying and ennobling every heart, and making 
the dejected happy, and the happy happier still. She has 
seen such an influence diffused over a school — she knows 
it is from above, and she looks to Him who rules human 
hearts to come into her circle with his benign influences 
once more. Now, does she after this go away and spend 
her time in inaction, on the ground that God' only can 
change the heart, and that she has done all in her power 
by bringing the case to him ? No, she comes to her morn- 
ing duties in the school-room with a heart full of desire to 
do something to promote what she has asked God to bestow. 
And she does accomplish something. By her kindness she 
wins her companions to her confidence and love, and in 
thousand nameless ways which never can be described, but 
which a heart full of love will always be discovering, she 
carries forward very effectually in her little circle the cause 
for which she prays. 

It is so universally. When a minister allows his sens^ 
of his entire dependence on God to become feeble or indis- 
tinct, his efforts, instead of increasing, diminish. It may 
be called the Christian paradox, that he who, in theory, 
ascribes least- efHcacy to human efforts and most to the 
Spirit of God in the salvation of men, is ordinarily most 
indefatigable in those very efforts which he knows are of 
^emselves utterly fruitless and vain. 

And here I might close this long chapter, by urging my 
readers to commence immediately the practice of bringing 
all their wants and cares to God. I trust some have been 
persuaded by it to do so. Some of my young readers how- 
ever probably wish to know what became of the packet 
ship which I left in imminent danger out in the bay; for 
that narrative is substantially true, though I was not an eye 
witness of the scene. When I lefl them, they were tossing 
about upon the waves; the storm was increasing, the cap* 
tain had almost given them over for lost, and those of the 
passengers who were not prepared to die were greatly 



Ch. 3.] PRATER. 71 

The storm subflidea. Safe mirival at Provinoetown. 

agitated by remorse and terror. Things continued in this 
state for some hours, and very few of those on board ex- 
pected to see another morning. The passengers in the 
cabin however before long, perceived that the violence of 
the tempest was a little abating; the thunder of the wind 
and waves grew somewhat less; and though the pitching 
and tossing of the ship rather increased than diminished, 
they began to cherish a little hope ; some of the number 
even fell into a troubled sleep. 

At last there were indications of the morning. The dim 
form of objects in the cabin began to be a little more dis- 
tinct. The gray light of day looked down through the 
narrow window of the deck. As the passengers aroused 
themselves, one afler another, and looked forth from their 
berths, they perceived at once that the danger was over. 
They went to the deck, clinging to something firm for sup- 
port, for the wind was still brisk, and the sea still heaved 
and tumbled in great commotion. But the danger was 
over. The sky was clear. A broad zone of light extended 
itself in the east, indicating the approaching sun: and not 
many miles distant there was extended a level sandy shore 
lined with dwellings, and opening to a small harbor, filled 
with vessels which had sought shelter there from the fury 
of the storm. It was Erovincetown, at the extremity of the 
Cape. I need not say that the passengers and crew assem- 
bled once more, before they landed, at the throne of grace, 
to give thanks to God for having heard their prayer and 
granted them protection. 



72 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 4. 



Neglecting duty. 



CHAPTER IV. 

CONSEaUENCES OF NEGLECTING DUT7. 
« If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them. 



9> 



I HAVE now, in the several chapters which the reader 
has already had the opportunity of perusing, endeavored 
clearly to explain the first steps to be taken in Christian 
duty, and the principles and feelings by which they ought 
to be guided, and I think that all who have read these 
pages must have understood clearly and distinctly what 
they ought to do. Take for example the subject of the 
first chapter — Confession. You cannot read or even think 
upon that subject for half an hour, without seeing plainly 
that you have disobeyed God again and again, and that 
you have, by thus doing what you know to be wrong, de- 
stroyed your peace of mind and displeased your Maker. 
This no one can deny. There is a vast variety of religious 
opinion and religious controversy in the world, but I be- 
lieve no sect, believing the existence of the Deity, was ever 
heard of, which maintained that man does not do wrong, or 
that he ought not to acknowledge his sins to God. 

But when you saw clearly that you had done wrong, and 
destroyed your peace, did you go and seek this reconcilia' 
tion? How many probably read that chapter, and distinctly 
understood what duty it urged upon them, and saw the 
reasonableness of that duty, and yet shut the book and laid 
it away, without ever intending at all to set resolutely about 
doing it. To understand clearly what duty is, and to have 
a disposition to do it, are very different things. 

I have during the preceding chapters been explaining 
what the duty of my readers is. I have said scarcely any 
thing to persuade you to do it, and as I have gone on from 
page to page, and endeavored so to explain and illustrate 
the principles of piety that every one could clearly under- 
stand, the melcmcholy reflection has often forced itself 



Ch. 4.] CONSEQUEIfCBS Of IfBOLBCTING DUTY. 73 

Iigury which this book will do. The dltobedient child. 

^ ■ ■■ I ■■ ■■ ■ ^- ■■■■■■ Ml I I ■ ■ m » I ■— ■■ M» ■ »»i ^^m^t^^^^ 

upon me, " How many now will read or hear read thetra 
things, and yet entirely neglect to do any thing I describe." 
"Melancholy reflection!" you will say, perhaps, ''why do 
you call it a melancholy reflection ? If some are induced to 
do their duty in consequence of your explanations, you 
may rejoice in the good which is done, and not think at all 
of those who disregarded what you say. The book will 
certainly do them no harm." 

Will do them no harm ? I wish that could be true. But 
it is not. The religious teacher cannot console himself 
with the thought that when his eflbrts do no good, they will 
do no harm. For he must, if he speaks distinctly, and 
brings fairly forward a subject of duty, cause every one of 
-his readers to decide /or it or against it; and when a person 
decides against duty, is he not injured ? Is not good princi- 
ple defeated or weakened, and his heart hardened against 
a future appeal? 

The chapter on Confession of Sin, for example, has been 
undoubtedly read by multitudes who shut the book and laid 
it aside, without at all attempting to perform the duty there 
pointed out. The duty was plainly brought before them. 
They could not, and probably would not, deny its obliga- 
tion. But instead of going accordingly to God, and seek- 
ing peace and reconciliation to him by a free confession of 
giiilt, — they laid the book away, and after a very short 
time, all the serious thoughts it suggested vanished from 
their minds, and they returned as before to their sins. Now 
this is deciding once more, distinctly against God. 

For to decide against God it Is not necessary to use the 
actual language of disobedience. Suppose that a father 
sends a child to call back his little sister, who is going 
away contrary to the parent's wishes. The boy runs and 
overtakes her, and delivers his message. The child stops 
a moment, and listens to the command that she should re- 
turn immediately to her home. She hesitates — thinks of 
her father and of her duty to obey him, and then looks over 
the green fields through which she was walking, and longs 

7 



74 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 4. 

Tba mesBafB dwregarded. Tbe Cbrtatian meMafe. 



to enjoy the forbidden pleasure. There is a momentary 
struggle in her heart, and then she turns away and walks 
boldly and carelessly on. The messenger returns slowly 
and sadly home. 

But why does he return sadly? He has done his duty 
in delivering the message. Why should he be sad? He 
is sad to think of the double guiU which his sister has in- 
curred. He thinks that the occasion which his coming up 
to her presented, might have been the means of her return 
and of her forgiveness, but that it was the means of con- 
firming her in disobedience, and of hardening her heart 
against tbe claims of her father. 

It is just so with the messages which a Christian teacher 
brings to those who listen to his words. If they do not 
listen to obey, they listen to reject and disobey, and every 
refusal to do duty hardens the heart in sin. There can be 
no question, therefore, that such a book as this must, in 
many cases, be the innocent means of fixing human souls 
in their sins, as the Grospel itself, while it is a savor of life 
unto life to some, to others it is a savor of death unto 
death. 

Reader, is your name on the sad catalogue of those who 
read religious books and listen to religious instruction 
merely to bring the question of duty again and again before 
your minds, only to decide that you will not do it ? If it is, 
read and consider attentively the narrative to which the 
remainder of this chapter is devoted. It has never before 
been published. I providentially met with it in manuscript 
while writing these chapters, and it teaches so forcibly the 
lesson that ought now to be impressed upon my readers, 
that I requested of the clergyman who wrote it, permission 
to insert it here. The circumstances are of recent occur- 
rence, and the reader may rely upon the strict truth and 
faithfulness of the description. 

The reader will observe, however, that there are no re- 
markable incidents in this case. There are no peculiar 
circumstances of any kind to give interest to the narrative 



Ch. 4.] CONSEQUENCES Or NEOLBCTINO D0TT. 76 

Story of Loatea. Her ctaaimeter. Tht> evening nMetiaf. 



It ia only a plain common instance, such as are occurring 
all around us by tens of thousands, of the consequences of 
being almosi persuaded to be a Christian. 

STORY OF LOUISA. 

Shortly after my settlement in the ministry, I observed 
in the congregation a young lady whose blooming counte- 
nance and cheerful air showed perfect health and high 
elation of spirits. Her appearance satisfied me at once 
that she was amiable and thoughtless. There was no one 
of my charge whose prospects for long life were more 
promising than her o^vn, and perhaps no one who looked 
forward to the future with more pleasing hopes of enjoy- 
ment To her eye the world seemed bright. She oflen 
said she wished to enjoy more of it before she became a 
Christian. 

LouUa (for by that name I shall caU her) manifested no 
particular hostility to religion, but wished to live a gay and 
iherry life till just before her deaths and then to become 
pious and die happy. She was constant in her attendance 
at church, and while others seemed moved by the exhibi- 
tion of the Savior's Fove, she seemed entirely unaffected. 
Upon whatever subject I preached, her countenance re- 
tained the same marks of indifference and unconcern. The 
same easy smile played upon her features, whether sin or 
death, or heaven or" hell, was the theme of discourse. One 
evening I invited a few of the young ladies of my society 
to meet at my house. She came with her companions. I 
had sought the interview with them, that 1 might more 
directly urge upon them the importance of religion. All in- 
the room were affected — and she, though evidently moved, 
endeavored to conceal her feelings. 

The interest in this great subject manifested by those 
present was such, that I informed them that I would meet, 
in a week from that time, any who wished for personal 
conversation. The appointed evening arrived, and I was 
delighted in seeing, with two or three others, Louisa enter 
my house. 



76 YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 4. 

Ijottim's intorest in Irttltfion. Conversation with her. 

I conversed with each one individually. They gener- 
ally, with much frankness, expressed their state of feeling. 
Most of them expressed much solicitude respecting their 
eternal interests. Louisa appeeu-ed different from all the 
rest. She was anxious and unahle to conceal her anxiety, 
and yet ashamed to have it known. She had come to con- 
verse with me upon the suhject of religion, and yet was 
making an evident effort to appear indifferent. I had long 
felt interested in Lbuisa, and was glad of this opportunity 
to converse with her. 

''Louisa," said I, " I am happy to see you here this 
evening, and particularly so, as you have come interested 
in the subject of religion." 
She made no reply. 

" Have you been long thinking upon this subject, Lou- 
isa?'' 

" I always thought the subject important, sir, but have 
not attended to it as I suppose I ought." 

" Do you noio feel the subject to be more important than 
you have previously?" 

" I don't know, sir; I think I want to be a Christian.'* 
'* Do you feel that you are a sinner, Louisa?" 
" I know that I am a sinner, for the Bible says so, but I 
suppose that I do not feel it enough." 

/' Can you expect that God will receive you into his 
favor while you are in such a state of mind? He has made 
you, and he is now taking care of you, giving you every 
blessing and every enjoyment you have, and yet you have 
lived many years without any gratitude to him, and contin- 
ually breaking his commandments, and now do not feel that 
you are a sinner. What would you think of a child whose 
kind and affectionate parents had done every thing in their 
power to make her happy, and who should yet not feel that 
she had done any thing wrong, though she had been every 
day disobeying her parents, and had never expressed any 
gratitude for their kindness? You, Louisa, would abhor 
such a child. And yet this is the way you have been treat- 



Ch. 4.] CONSEanBNCBS OF N£OL£CTINO DUTY. 77 

IncreMing iQterML Unwilling to yield to God. 

ing your Heavenly Father. And he has heard you say this 
evening, that you do not feel that you have done wrong, 
and he sees your heart and knows how unfeeling it is. 
Now^ Louisa, you must be lost, unless you repent of your 
sins and ask humbly and earnestly for forgiveness. And 
why will you not ? You know that Christ has died to atone 
for sin, and that God will forgive you for his Son's sake, if 
you are penitent" 

To this Louisa made no reply. She did not seem dis- 
pleased, neither did her feelings appear subdued. 

Afler addressing a few general remarks to my young 
friends, we kneeled in prayer, and the interview closed. 
Another meeting was appointed on the same evening of 
the succeeding week. Louisa again made her appearance 
with the same young ladies and a few others. She appear- 
ed much more deeply impressed. Her coldness and re- 
serve had given place to a frank expression of interest and 
exhibition of feeling. 

"Well, Louisa," said I, as in turn I commenced con- 
versing with her, " I was almost afraid I should not see 
you here this evening-" 

" I feel, sir," said she, '* that it is time for me to attend 
to my immortal soul. I have neglected it too long." 

*' Do you feel that you are a sinner, Louisa?" 

" Yes, sir, I do." 

** Do you think, Louisa, you have any claim upon God 
to forgive you?^* 

*' No, sir.. It would be just in Grod to leave me to per- 
ish. I think I want to repent, but I cannot. I want to 
love God, but do not know how I can." 

''Do you remember, Louisa, that Christ has said, 
' Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he 
hath, he cannot be my disciple? ' " 

"Yes, sir." 

"Well, Louisa, now count the cost; are you ready to 
give up all for Christ? Are you ready to turn from your 
gay companions, and lay aside your frivolous pleasures^ 



t8 TOUWO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 4. 

^^^^^•^^—^ > _— -^»— — — ^— 1^^— — »— ^.^i^^» ^^^-^^» 

Her tfcknem. Bhe sends for her pastor. 



and acknowledge the Savior publicly, and be derided, as 
perhaps you will be, by your former friends, and live a life 
of prayer and of effort to do good?" 

She hesitated foi* a moment, and then replied, ''I am 
afraid not." 

"Well, Louisa, the terms of acceptance with God are 
plain, and there is no altering them. You cannot serve 
God and mammon. If you would be a Christian, you 
must renounce all sin, and with a broken heart surrender 
yourself entirely to the Savior." 

The evening's interview closed as before, and a similar 
appointment was made for the next week. Some of the 
young ladies present, I had reason to believe, had accepted 
the terms of salvation. The next week about the same 
number were present, but Louisa was not with them; a 
slight cold had detained her. But the week afler she again 
appeared. To my great disappointment I found her inter- 
est diminishing. Though not exhibiting that cold reserve 
which she at first manifested, she seemed far less anxious 
than at our last interview: the Spirit was grieved away. 
This was the last time she called to see me; but, alas! I 
was soon called to see her under circumstances which 
at that time were but little anticipated. These social 
meetings continued for some time, and many of Louisa's 
associates, I have cause to hope, became the disciples of 
Jesus. ^ 

Two or three months passed away, and my various du- 
ties so far engrossed my mind, that my particular interest in 
Louisa's spiritual welfare had given place to other solici- 
tudes; when one day as I was riding out, making parochial 
visits, one of my parishioners informed me that she was 
quite unwell, and desired to see me. In a few moments I 
was in her sick chamber. She had taken a violent cold, 
and it had settled into a fever. She was lying in her bed, 
her cheek glowing with the feverish hue, and her lips 
parched with thirst. She seemed agitated when I entered 
the room, and the moment I stood by her bedside and in- 



% 



Ch..4.] CONSEQUENCES Or NEOLBCTINO DUTY. 79 

* III, 

Ber ftlann. Her fncreatiBf anzlefjr. 

quired how she did, she covered her face with both hands 
and burst into a flood of tears. 

Her sister, who was bj her bedside, immediately turned 
to me and said, '' Sir, she is in great distress of mind. 
Mental agony has kept her awake nearly all night. She 
has wanted very much to see you, that you might converse 
with her." 

I wad fearful that the agitation of her feelings might seri* 
ously injure her health, and did all I consistently could to 
soothe and quiet her. 

''But, sir," said Louisa, ''I am sick, and may die; I 
know that I am not a Christian, and O if I die in this state 
of mind, what will become of me ? What will become of 
me?" and she again burst into tears. 

What could I say ? Every word she said was true. Her 
eyes were opened to her danger. There was cause for 
alarm. Sickness was upon her. Delirium might soon 
ensue; death might be very near; and her soul was unpre- 
pared to appear before God. She saw it all ; she felt it all. 
Fever was burning in her veins. But she forgot her pain, 
in view of the terrors of approaching judgment. 

I told her that the Lord was good, and that his tender 
mercies were over all his works; that He was more ready 
to forgive than we to ask forgiveness. 

" But, sir," said she, ** I have kivown my duty long, and 
have not done it. I have been ashamed of the Savior, and 
grieved away the Spirit; and now I am upon a sick bed, 
and perhaps must die. O, if I were but a Christian, I 
should be wilhng to die." 

I told her of the Savior's love. I pointed to many of 
God^s precious promises to the penitent. I endeavored to 
induce her to resign her soul calmly to the Savior. But all 
was unavailing. Trembling and agitated she was looking 
forward to the dark future. The Spirit of the Lord had 
opened her eyes, and through her own reflections had led 
her into this state of alarm. I knelt by her bedside and 
fervently prayed that the Holy Spirit would guide her to 



ff 



80 YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 4. 

Dsath-bed repentance. Increasing sicknets, and mental suffering. 

the truth, and that the Savior would speak peace to her 
troubled soul. O could they, who are postponing repent- 
ance to a sick bed, have witnessed the suffering of this 
once merry girl, they would shudder at the thought of 
trusting to a dying hour. How poor a time to prepare to 
meet God, when the mind is enfeebled, when the body is 
restless or racked with pain, and when mental agitation 
frustrates the skill of the physician. Yet so it is. One 
half the world are postponing repentance to a dying bed. 
And when sickness comes, the very circumstance of being 
unprepared hurries the miserable victim to the grave. 

The next day I called again to see Louisa. Her fever 
was still raging, and its fires were fanned by mental suffer- 
ing. Poor girl ! thought I, as the first glance of her coun- 
tenance showed the strong lineaments of despair. I needed 
not to ask how she felt. Her countenance told her feelings. 
And I knew that while her mind was in this state, restora- 
tion to health was out of the question. 

"And can you not, Louisa," said I, ** trust your soul 
with the Savior who died for you ? He has said, * Come 
unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I w^ 
give you rest.' " 

'* O, sir, I know the Savior is merciful, but somehow or 
other I cannot go to him, I know not why — O, I am miser- 
able indeed." 

"Do you think, Louisa, that you are penitent for sin? 
If you are-, you are forgiven ; for God who gave his Son to 
die for ns, is more ready to pardon than we to ask forgive- 
ness. He is more ready to give good gifls to the penitent 
than any earthly parent to give bread to his hungry child." 

I then opened the Bible at the 15th chapter of Luke, and 
read the piu*able of the prodigal son. 1 particularly direct-^ 
ed her attention to the 20th verse: " When he was yet a 
great way off his father saw him, and had compassion, and 
ran, and fell upon his neck and kissed him." 

" O, sir," said she, " none of these promises are for me. 
I find no peace to my troubled spirit. I have long been 



Ch. 4.] CONSE<lU£NCES OF NEOLSCTINO DOTY, 81 

liouisa'i despair. Her advice to ber young friends. 



sinning against God, and now he is summoning me to 
render up my account, and OI what an account have I to 
render! The doctor gives me medicine, but I feel that it 
does no good, for I can think of nothing but my poor soul. 
Even if I were perfectly well, I could hardly endure the 
view which God has given me of my sins. If they were 
forgiven, how happy should I be! but now — O!" — ^her voice 
was stopped by a fit of shuddering, which agitated those 
around her with' the fear that she might be dying. Soon, 
however, her nerves were more quiet, and I kneeled to 
commend her spirit to the Lord; 

As I rode home, her despairing countenance was uncea- 
singly before me. Her lamentations, her mournful groans, 
were continually crying in my ears. As I kneeled with 
my family at evening, I bore Louisa upon my heart to the 
throne of grace. All night I was restlessly upon my pillow, 
dreaming of unavailing efforts at this sick bed. 

Another morning came. As I knocked at the door of 
her dwelling, I felt a most painful solicitude as to the 
answer I might receive. 

"How is Louisa this morning?" said I to the person 
who opened the door. 

'' She is fast failing, sir, and the doctor thinks she can- 
not recover. We have just sent for her friends to come 
and see her before she dies." 

" Is her mind more composed than it has been?" 

<*0 no, sir. She has had a dreadful night. She says 
tha^ she is lost, and that there is no hope for her." 

I went into her chamber. Despair was pictured more 
deeply than ever upon her flushed and fevered (Counter 
nance. I was surprised at the strength she still manifested 
as she tossed from side to side. Death was evidently 
drawing near. She knew it. She had lived without God, 
and felt that she was unprepared to appear before him. A 
few of her young friends were standing by her bedside. 
She warned them in the most aflecting terms to prepare for 
death while in health. She told them of the mental agony 



82 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 4 

Laat viiit. Her siifferingi. 

she was then enduring, and of the heavier woes which were 
thickJy scattered through that endless career she was about 
to enter. All her conyersation was interspersed with the 
most heart-rending exclamations of despair. She said she 
knew that Crod was ready to forgive the sincerely penitent, 
but that her sorrow was not sorrow for sin, but dread of its 
awful penalty. 

I had already said all that I could to lead her to the 
Savior — ^but no Savior cast his love on this dying bed — ^no 
ray of peace cheered the departing soul. Youth and beauty 
were struggling with death; and as that eye which but a 
few days before had sparkled with gaiety^ now gazed on to 
eternity, it was fixed in an expression of despair. 



c< 



By many a death-bed I had been. 
And many a sinner's parting seen. 
But nerer aogbt like this.' 



>i 



There was nothing that could be said. The meanings 
of the sufferer mingled with the prayer, which was almost 
inarticulately uttered, from the emotions which the ^cene 
inspired. 

Late in the afternoon I called again. But her reason 
was gone, and in restless agony she was grappling with 
death. Her friends were standing around her, but she did 
not recognise them. Every eye in the room was filled 
with tears, but poor Louisa saw not, and heeded not their 
weeping. It was a scene which neither pen nor pencil can 
portray. At the present moment that chamber of death is 
as vividly present to my mind as it was when I looked upon 
it through irrepressible tears. I can now see the disorder 
of the dying bed — the restless form — ^the swollen veins — 
the hectic burning cheek — ^the eyes rolling wildly around 
the room — and the weeping friends. Who can describe 
■uch a scene ? And who can imagine the emotions which 
one must feel who knew her history, and who knew that 
this delirium succeeded temporal, and perhaps preceded 
eternal despair. Louisa could no longer listen to my 
prayers; she could no longer receive the precious instruc- 



Cb. 4.] COKSE<lUBlfCBS OF NBOLBOTIKO DUTT. 89 

She diM at midnight. Her CMllDfi t laM. 

tions of God's Word. And what could be said to console 
her friends? Notbing. '* Be still, and know tbat I am 
God," was all tbat could be said. I could onlj look and 
listen witb reverence, inwardly prajing tbat tbe sad spec- 
tacle migbt not be lost upon any of us. For some time I 
lingered around tbe solemn scene in silence. Not a word 
was spoken. All knew tbat deatb was near. Tbe friends 
who were most deeply affected struggled bard to restrain 
the audible expression of grief. In silence I bad entered 
the room, and in silence and sadness I went away. 

Early tbe next morning I called at the door to inquire 
fi>r Louisa. 

*' She is dead, sir," was tbe reply to my question. 

** At what time did she die?" 

'* About midnight, sir." 

" Was her reason restored before her death?" 

" It appeared partially to return a few moments before 
she breathed her last, but she was almost gone, and we 
could hardly understand what she said." 

''Did she seem any more peaceful in her mind?" 

'* Her friends thought, sir, tbat she did express a willing- 
ness to depart, but she was so weak and so far gone tbat it 
was impossible for her to express her mind with any clear- 



ness." 



This is all that can be said of tbe eternal prospects of 
one who '* wished to live a gay and merry life till just hefort 
death, and then to become pious and die happy." Reader! 

" Be wiae to-dat — 'tis madoeM to defer." 



I.*: 



u 



84 TOVNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 5, 

AlnuMC a Cbrtitiaii. Louisa's case a common one. 

CHAPTER V. 

ALMOST A CHRISTIAN. 
*< Ye will oot come unto me." 

The melancholy story related in the last chapter is not 
an uncommon one. It is the story of thousands. All that 
is necessary, reader, to make the case your own, is that 
you should feel such a degree of interest in religious duties 
as to open your eyes clearly to their demands, but yet not 
enough to induce you cordially to comply with them, — and 
then that death should approach you while you are thus 
unprepared. The gloomy forebodings and the dreadful re- 
morse which darkened Louisa's last hours, must in such a^ 
case be yours. 

It was not my intention, when forming the plan of this 
work, to have it present religious truth and duty in gloomy 
or melancholy aspects. Religion is a most cheerful and 
happy thing to practise, but a most sad and melancholy 
thing to neglect, and as undoubtedly some who read this 
book will read it only to understand their duty, without at 
all setting their hearts upon the performance of it, I ought 
to devote one or two chapters particularly to them. The 
case of Louisa, though it was a melancholy one, was real. 
And what has once occurred, may occur again. You will 
observe too, that all the suffering which she manifested in 
her dying hour was the work of conscience. The minister 
did all he could to soothe and calm her. Examine all the 
conversation he had with her at her bed-side, and you will 
find that it was the language of kind invitation. 

Sometimes such a dying scene as this is the portion of 
an individual who has lived a life of open and unbridled 
wickedness. But, genercJly, continued impiety and vice 
lulls the conscience into a slumber which it requires a 
stronger power than that of sickness or approaching death 
to awaken. Louisa was almost a Christian. She waa 



Ch. 5.] ALMOST ▲ OHEISTIAN. 85 

Negl«etiBg duty when it !■ poinlod oat. How to bogin yoar 4at]r. 



nearly persuaded to begin a life of pietj. In just such a 
Btafce of mind, my reader, it is verj probable you may be* 
Perhaps since you have been reading this book, you have 
been thinking more and more seriously of your Christian 
duty, and felt a stronger and stronger intention of doing it, 
at least at some future time. You ought, after having read 
the first chapter, to have gone at once and fully confessed 
all your sins to Grod. When you read the second, yoa 
should have cordially welcomed the Savior as your friend, 
and chos^i him as your Redeemer and portion. You ought 
to have been induced by the third to begin inmiediately a 
life of prayer, and to have been constant and ardent at the 
throne of Grace since you read it. But perhaps you neg- 
lected all this. You understand very clearly what Chris- 
tian duty is. It is plain to you that there is a Being above, 
with whom you ought to live in constant communion.' You 
understand clearly how you are to begin your duty, if you 
have neglected it heretofore, by coming and confessing all 
your sins, and seeking forgiveness through Jesus Christ, 
who has died for you. Thus you know what duty is. The 
solitary difficulty is, that you ufill not do U, 

But why ? What can be the cause of that apparent in- 
fatuation which consists in continually neglecting a duty 
which you acknowledge to be a duty, and which you know 
it would increase your happiness to perform? Were I to 
ask you, it is very probable you would say what I have 
known a great many others to say in your situation — ^it 
would be this: 

** I know I am a sinner against God, and I wish to repent 
and be forgiven, and to love and serve my Maker, but Ida 
not sfe how I can,^' 

My reader, is this your state of mind? Many persons do 
use this language, and use it honestly. That is, they use 
it honestly, if they mean by it what the language properly 
-does mean, that they see the propriety, and duty, and hap- 
piness of a new life, so that in some sense they desire it, 
but that some secret cause, which they have not yet discov- 

8 



86 TODTTO CHRISTIAK. [Ch. 5. 

|__|^^. .1 II I - ' ' 

Desl^ of Mm ebapter. ProerastinatloB. The Studeiit*8 evening walk. 



ered, prevents their obedience, I design in this chapter 
to help you to discover what that cause is. If you really 
wish to discover and to remove it, you will read the chap- 
ter carefully, with a willingness to be convinced, and you 
will oflen pause to apply what is said to ydur own case. 

There are three very common causes wihfch operate to 
prevent persons, who are almost ChrisHanSy from becoming 
so altogether. 

I. A spirit of procrastination. Waiting for a more conr 
venient season. The following case illustrates this part of 
our subject: 

A boy of about twelve or fourteen years of age, a mem- 
ber of an academy, in which he is pursuing his studies pre^ 
paratory to his admission to college, sees the duty of com- 
mencing a Christian life. He walks some evening at sun^ 
set alone over the green fields which surrounds the village 
in which he resides, and the stillness and beauty of the 
scene around him bring him to a serious and thoughtful 
frame of mind. God is speaking to him in the features of - 
b'eauty and splendor in which the face of nature is decked. 
The glorious western sky reminds him of the hand which 
spread its glowing colors. He looks into the dark grove 
in the edge of which he is walking, and its expression of 
deep, unbroken solitude, brings a feeling of calm solemnity 
over his soul. The declining sun, — the last faint whispers 
of the dying evening breeze, — the solitary and mournful 
note which comes to him from a lofty branch of some taB 
tree in the depth of the forest, — ^these, and the thousand 
other circumstances of such a scene, speak to him most 
distinctly of the flight of time, and of the approach of that 
evening when the sun of his life is to decline, and this world 
cease for ever to be his home. 

As he muses in this scene, he feels the necessity of a" 
preparation for death, and as he walks slowly homeward, 
he is almost determined to come at once to the conclusion 
to commence immediately a life of piety. He reflects how- 
ever upon the unpleasant publicity of such a change. He 



Ch. 5.] ALMOST ▲ CHRISTIAN. 87 

The adiiiiMioB to eolleg*. Baeolvtkm. 



has manj irreligious friends whom it is hard to relinquish, 
and he shrinks from forming new acquaintances in a |Jace 
he is so soon to leave. He reflects that he is soon to be 
transferred to college, and that there he can begin anew. 
He resolves that when he enters college walls, he will enter 
a Christian; that he will from the first be known as one 
^termined to do his duty toward God. He will form no 
irreligious friendships, and then he will have none to sunder. 
He will &11 into no irreligious practices, and then he will 
hare none to abandon. He thinks he can thus avoid the 
awkardness of a public change. He is ungenerous enough 
to wish to steal thus secretly into the kingdom of heaven, 
without humbling any of his pride by ui open admission 
that he has beep wrong. He waits for a more convenieni 
season. 

When he finds himself on college ground, however, his 
heart does not turn any more easily to his duties toward 
God. First, there is the feverish interest of the examina- 
tion, — then the novehy of the public recitation-room, — the 
untried, unknown instructer, — ^the new room-mate, — and 
all the multiplied and varied excitements which are always 
to be found in college waUs. There are new acquaintances 
to be formed, new countenances to speculate upon, and 
new characters to study, and in these and similar objects 
of occupation and interest, week after week glides rapidly 
away. At last on Saturday evening, the last of the term, 
he is walking over the college grounds, and among the 
other serious reflections that come upon his mind, there axe 
the following: 

'' One whole term has now passed, and what have^ be- 
come of all my resolutions to return to God? How swiflly 
the weeks have glided away, and I have been going farther 
and farther away from God and from duty. I find that I 
cannot in college, any more than in any other place, be- 
come a Christian without effort and self-denial. I mu$t 
eome boldly to the duty of giving up my heart to God and 
coaunencing publicly a Christian life; and whenever I do 



88 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 5. 

Roflactions. Hesotationt for Mnlor yeftr. 



this, it must be hard at first. I will attend to the subject 
this vacation. I shall be quiet and retired at home, and 
shall have a favorable opportunity there to attend to my 
duty and return to God. I will come back to college next 
term a new man." 

Such are his reflections. Instead of resolving to do his 
duty now, he looks forwarcf again, notwithstanding his 
former disappointment, to another more convenient secison. 
The bustle of the closing term, and the plans and- prepara- 
tions for the approaching vacation, soon engross his mind, 
and instead of coming to his Maker at once and going home 
a Christian, he puts it off in hopes to return one. Vain 
hope! He will undoubtedly come back as he goes, pro- 
crastinating duty. 

Term after term, and vacation after vacation passes 
aw9.y, and the work of preparing for another Vorld is still 
postponed and neglected. The longer it is postponed the 
worse it is, for he is becoming more and more known as an 
irreligious young man, and more and more intimately con- 
nected with those whose influence is all against religion. 
He soon quiets conscience with the reflection that, while 
he is in the lower classes, he is much more under the con- 
trol of public opinion; others, older and more advanced 
than he, take the lead in forming the sentiments of the 
community, and it is harder for him to act independently 
now, on a subject which aflects his standing in the esti- 
mation of his companions, than it will be when he shall 
have passed on to a higher class, and shall have influence 
in forming a public sentiment to 'lact upon others, instead 
of having others to form it for him. 

The closing months of college life at last come on, 
bringing with them less and less disposition to do his duty. 
He has become familiarized to the idea of living without 
God. His long and intimate acquaintance with irreligious 
companions has bound him to them by ties which he is not 
willing to sunder. Not ties of aflection ; for there is seldom 
much confidence or love in such a case. They are ties of 



CJl. 5.] ALMOST A CHRISTIAN. 89 

fieMlattons for Aitore life. The aecepled tiino. 



Biere acquaintance,— mere community of sentiment and 
action. Yet he dreads to break awaj from what gives him 
kttle pleasure, and is thus bound by a mysterious and un- 
reasonable, but almost hopeless slavery. He leaves college 
either utterly confirmed in insensibility to religious truth, 
or else when he occasionally thinks of the subject, faintly 
hoping that in the bustle of future life some more convenient 
season may occur, which he may seize as a time for making 
his peace with God« ^ 

This is the history of many a college student, and by a 
slight change of the circumstances of the description, it 
might be made the history of thousands of othera in every 
walk of life. The secret of this procrastination is this: 
The subject of it is deluded by the chimerical hope of find- 
ing some opportunity of coming to God vnthota real submis^ 
«tot», — some way of changing sides on a most momentous, 
subject, without the mortification of changing,-— of getting 
right without the humiliating acknowledgment of having 
been wrong. Now these difficulties, which constitute the 
straitness of the gate through which we must enter, cannot 
he avoided. We cannot go round them, — ^we cannot climb 
up some other way, and it is useless to wait for some other 
way to ofier. Tlie work of coming directly and decidedly 
to our Maker, to confess sin and to ask his forgiveness, mast 
he done. The public acknowledgment that we have been 
wrong, which a public change of conduct implies, must he 
made, and it will be painful. Irreligious friends must, as 
intimates ' and associates, be abandoned; and whenever 
that is done it vnll require an effort. These steps must be 
taken, and the difficulty of taking them is increased, not 
diminished, by the lapse of time. 

My reader, is not the reason why you cannot repent of 
sin and love God this, — that you can never say, ''I am 
willing to do it noto? " Are you willing to be, &om this 
time, the servant and follower of Jehovah, or are you try- 
ing the* mad experiment of postponement and delay? 

II. Love of the World. This is the second of those three 

8* 



90 



TOITNG CHRISTIAN. t^h. 5. 



8«M»ndcan»e. Love »f the wortd. 



secret obstacles to piety which I was to mention; I mean 
secret obstacles in the way of those who thmk that they 
wish to be penitent, but that they cannot. I am not now 
considering the causes which are operating so extensively 
in chaining the great mass of mankind down in their bond- 
age to sin; I speak only of those who feel some interest in 
this subject, who think they desire salvation, and are 
willing to do what God requires, but cannot Under this 
sedbnd head I am to endeavor to show that many of my 
readers who are in this state of mind, are prevented from 
doing their duty by a secret love of the world, I shall not 
however succeed in showing this, unless you co-operate 
with me. If, while you read it, you put yourself in an 
attitude of defence, you can easily set aside what I have 
to say. I shall suppose however that you really wish to 
know, and that you will apply what I present, with impar- 
tiality and candor to yourselves. 

In one sense, it is right to love the world. God has 
miide it for our enjoyment, and filled it with sources of 
happiness for the very purpose of having us enjoy them. 
We are to look upon it therefore as a scene in which the 
Creator intended that we should be happy, and we are to 
derive from it all the happiness that we can. 

There are however temptations in this world, as all will 
admit ; that is, pleasures which beckon us away from duty 
When a young person begins to think of religious duty, 
these pleasures which have perhaps long been enjoyed 
come up to view, — not very distinctly, but still with so 
much effect as to blind the mind and harden the heart. 
Perhaps, my reader, you can think of some irreligious, com- 
panion, whom you know you must give up if you become 
an open and decided Christian. Even if you do not give 
up him, you expect that he will give up yon, if such a 
change should take place in your character. Now al- 
*0i|li you do not distinctly make a comparison between 
the pleasures of his society on the one side, and the peace 
•nd happiness of religion on the other, and after balancing 



Ch. 5.] ALMOST A CHBI8TIAK. 91 

SfteriAew oaeaMary. Third eause. Ffv of the world. 

their claims, decide against God and duty, — although you 
make no fonnal decision like this, yet the image of that 
finend, and the recollection of the past pleasures of his 
society, and the prospect of future enjoyment, come into 
your mind and secretly hold you a prisoner. The chain is 
wound around your heart, and its pressure is so gentle that 
you scarcely perceive it. Still it holds you firmly, and un- 
til you loosen the link, it will hold you« You do right while 
you are in this state of mind to say that you cannot love 
Giod. Our Savior says tl^e same. '* If any man come to 
me and hate not," that is, is not cordially willing to give 
up, if necessary, " his. father and mother and wife and sis- 
ters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple." 
You cannot be the disciple of Christ till you are willing to 
give up the w<Hrld in all its forms. 

Perhaps it is not a friend which keeps you from the 
Savior, but some other object. You may indulge yourself 
in some practice which conscience secretly condemns. 
Perhaps there is a favorite amusement which you must 
give up if you should become a consistent Christian. You 
do not distinctly bring this up before your mind, into formal 
comparison with the hope of a happy immortality, and de- 
cide that it is superior. It insinuates itself into your mind, 
and shuts its avenues against the light. You wonder that 
you do not see and fee), and cannot discover the cause. 

III. Fear of the world. Where love of the world binds 
one soul in sin, the fear of it, in some form or other, binds 
ten. Every one is surrounded by a circle of influence, it 
may be small or great, which is hostile to piety. To take 
the attitude of a humble Christian in the presence of this 
circle of acquaintances and friends, to abandon your past 
course of conduct with the acknowledgment that it has been 
entirely wrong, and to encounter the cold and forbidding, 
or perhaps scornful looks of those whom you have been 
accustomed to call your friends, — all this is trying, — You 
shrink from it. You do not very distinctly take it into 
ooQsideration, but it operates with an influence thp more 



92 YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch, 6. 

Difficulties foretold by the Savior. Entire surreDder reqalred. 

unmanageable, because it is unseen. My object in alluding 
to it here, therefore, is to bring it out to view, that you 
may distinctly see it, and bring fairly up the question 
whether you will be deterred by such a consideration from 
doing your duty toward your Maker. 

These three reasons are ordinarily the causes why those 
who are almost Christians, do not become so altogether. 
They are strong reasons. They hold a great many indi- 
viduals in lasting bondage, and they will probably continue 
to hold many of my readers in their chains. It is no small 
thing, and, with hearts and habits like ours, it is no easy 
thing to become a Christian. The inquiry is not unfre? 
quently made, why the preaching of the Gospel in this 
world produces such partial effects, and surprise is express- 
ed that so few are found to comply with its reasonable 
claims, and to respect its awful sanctions. But when we 
look at those circumstances in the case which exhibit the 
greatness of the sacrifice which every man must make who 
really becomes a Christian in a world like this, we may 
rather be surprised that so many are found to come to the 
Savior. 

Jesus Christ foretold all these obstacles. He was very 
frank and open in all his statements. He never has intend- 
ed to bring any one into unforeseen difficulties. He stated 
very plainly what he expected of his followers; he des- 
cribed the sacrifices they must make to please him, and the 
troubles they must endure; and when he lefl them at last, 
he told them plainly that if they should persevere in his 
service after he was gone, they must go on expecting to 
suffer, to bleed and to die in this cause. 

'* Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he 
hath, he cannot be my disciple.*' How strong an expres- 
sion! What an entire surrender o£ the individuals addressed 
does it require! And yet he says, "my yoke is easy and 
my burden is light." How is this? Does not the first 
declaration imply that the service of Christ is a hard ser- 
vice? And does not the latter imply that it is easy? There 



Ch. 5.] ALMOST A CHRISTIAN. 99 

Ba«l rabBiMkui. Ctaagtag sMm. 

•re two classes of passages in the Scriptures which seem, 
on this point, to speak a difierent language. But the ex 
pianation is this: It is hard for you to came to Jesus Christ. 
Worldly pleasures beckon you away. Dangers and diffi- 
culties frown upon you, and above all the rest, pride, — 
pride, that most unconquerable of enemies, stands erect 
and says you must not take the attitude of a humble Chris- 
tian. Now all these obstacles you must overcome. The 
world must be relinquished; the claims of even father and 
mother, if they interfere with duty to God, must give way; 
the trials which in a life of piety will await you, must be 
boldly encountered, and pride must yield. But when this 
is done — the surrender once made — all is happy; the yoke 
is easy, and the ' burden id light. If the heart is really 
submissive to God, if its own affections have indeed been 
crucified, and if €rod recdly r^gns there, peace ocmes; and 
peace and happiness will really reign, unless returning 
pride and worldliness renew the struggle. The govern- 
ment of God in the soul is a government which regulates, 
but does not enslave ; it diffuses over the heart unmingled 
peieice and happiness. 

Let all then distinctly understand that there is no becom- 
ing a disciple of Jesus ^^hrist without real submisnon, and 
submission is no pleasant work for human nature to per- 
form. It is hard for us to acknowledge that we have been 
wrong; to bow to a power, which we have long opposed, 
and thus publicly and openly to change sides on a subject 
which divides the world. But it must be done. Enmity to 
God, or uncompromising submission to his will, is the only 
alternative. 

It is right that this should be the only alternative. Just 
look at the facts. The Creator of all has proclaimed as 
the law of his empire, that all beings should love him su- 
premely, and their fellows as themselves. We have always 
known that this was his law; we know too that it is reason- 
able in its nature, and most excellent in its tendency. No 
man can say that it is not exactly calculated to diffuse 



94 TOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 5. 

AddreM to a young man. Good to b« done. 

universal happiness; nor can any man deny that its ahnest 
unceasing violation here has filled the world with misery 
and crime. Now, excellent and reasonable as this law is, 
there are millions in the human family who have spent all 
their lives in the continued, unceasing violation of it. They 
know that they never have, for a single momenty loved God 
supremely, or loved their neighbors as themselves. Now 
all of us who are, or who have been in this state, have been 
plainly taking side against God, and against the general 
happiness. We have been violating known duty, continu- 
ing in acknowledged sin; and the effect has not been 
confined to ourselves; the influence has extended. Our 
example has been in favor of irreligion; and as our sin has 
thus been public, can we complain that God should require 
our acknowledgment to be public too? No; submission to 
God must be. entire, unqualified, nnreaerv^d, or wc cannot 
expect God to receive it. 

But let me be more particular. Perhaps some yout^ 
man who reads this is almost persuaded to be a Christian 
He ia still an irreligious man. I do not mecui that he is 
opposed to religion, but that he is without piety. Were I 
to address such an one individually, I would say to him, 
" You, sir, are probably to remain twenty or thirty years 
in the community of which you now form a part. These 
years will be in the very prime of your life. Your influ- 
ence is now great; it is increasing, and it must increase. 
God has brought you into this scene. Your original pow- 
ers and your education you owe to him. The habits of 
industry and of integrity which you have acquired, would 
not have been yours without his aid. He has held you up 
and brought you forward; and now, as the opening pros- 
pects of usefulness and happiness lie before you, he wishes 
you to come to him and to assist in the execution of his 
plans for the promotion of human happiness. Will you 
come } There will be a great deal of suflering which you 
can alleviate during the twenty years that are before you, 
if you will set your heart upon alleviating suflTering. Ther« 



Ch. 5.] ALMOST ▲ CHRIftTIAir. 95 

Tta0 OBchriitlaii paraiit. BobiiifMion bard. 

will be much vice which jour influence may prevent, if 
YOU will exert it aright. You may be the means too of 
bringing many an unhappy sinner to the Savior who died 
for him, if you will but come and love that Savior yourself, 
and seek to promote hisxausew" "But no," do you say? 
" I have been, I acknowledge, in the wrong, but I cannot 
bow to truth and duty, and humble pride,— abandon my 
ground, and stand before the world the acknowledged vic- 
tim^ of folly and sin." Then you cannot serve God. Un- 
less you will do this, you cannot be Christ's disciple. 

Is there an unchristian parent who reads these pages? 
God has especial claims upon you in your family circle. 
You are moulding the hearts of these children by your 
influence*, and the lineaments which your daily example is 
calling forth here are probably to last. You are doing 
work for a very long futurity. You endeavor to promote 
the happiness of your children for this life, but God wishes 
to make them happy for ever, and he invites you to come 
and co-operate with him in the noble design. But you 
cannot co-operate with him until you join him. If you 
have been against him thus far, you cannot join him with- 
out submission. **But ah!" you say, — "that word sub- 
mission! It is hard to submit." I know it is hard. For 
example, you have perhaps neglected family prayer. You 
cannot be God's friend and do your duty fvlly till it is 
begun. You cannot join with him in promoting the eternal 
happiness of your son or your daughter, till you are willing 
to make up your mind to bow before your Maker at the 
fireside altar for the first time. And when you do it in a 
proper spirit, for the first time, you acknowledge the guilt 
of past neglect, — ^ybu take the attitude of a humbled, alter- 
ed man. This is submission, and without it you cannot 
enter the kingdom of heaven. God asks you to do this, 
but his sole motive for asking it is, probably, that he may 
make you a happy fellow-worker with him. 

Look at that youth, the favored object in the circle of 
friends and companions in which he moves. His upright 



96 , TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 5. 

The youth. Subminion necemuj^ 

character has commanded respect, and his amiable disposi- 
tion has secured affection. His companions seek his so- 
ciety — they observe and imitate his example — they catch 
and adopt his opinions. He has never, now, said a word 
against religion^ He complies respectfully with all its 
external observances, and in fine does all which he can do 
without being personally humbled. But how would he 
shrink from having it whispered about in the circle in 
which he moves, that he is anxious for the salvation of his 
soul! How unwilling would he be that it should be known 
that he went to his pastor for personal religious instruction, 
or that he had. taken any step which should admit befi>re 
all that he had been himself, personally, a guilty rebel 
against God, and that he wished to change sides row, and 
do good as openly and as publicly as he had before done 
injury! But O! reflect; you have taken an open stand 
against God, and are you not willing to take an open stand 
in his favor? I know it is painful — it is the very crucifixion 
of the flesh ; but God cannot propose any other terms than 
that those who have been open enemies shotild become open 
friends, and no generous mind can ask any easier conditions. 
Indeed sometimes it has appeared to me, that if another 
mode of entering the kingdom of heaven had been propos- 
ed, we should see, ourselves, its impropriety. Suppose 
the Savior were to say to a sinner thus: " You have been 
my enemy, I know. In the controversy which has existed 
between God and his revolted subjects, you have taken the 
wrong side. You have been known to be without piety, 
and for many long years you have been exerting an influ- 
ence against God, and against the happiness of the creation. 
But I am ready to forgive y<^, if you will return to me 
now. And as publicly giving up in such a controversy is 
always painful to the pride of the human heart, I will ex- 
cuse you from this. You may come secretly and be my 
friend, to save you the mortification of publicly changing 
sides in a question on which your opinions and your con- 
duct have long been known." 



Ch. 5.] ALMOST ▲ CHRISTIAN. 97 

Why it is ao difBealt to become a Cbrietlui. The Jailor's submissioii. 

To this, a fipirit of any nobleness or generosity would 
reply "If I have been in the wrong, and I freely acknow* 
ledge that I have, — I choose openly to avow it. My re- 
cantation shall be known as extensively as my sin. I will 
•not come and make my peace secretly with Crod, and leave 
my example to go on alluring, as it has done, others to 
live in sin. If pride remonstrates, I will cut it down; and 
if my comrades deride my change, I will bear their re- 
proaches. They cannot injure me as much as my ungodly 
example and influence has injured them." 

Whether however the sinner sees the necessity of his 
being really humbled before he is forgiven, or not — God 
sees it— every holy being sees it; and Jehovah's determina- 
tion is fixed. We must submit, or we cannot be pardoned. 

Do you not now, my reader, see what is the reason why 
you cannot be a Christian? You say you wish to, but 
cannot, and in nine out of ten of such cases the difficulty 
is, you are not cordially willing to give up all to God. Pride 
is not yet humbled, or the ^orld is not yet surrendered, — 
and until it is, you cannot expect peace. You know you 
have been wrong — and you wish now to be right ; but this 
cannot be without an open change, and this you shrink 
from. The jailor who came trembling to know what he 
must do to be saved, was told to repent and be baptized 
immediately. How humiliating! to appear the next morn- 
ing a spectacle to the whole community, — a stern public 
officer bowed down to submission through the influence of 
the very prisoners committed to his charge. Yet he was 
willing to encounter it. And you — ^if you can just consent 
to yield — to yield every thing — throw down every weapon, 
and give up every refuge, and come now to the Savior, 
bearing your cross — ^that is, bringing life, and reputation, 
and all you hold dear, and placing it at his supreme dis- 
posal, you may depend upon forgiveness and peace. But 
while your heart is full of reservations, while the world 
retains its hold and pride is unsubdued, and you are thus 
unwilling openly and decidedly to take the right side, is it 

9 



98 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 6. 

Bttfaj«ct diamlMed. Perptexitiefl. DUBcalties innllgkm. 

unjust or unkind in Grod to conaider you as upon the wrong 
one ? — ^Far be it from me to advocate ostentation in piety. 
The humble, retiring Christian, who communes with his 
own heart and with Grod, is in the best road to growth in 
grace, and to usefulness; but every one ought to be will- 
ing, and, if he is really penitent, will be willing, that the 
part he takes in this great question should be known. 

I now dismiss this subject, not to resume it again in this 
volume. Knowing, as I did, that there would undoubtedly 
be many among the readers of this book who can only be 
called almost Christiana, I could not avoid devoting a chap- 
ter or two to them. I have now explained as distinctly as 
I have been able to do it, the submission of the heart 
which is necessary in becoming a Christian, and what are 
the difficulties in the way. I should evince but a slight 
knowledge of the human heart if I were not to expect that 
many who read this will still remain only almost Christians. 
I must here, however, take my final leave of them, and 
invite the others — ^those who are willing now cordially to 
take the Savior as their portion, to go on with me through 
the remaining chapters of the book, which I shall devote 
entirely to those who are altogether Christians. 



CHAPTER VI. 



<( 



DIPPICULTIES IN RELIGION. 
The secret things belong unto the Lord our God." 



The Young Christian, conscientiously desiring to know 
and to do his duty, is, at the outset of his course, perplexed 
by a multitude of difficulties which are more or less re- 
motely connected with the subject of religion, and which 
will arise to his view. These difficulties in many cases 
cannot he removed. The embarrassing perplexity, however, 
which arises from them, always can, and it is to this subject 



Ch. 6.3 DIFFICULTIES IN RELIGION. 99 

MistakMu Btory of Uie ChtaMM aad the mftp. 



that I wish to devote the present chapter. My plan wiU be 
in the first place to endeavor thoroughlj to convince all 
who read it, that difficulties must be expected — difficulties 
too which they cannot entirely surmount ; and in the second 
place to explain and illustrate the spirit with which they 
must be met. 

It is characteristic of the human mind not to be willing 
to wait long in suspense, on any question presented to it 
for decision. When any new question or new subject 
comes before us, we grasp hastily at the little information 
in regard to it within our immediate reach, and then hurry 
to a decision. We are not often willing to wait to consider 
whether the subject is fairly within the grasp of our powers, 
and whether all the facts which are important to a proper 
consideration of it are before us. We decide at once. It 
is not pleasant to be in suspense. Suspense implies igno- 
rance, and to admit ignorance, is humiliating. 

Hence most persons have a settled belief upon almost 
every question which has been brought before them. In 
expressing their opinions they mention things which they 
believCy and things which ihey do not believe ; but very few 
people have a third class of questions which they acknow- 
ledge to be beyond their grasp, so that in regard to them 
they can neither believe nor disbelieve, but must remain in 
suspense. Now this is the secret of nine-tenths of the 
difference of opinion, and of the sharp disputes by which 
this world 13 made so noisy a scene. Men jump at conclu- 
sions before they distinctly understand the premises, and 
as each one sees only a part of what he ought to see before 
forming his opinion, it is not surprising that each should 
see a difierent part, and should consequently be led to dif- 
ferent results. They then fall into a dispute, each present- 
ing his own partial view, and shutting his eyes to that 
exhibited by his opponent. 

Some of the mistakes which men thus fdl into are mel- 
ancholy; others only ludicrous. Some European traveller 
showed a map of the world to a Chinese philosopher. The 



100 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 6. 

Dlfficaltles in all subjectf. " Astronomical difficulties. 

philosopher looked at it a few moments, and then turned 
with proud and haughty look and said to the hy-standers, 
**This map is entirely wrong; the English know nothing 
of geography. They have got China out upon one side of 
the world, whereas it is, in fact, exactly in the middle," 

Multitudes of amusing stories are related by travellers of 
the mistakes and misconceptions and false reasonings of 
semi-barbarous people, about the subjects of European 
science and philosophy. They go to reasoning at once, 
and fall into the grossest errors — ^but still they have much 
more confidence in their silly speculations, than in any 
evidence which their minds are capable of receiving. 

But you will perhaps ask me whether I mean to compare 
the readers of this book with such savages. Yes; the hu- 
man mind, in its tendencies, is every where the same. The 
truths which relate to the world of spirits are, to us, what 
European science is to a South Sea Islander. Our minds 
experience the same difficulty in grasping them, and we 
hurry to the same wild speculations and false conclusions. 

It is not surprising that the truths contained in a revela- 
tion from heaven should be beyond our grasp. We cannot 
even fairly grasp the truths relating to the mere physical 
motions of this earth. We know, for instance, that the 
distinction downward is only toward the earth. Now let 
your imagination extend half round the globe. Think of 
the people who are standing upon it, exactly opposite to 
ourselves, and try to realize that downward is toward the 
earth there. You believe it, I know; but can you, in the 
expressive phrase of children, make it seem sol 

Again, you know, if you believe that the earth revolves, 
that the room you are in, revolves with it, and that conse- 
quently it was, six hours ago, in a position the reverse of 
what it now is, — so that the floor was in a direction corres- 
ponding to that of the walls now. Now can you, by any 
mental effort, realize thisl Or will you acknowledge that 
even this simple astronomical subject is beyond your 
grasp? 



Ch. 6.] DIFFICULTIES IN KELIOION. 101 

■ ' ' ■■ ■■ I ■> 

DilficqJties in rellgioa to be expected. Difficulties deecribed* 

Once more. Suppose the earth, and suo, and stars were 
all annihilated, and one small ball existed alone in space. 
You can imagine this state of things for a moment. Now 
there would be, as jou well know, if jou have the slightest 
^tronomical knowledge, no down or up in such case, for 
there would be no central body to attract. Now when you 
fancy this ball, thus floating. in empty space, can you real- 
ize that there would be no tendency in it to move in one 
direction rather than another? You may believe, on auihor" 
Uy, that it would not move, but fix your mind upon it for a 
moment, and then look off from it, first in one direction, 
then in another, until you have looked in every direction, 
and can yon make all these seem the same ? No, we can- 
not divest ourselves of the impression that one of these 
is more properly up, and the other more properly down, 
though the slightest astronomical knowledge will convince 
us that this impression is a mere delusion. Even this 
simple and unquestionable truth is beyond the grasp of the 
human mind, at least until afler it has, by very long con- 
templation on such subjects, divested itself of the prejudices 
of the senses. 

Is it surprising then, that when a revelation comes to us 
from a world which is entirely, unseen and unknown, des- 
cribing to us in some degree Grod^s character and the prin- 
ciples of his government, there should be many things in it 
which we cannot now understand? No. There are, and 
from the nature of the case must be, a thousand difficulties 
insuperable to us at present. Now if we do not cordially 
feel and admit this, we shall waste much time in needless 
perplexity. My object, in this chapter, is to convince all 
who read it, that they must expect to find difficulties, insu- 
perable difficulties in the various aspects of religious truth, 
and to try to persuade you to admit this, and to repose 
quietly in acknowledged ignorance, in those cases where 
the human mind cannot know. The difficulties are never 
questions of practical duty, and sometimes are very remote- 
ly connected with any religious truth. Some of them I 



lOS TOUNO CHKISTIAir. [Ch. 6. 

Fine diAeoltjr. Attempt to aToid it. 

shall however describe, not with the design of explaining 
them, becaase I parposelj collect such as I beliere cannot 
be explained satbfactorily to young persons, bat with the 
design of bringing all cordially to feel that they must be 
ignorant, and that they may as wdtl acknowledge their ig- 
norance at once. 

First difficulty. It is a common opinion that Qod ex- 
isted before the creation of the wortd, alone and unemploy- 
ed from eternity. Now the difficulty is this: How could a 
being who was infinite in benerolence and power waste all 
that time, when it might hare been employed in making 
millions and millions happy? The creation was not far 
from six thousand years ago, and six thousand years, com- 
pared with the eternity beyond, are nothing. So that it 
follows that almost the whole of the existence of a benevo- 
lent and omnipotent Being, who delights in doing good and 
promoting happiness, has been spent in doing nothing. 

Pcrrhaps some one will make a feeble effort to escape 
from the difficulty by supposing, what is very probably true, 
that other worlds were created long before this. But let 
such aa one consider, that however remote the first crea- 
tion may have been, there is beyond it, so far as we can 
see, an eternity of solitude and inaction. 

Remember I say, $o far as we can $ee, for I am far firom 
believing that Jehovah has ever wasted time. I know 
nothing about it; I can see and reason just far enough to 
perceive that the whole subject is beyond my grasp, and 
I leave it, contented not to know, and not to pretend to 
know any thing about it. 

After reading these remarks at one time to an assembly 
of young persons, several of them gathered ai^und me, 
and attempted to show that there was in fact no difficulty 
in this first case. 

"Why," said I, what explanation have you?" 

*' I think," was the reply, '* that God might have been 
creating worlds from all eternity, and thus never have been 
unemployed.^ 



» 



Ch. 6.] DIFFICULTIES IN ftKLIOION. lOS 

CwiTemtlbo. Seeoad dhikiilijr. 

" If that had been the case," replied I, " would or would 
not some one of these worlds have been eternal?" 

"Yes, sir," thej all answered with one voice. 

** Then you suppose that some of these worlds were 
eternal and others not. The first which were created had 
no beginning ; but after a time, according to this hypothe* 
sis, Jehovah began to create them at definite periods. 
Hiis is evidently absurd. Beside, those which were eter- 
nal must have existed as long as God has existed; and if 
you admit that, it seems that you must admit that they are 
independent of Grod; for if they have existed for ever, they 
could not have been created." 

One of the party attempted to avoid this by saying, that 
though the whole series of creations has been eternal, yet 
that every particular creaiioH may have been at some defi- 
nite point of time ; so that each one world has had but a lim- 
ited existence, though the whole series has been eternal. 

"But," said I, "can you conceive — clearly concewe-^ 
of an eternal series of creations of matter, without believ- 
ing that some mo/fer itself is eternal ? And if you suppose 
matter itself to be eternal, can you understand how God 
can have created that which has existed as long as he has 
himself?" 

This was the substance of the conversation, which, how- 
ever, in all its details, occupied half an hour. And I be- 
lieve all who engaged in it cordially acknowledged that the 
whole subject was entirely beyond the grasp of their minds. 

As this book may fall into the hands of some theological 
scholar, I beg that he will bear in mind that I do not pre- 
sent this subject as one that would perplex him, but as one 
which must perplex the young. I maintain that whatever 
trained metaphysicians may understand, or fancy that they 
can understand, it is entirely beyond the reach of such 
minds as those for whom this book is intended. 

Second difficulty. When in a still and cloudless sum- 
mer evening you have looked among the stars of the sky, 
you have often wondered at the almost boundless extent 



104- YOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 6, 

Sjctont of the craation. A atar, a great blazing-san. 

of the creation. That faiat star which twinkles so feebly 
that jou almost fear that the next gentle breeze will extin- 
guish it, or that the next light cloud will sweep it away, 
has burned with the same feeble but inextinguishable beam 
ever since the creation. The sun has blazed around the 
heavens — storms have agitated and wrecked the skies — 
the moon has waxed and waned over it; but it burns on 
the same. It may bcr obscured by some commotion of the 
elements for a time; but when cloud and storm have passed 
away, you will find it shining on unchanged, in the same 
place, and with the same brightness, and with precisely 
the same hue which it exhibited before the flood. 

It is a great blazing sun, burning at its immense dis- 
tance with inconceivable brightness and glory, probably 
surrounded by many worlds whose millions of inhabitants 
are cheered by its rays. Now, as you all well know, 
every star which twinkles in the sky, and thousands of 
others which the telescope alone brings to view, are pro- 
bably thus surrounded by life and intelligence and happi- 
ness in ten thousand forms. Stand now in a summer eve- 
ning under the open sky, and with these views estimate as 
largely as you please the extent of the creation. However 
widely you may in imagination expand its boundaries, still 
it seems to human reason that it must have a limit. Now 
go with me in imagination to that limit. Let us take our 
station at the remotest star, and look upon the one side 
into the regions which God has filled with intelligence and 
happiness; and on the other side into the far wider re- 
gions of gloomy darkness and solitude that lie beyond. 
Make the circle of the habitable universe as large as you 
will — ^how much more extensive, according to any ideas 
of space which we can form, must be the dreary waste be^ 
yond! The regions which Grod has filled by his efforts and 
plans dwindle to a little fertile island in the midst of a 
boundless ocean. But why is this? Who can explain or 
understand how a Being, boundless in power and desirous 
of promoting the greatest possible amount of enjoyment, 



Ch. 6.] DIFFICULTIES IN RELIGION. 105 

Third difllcalty. Eziat^nee oTrafTering. 

can leave so immense a portion unoccupied, and confine 
all his efforts to a region which, though immense to our 
conceptions, is, after al], hut a little spot, — a mere point, 
compared with the boundless expanse around ? 

Now, I by no means believe that there is such an im- 
mense void as my reasoning aeema to prove there must be. 
My object is to show that in these subjects which are be- 
yond our grasp, we may reason plausibly, and only plunge 
ourselves in difficulties without end. Therefore on such 
subjects I distrust all reasoning. I never reason, except 
for the purpose of showing how utterly the subject is be- 
yond our grasp; and in regard to such questions, I have 
no opinion ; I believe nothing, and disbelieve nothing. 

Third difficulty. The existence of suffering. It seems 
to me that the human mind is utterly incapable of explain- 
ing how suffering can find its way into any world which is 
under the control of a benevolent and an omnipotent God. 
If he is benevolent, he will desire to avoid all suffering; 
and if he is omnipotent, he will be able to do it. Now this 
reasoning seems to be a perfect moral demonstration; no 
person can reply to it. Some one may faintly say, that the 
suffering we witness is the means of producing a higher 
general good; and then I have only to ask, — ^But why 
could not an omnipotent Being secure the higher good 
vnthotU the suffering ? And it is a question which it seems 
to me no man can answer. The only rational course 
which we can take is to say, sincerely and cordially, we 
do not know. We are just commencing our existence, 
just beginning to think and to reason about our Creator's 
plans, and we must expect to find hundreds of subjects 
which we cannot understand. 

Fourth difficulty. Human accountability. Instead of 
calling this a difficulty, I ought to call it a cluster of diffi* 
culties; for unanswerable questions may be raised without 
end out of this subject. 

Look at yonder gloomy procession. In the cart there 
flits a man who has been convicted of piracy and murdei 



106 TOUNO CHmsTiAif. [Ch. 6. 

TiM eziKsiice of raffering inexplicable. The pirate coniemned to die. 



upon the high Beas, and he is condemned to die. Now 
that man wets taught from his youth to be a robber and a 
murderer; he was trained up to blood; conscience did 
doubtless remonstrate ; there was a law written on his heart 
which condemned him; but he was urged on by his com- 
panions, and perhaps by his very father, to stifle its voice. 
Had he been born and brought up in a Christian land with 
a kind Christian parent, and surrounded by the influences 
of the Bible, and the church, and the Sabbath school, he 
would und4>ubledly never have committed the deed. Shall 
he then be executed for a crime which, had he been in our 
circumstances, he would not have committed; and which 
his very judge perhaps would have been guilty of, had he 
been exposed to the temptations which overwhelmed the 
prisoner? 

In a multitude of books on metaphysics, the following 
train of reasoning is presented. The human mind, as it 
comes from the hand of the Creator, is endued with certain 
susceptibilities to be aflected by external objects. For in- 
stance, an injury awakens resentment in every mind. The 
heart is so constituted, that when the youngest child re- 
ceives an injury which it can understand, a feeling of 
resentment comes up in his breast. It need not have been 
so. We might unquestionably have been so formed that 
mere connpassion for the guilt of the individual who had in- 
flicted it, or a simple desire to remove the suffering, or any 
other feeling whatever, might rise. But God decided, 
when he formed our minds, what should be their ten- 
dencies. 

He has not only, decided upon the constitutional tenden- 
cies of the mind, but has arranged all the circumstances to 
which each individual is to be exposed; and these, so far 
as we can see, constitute the whole which affects the forvnor 
iion of character — the original tendencies and the circum- 
stances of life by which they are developed or restrained. 
Grod has therefore the whole control in the formation of the 
character of every individual. 



Ch. 6»] DIFFICULTIK8 IN RKUOION. 107 

AACooBtabUttf . ForakaoWledge. Story of fiuber aiMt mmu 

This seems, at leaM to a great fnawif mind9, perfect de- 
monstration; there is no evading it; and it brings us al 
once to that greatest of all questions in physics or meta- 
I^ysics, in the whole circle of human inquiry — a question 
which has caused more disputes, destroyed more Christian 
peace of mind, given rise to more vain systems formed by 
philosophical attempts to evade the difficulty, than almost 
any other question whatever: How can man he accountable^ 
when God has had such entire control in the formation of 
hM character? 

I know that some among my readers will think that I 
make the difficulty greater than it is. They will think they 
can see much to lighten it, and will perhaps deny some of 
my assumptions. Of such an one I would simply ask, were 
he before me — after having heard all he should have to say 
on the subject — *' Can you, sir, afler all, honestly say that 
you understand, clearly understand, how man can be fully 
accountable, and yet his heart be as much under divine 
control as you suppose it is?" Every honest man will 
acknowledge that he is often, in his thoughts on this sub- 
ject, lost in perplexity, and forced to admit the narrow 
limit of the human powers. 

But again. No one denies that God foreknows perfectly 
every thing that happens. Now suppose a father were to 
say to his child, *^ My son, you are going to a scene of 
temptation to-day, you will be exposed to some injury, and 
will be in danger of using some harsh and resentful words. 
Now I wish you to be careful. Bear injury patiently, and 
do not use opprobrious language in return." 

All this would be very well; but suppose that in addition 
the father were to say, "My son, I have contrived to as- 
certain what you will say, and I have written here upon this 
paper every word you will utter to-day." 

** Every word you think I shall speak, you mean," says 
the boy. 

'* No," says the father, *« every word you will speak; 
they are all written exactly. I have by some mysterious 



108 TO0NO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 6. 

God foreknows all things. Imaginary conversation with an InfUlel. 

means ascertained them, and here they are. And if is 
absolulely certain that you will speak every thing which is 
written here, and not a syllable beside." 

Could any boy after such a statement, go away believing 
what his father had said, and yet feeling that he himself 
could be, notwithstanding, free to act and speak that day 
as he pleased ? * 

Now God knows, as all will acknowledge, every thing 
which will take place, just as certainly as if it were written. 
The mere fact of expressing it in language would make no 
difference. We may consider oor future conduct to be as 
clearly known, and as certain, as if our histories were 
minutely written ; and where is the man (with perhaps the 
exception of a few who have made metaphysical philosophy 
a study for years) who will not acknowledge that this truth, 
which nobody will deny, throws a little perplexity over his 
mind when he looks at that boundless moral freedom and 
entire accountability which the Bible and human con- 
sciousness both attribute to man. 

Fifth difHculty . It is common to prove the existence of 
God from his works in the following manner: We see cre- 
ated objects; they must have had a cause, for nothing can 
arise out of nothing. There must have been, therefore, 
some great first cause, which we call God. 

Now this reasoning is very plausible; but suppose the 
infidel to whom you present it should say, " But what 
brought God into existence ? " 

You answer, " He is uncaused.^' 

♦ Let it be remembered that I am writing for the youngs and am enumer- 
ating difficulties insuperable to them. A mind long accustomed to the accu- 
racy of metaphysical inquiries will see that the antecedent certainty of any 
act proves only the greatness of the intellect which can foresee it, — it has 
nothing to do with the freedom of the moral agent by which it is performed. 
If any one supposes that there is no great ^lifficulty far the young in this 
nibject, let him try to convince an intelligent boy, that, under such circum- 
stances as are above described, he could be free to speak gently or angrily, 
solely according to his own free will. 



6.] DIFFICULTIBS IN RELIGION. 109 

t|tb difficulty. ** Answering prayer. 



Very well," he replies, *' then he came from nothing; 
hat it seems something can come from nothing." 
No," you reply, " he existed from eternity." 
.nd I suppose," replies the Atheist, *' that the world 
.xisted uncaused from all eternity ; and why is not my 
position as good as yours ? There are no more marks 
design in the structure of this earth, than there are in 
6 nicely balanced and adjusted powers and attributes of 
ehovah." 

Now this does not shake my confidence in the being of 
a God. Notwithstanding the difficulty of reasoning with 
an infidel who is determined not to be convinced, the 
proofs from marks of design are conclusive to every unbi- 
assed mind. We know there is a God— every man knows 
there is; though they who are resolved to break his laws, 
sometimes vainly seek shelter in a denial of his existence: 
like the foolish child who, when at midnight the thunder- 
storm rages in the skies, buries his face in his pillow, and 
fancies that he finds protection from the forked lightning 
by just shutting his eyes to its glare. No ; it only shakes 
my confidence in all abstract reasonings upon subjects 
which are beyond my grasp. 

Sixth difficulty. How can God really answer prayer 
without in fact miraculously interrupting the course of na- 
ture? That God does answer prayer by au exertion of 
his power in cases to which human influence does not 
reach, seems evident from the following passage: "The 
effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much. 
Elias was a man subject to like passions as we are, and he 
prayed earnestly that it might not rain^ and it rained not 
on the earth by the space of three years and six months. 
And he prayed again, and thejwaven gave rain, and the 
earth brought forth her fruk." James, 5: 16, 17, 18. Now 
if the natural effect of prayer as an exercise of the heart 
were all, this illustration would be altogether inappropriate. 
It must teach that the prayers of men will have an influence 

10 



110 Touifo cBRisnAir. [Ch. 6. 

CaM wiMMBd. The mck ion. 



wUk Jekovahy ao that he shall order, difierently from what 
he otherwise would do, events beyond human control. Now 
how can this in fact be done without a miracle? A miracle 
is nothing more than an interruption of the ordinary course 
of nature. Now if the ordinary course of nature would in 
any case bring us what we ask, it is plain we do not owe 
it to Grod's answering prayer. If the regular course of 
nature would not bring it, then it seems that Grod cannot 
grant the request without interrupting more or less that 
course, and this is a miracle. This reasoning appears sim- 
ple enough, and it is difficult to see how the conclusion 
can be avoided. 

But to make the point plainer, let 'me suppose a case. 
A mother, whose son is sick in a foreign port, asks for 
prayers in a seaman's chapel, that he may be restored to 
health and returned in safety. The young man is perhaps 
ten thousand miles from home. The prayer can have no 
power to put in operation any earthly cause which can 
reach him. If it reaches him at all, it must be through 
the medium of the Creator. 

Now we are compelled to believe, if we believe the Bi- 
ble, that the prayer will in all ordinary cases have an in- 
fluence. The efficacy of prayer, in such cases as this, is 
flo universally taught in the Bible, that we cannot doubt it 
and yet retain that volume as our guide. But how can 
Grod answer this prayer without, in reality, interfering mi- 
raculously with the laws of nature ? If the young man 
would have recovered without it, then his restoration can- 
not very honestly be said to be in answer to prayer. If 
he recovers, when, without the prayer, he would have 
died, then it seems very plain that God must interfere some" 
where to interrupt what would have been the ordinary 
course of nature ; he must arrest supernaturally the pro- 
gress of the disease, or give to medicine an efficacy which, . 
without his special interference, it would not have possess- 
ed; or suggest to his physician a course of treatment which 
the ordinary laws of thought would not have presented to 



Ch. 6f] DIFFICULTIES IN RELIGION. Ill 

Miraculoufl intorferenee in anflwering pnyer. Soorcet of difficulty. 



his mind; either of which, according to any philosophical 
definition, is a miracle. 

Now undoubtedly God, in some secret way that we can- 
not now understand, can, without disturbing the laws of 
nature, grant our requests. The difficulty is merely one 
to our limited powers; but to these powers it is insunnount- 
able. 

I might go on with such an enumeration to an indefinite 
length;. but I have, I hope, already brought up points 
enough; and let my reader remember that it is not neces- 
sary for my purpose, that he should admit that all these 
questions are beyond the grasp of his mind. It is enough 
for my present object, that each one will admit that $ome 
of them are. One will say that he can understand the sub- 
ject of God's answering prayer; another will think there 
is no difficulty in regard to God's foreknowledge of hu- 
man actions; and thus every reader will perhaps find some 
one of these which he thinks he understands. But will not 
all acknowledge that there are some which he cannot un- 
derstand? If so, he will cordially feel that there are sub- 
jects connected with important religious truth, which are 
beyond the grasp of the human mind, and this conviction is 
what I have been endeavoring to establish. 

The real difficulties which I have brought to view in the 
preceding pages are few. They are only brought up again 
and again in different forms, that they might be more clear- 
ly seen. Eternal duration; infinite space; the nature of 
moral agency ; — these are the fountains of perplexity firom 
which, in various ways, I have drawn in this chapter. 
They are suliyects which the human mind cannot grasp, 
and they involve in difficulty every proposition of which 
they form an element. You may remove the difficulty 
from one part of the ground to the other, you may conceal 
it by sophistry, you may obscure it by declamation; but, 
after all that you have done, it will remain a difficulty still, 
and the acute and candid mind will see its true character 
. through all the forms in which you may attempt to disguise 



112 TOUNG CHRISTIAK. [Cfa. 6. 

Algebra. The surd. Divtinettoo 1)etwe«B theoretical and practical 

it. The disputes and the theorizing with which the theo- 
logical world is filled on the subject of moral agency, for 
example, — the vain attempts to form some philosophical 
theory which will explain the subject, remind me of the 
labors of a school-boy endeavoring to solve an equation 
containing one irrational term. He transposes the troul>]e- 
some surd from one side to the other, — he multiplies and 
divides it, — ^he adds to it and subtracts from it,-^he tries 
involution and evolution upon it; but, notwithstanding every 
metamorphosis, it remains a surd still; and though he may 
have lost sight of it himself by throwing it into some com- 
plicated multinomial expression, the practised mathemati- 
cian will see, by a glance of the eye, that an insuperable 
difficulty is there. 

So these great moral subjects contain intrinsic and insur- 
mountable difficulties, which it is most philosophical to ac- 
knowledge, not to deny or conceal. We ought to be willing 
to remain in a measure ignorant on such subjects, if we can 
only distinctiy know our duty. It is indeed best in ordinary 
eases to look into the subject, — ^to examine it carefully, so 
as to find where the difficulty is — see ^at firm ground we 
have all around it, ai^d let the region of uncertamty and 
ignorance be circumscribed by a definite boundary. But 
when this is done, look calmly upon the surface of the deep 
which you know you cannot sound, and acknowledge the 
limit of your powers with a humble and quiet spirit. 

In order to avoid that mental anxiety which the contem- 
plation of insurmountable difficulty is calculated to awaken, 
it is well to make a broad and constant distinction between 
a theoretical and practical question. The inquiry ivhcU 
duty is y is in every case a practical question. The prin- 
ciples upon which that duty is required, form oflen a mere 
question of theory into which it is of no importance that we 
should enter. Shall the Sabbath commence on Saturday 
evening or on Sunday morning ? That is a practical diffi- 
culty. Your decision of it will affect your practice at once. 
" Why did God appoint one day in seven, rather than one 



Gh. ^] BIFFICUEtTIES IN RELIGION. IIS 



difflcttUiea Punishmeot of the enemies of God. 

in six, or one in eight, for holy time?" That is just as 
plaiuly theoretical. Now almost every question relating to 
the reasons which influence the Creator in his dealings 
with men — every one in regard to the essence o£ his char- 
acter, the constitution of man as a moral being, and the 
ground of his obligations to God, the principles by which 
the magnitude and the duration of future punishments are 
fixed — these are all theoretical questions. If we believe 
the plain declarations of the Bible in regard to the facts on 
these subjects, those facts will indeed influence our con- 
duct, but we may safely leave the theory to Him who has 
the responsibility of reigning in the universe. 

Take for instance the question ^of future punishment. 
There is a great deal of speculation on what ought and 
what ought tuk to be d:one with impenitent sinners who 
continue in sin during their peood of probation. But what 
r-easonable man, who will reflect a moment, can imagine 
that any human mind can take in such a view of God's 
administration as to enable it really to grasp this question? 
What power can comprehend so iuWy the nature and the 
consequences of sin and punishment, — not for a few years 
only, but for ever; and not upon a*^w minds only, but 
upon the umterse, a3 to be able io form awif opinion ai dU 
in regard to the course which the Supreme ought to take in 
the punishment of sin? Why, the noisy, riotous tenants 
of a crowded jail-room are far more capable of discussing 
the principles of penal jurisprudence than we are of form- 
ing any opinion, upon abstract grounds, of the proper 
extent l^nd duration of future punishment. The jailor 
would say to his prisoners, if they remonstrated with him 
on the severity of their sentence, '^Tha law decides this 
question; we have nothing to do with it; the law will be 
executed." ^d so, if a man should attempt to reason 
with me, to prove, on abstract grounds, that eternal or that 
limited punishment is the just one; might I not say to him, 
**Sir, why do you perplex me with the question of the 
punishment of the enemies of God? I have not that pua** 

10* 



114 TOTJNO CHRI8TIA1C. [Ch.-6; 

Scripture difficultlei. Comparative power of Grod and man in tbe human heart 

ishment to assign. God says that the wicked shall go 
away into everlasting punishment. He has decided. I 
cannot stand on the' eminence which he occapies, and see 
what led him to this decision. My only duty is to believe 
what he says, and to escape as swiflly as I can to the 
refuge from that storm." 

Nine tenths of the difficulties which beset the paths of 
young Christians would be avoided by such a spirit as 
this — by our taking Grod's decisions, and spending our 
strength in performing the practical duties which arise from 
them, and leaving the grounds of those decisions with hini. 

This principle may be applied in a multitude of cases r in 
which Scripture declarations are a ground of doubt and 
difficulty to Christians. **Work out your own salvation 
with fear and trembling, for it is God that worketh in you 
both to will and to do of his good pleasure." So far as 
this text is considered in its practical aspects, how plain 
and simple it is; and yet how easy to lose ourselves in the 
theoretical speculations to which it may give rise. The 
duties it requires, are plain and simple. Make effort your- 
self with patient fidelity, but feel at the same time a 
humble sense of your dependence upon God. The theory 
upon which these two duties are founded is lost in ob- 
scurity which the human mind cannot penetrate. 

The words "work out," &c. seem to imply that the 
power necessary to change the heart rests with man, while 
the latter part of the verse, "for it is God," Slc. seems to 
attribute it to God. How is this? what degree of agency 
has man himself in the production of those holy feelings 
which the Bible represents as necessary to salvation, and 
what part devolves upon ^he Creator? This is a question 
which, as has been already remarked, has come up in % 
thousand forms. It has been the foundation of many a 
captious cavil, as well as of many an honest doubt. If the 
Bible iiad taught us that man alone had power over his 
conduct, so as to be entirely independent of an over-ruling 
hand, we could understand it. Or if it had maintained 



Ch. 6.] DIFFIGULTIXS IN RSLIOlOJf. 115 

Difficulty theoretical. None in praetlee. 

that God reigned in the > human heart, and controlled its 
emotions and feelings to such an extent as to free man from 
Ihe responsibilfiy, this too would he plain. But it takes 
neither of these grounds. In some passages it plainly 
teaches us that all the responsibility of human conduct 
rests upon the individual being who exhibits it. In other 
places we are informed that the great Grod is supreme in 
the moral as in the material world, and that he turns the 
hearts of men as surely and as easily as the rivers of water. 
And these two truths, so perplexing to philosophy, are 
brought, by a moral daring for which the Bible is remaHc- 
able, directly side by side in the passage before us. There 
is no softening of language to obscure the distinctness of 
the difficulty — ^there are no terms of limitation to bring it 
in within narrow bounds— there is no interpretation to 
explain, no qualifications to modify. But it stands fair and 
legible, and unalterable, upon the pages of the word of 
God, saying to us in language which we cannot misunder- 
stand — ^you must make active and earnest efforts yourselves 
in the pursuit of holiness — and you must still submit to the 
power that rules in your heart, and look for assistance to 
God, who works in you to toill and to do. 

It ought however to be said again and again, that the 
difficulty is not a practical, bilt a theoretical one. There 
is no difficulty in making the efforts required by the former 
part of the passage, and at the same time in feeling the 
dependence on God required in the latter. The difficulQr is 
in understanding the principle upon ufhich the two are 
founded. It seems to me that this is a very fundamental 
point. Persons seeking, or thinking that they are seeking 
to enter the kingdom of heaven, are often encumbered 
with these very difficulties. They cannot understand the 
comparative influence which God and man have over the 
human hearty and hence they remain at a stand, not know- 
ing what to do. They forget that the difficulty, great as it 
«^, is one of specukUionj not of action, and therefore they 
oti^ht not to waste a thought upon it, until at least thejr 



1 16 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 6. 

Objeeti of tbii chapter. 1. laquirera. 

have made peace with God. Two separate duties are 
required. We can understand them well enough — and 
they are not inconsistent with each other. Exert yourselves 
to the utmost in seeking salvation. What difficulty is there 
in this? Place all your hope of success- in God, What 
difficulty is th^e in this ? And what difficulty is there in 
making exertion ourselves, and feeling reliance on God at 
the same time? There is none. It has heen done a 
thousand times. It is doing hy thousands now. It can be 
done by all. But we cannot understand, it may be said, 
the principle upon which these two duties are enjoined. 
True, we cannot understand it. The theory is involved in 
darkness; in which any who choose may easily lose them- 
selves. But the duties are plain. God has enjoined them, 
and, as dutiful children, we ought to feel that if he clearly 
tells us what we are to do, he may properly conceal in 
many cases the reasons of his requirements. 

There are three or four very common evils, which, by 
taking up the subject of this chapter so formally, I have 
been wishing to remove. I will mention them. 

1 . The useless perplexity of religious inquirers, A young 
person, perhaps one of my readers, is almost persuaded to 
be a Christian: You reflect upon your lost condition as a 
sinner, and feel desolate and unhappy. You think of 
God's goodness to you, and are half inclined to come to 
him. Instead, however, of thinking only of your duty, 
and spending all your strength in resisting temptation, and 
in commencing a life of practical piety, you immediately 
seize upon some theoretical difficulty connected with the- 
ology, and trouble yourself about that. Perhaps you 
cannot understand how God influences the human heart, ' 
or how man can be accountable if the Holy Spirit alone 
sanctifies. '* How can I work out my own salvation," you 
say,, **if it is God who worketh in me to will^and to do? " 
Or perhaps you perplex your bead about the magnitude or 
duration of future puoishment, or the number who will la%^ 



Ch. 6.] DIFFICULTIKS IN RELIGION. 117 

Disobedient achoel-lx^. Preient duty neglected. 

saved, as though the administration of Jehovah's govern- 
ment would come upon your shoulders if you became a 
Christian, and you must therefore understand thoroughly 
its principles before you incur such a responsibility. How 
absurd! Can you not trust God to manage his own em- 
pire, at least until after you have come yourself fully over 
to his side ? 

Suppose a child were to show a disobedient and rebel- 
lious spirit in school, and should be called upon by his 
teacher to reform, and should, after pausing a moment, 
begin to say, '* I ought to conduct differently, I know, and 
I think seriously of returning to my duty. But there are 
some things about it which I dp not understand." 

** What things? " says the teacher. 

** Why," says the boy, ** I do not see what I should do 
if you and my father were to command me to do opposite 
things. I do not clearly understand whom I ought to 
obey." 

" Do you not know," replies the teacher, " that you now 
disobey me in cases where your father and myself both 
wish you to obey ? Come and do your duty in these. You 
have nothing to do with such a question as you mention. 
Come and do your duty." 

"But," says the boy, "there is another great difficulty, 
which I never could understand. Suppose my father or 
you should command me to do something Avrong ; then I 
should be bound to obey my fatlier, and also bound not to 
do what is wrong. Now I cannot understand what I ought 
to do in such a case." 

. Thus he goes on. 'Instead of returning immediately to 
the right path, becoming a dutiful son and . a docile pupil 
at once, in the thousand plain cases which are every day 
occurring, he looks every way in search of difficulties with 
which he hopes to perplex his teacher and excuse his neg- 
lect of duty. 

Speculating inquirer, are you not doing the same ? when 
it is most plainly your duty to begin to love God and serve 



Its TOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 6. 

SL Perplexities of Chrittians. Way to aTotd Uiem. 

him at once in the thousand plain instances which occur 
dailj, instead of doing it with all your heart, trusting in 
God that he will do right)—- do you not search through 
the whole administration of his government for fancied 
difficulties — difficulties to your feehle powers — ^feeble orig- 
inally, but rendered feebler still by your continuance in 
sin ? With these difficulties you embarrass yourself, and 
strive to perplex your minister, or your Sabbath school 
teacher, or your parent, and thus find a momentary respite 
from the reproaches of a wounded spirit by carrying the 
war away from your own conscience, which is the proper 
field, into your pastor's or your parent's intellect While 
the argument is going on here, your sense of guilt sub- 
sides, conscience is seared, and you fall back to coldness 
and hardness of heart. Now why will you thus waste your 
time and your moral strength on questions in regard to 
which you have no responsibility, instead of walking in the 
plain path of duty, which lies open before you? 

2. Useless perplexities of a Christian, In bringing up to 
view so plainly the insuperable, difficulties connected with 
religious truth, I have been hoping to divert the minds of 
experienced Christians from being perplexed and embar- 
rassed by them. Qiicc make up your mind, fully and cor- 
dially, that there are depths which the sounding line of 
your intellect will not reach, and you will repose in the 
conviction that you do not and cannot now know, ivith o 
peace of mind which you cannot in any other way secure 
How many persons perplex themselves again and again, 
and go on perplexing themselves all through life in fruitless 
endeavors to understand thoroughly the precise and exact 
relation which Jesus Christ bears to the Father. The 
Bible gives us, clearly, and in simple and definite lan- 
guage, all about the Savior which it is of practical impor- 
tance for us to know. The Word was God, and the Word 
became flesh, or man. Now just be willing to stop here. 
''But no," says some one who loves his Savior, and wishes 
to understand his character, "I want to have clear ideas 



Ch. 6.] DITFIGULTIBS IN EKUOIOlt 119 

- I I I I —I ■■ I .1111 > 

PlftMlU* iwiniiim ■oBMtiBMt UBMife. Bcholan ia Oeometiy. 

on this subject; I want to know prtciiely what relaiien he 
atuiaimed to the Father before he became man. Was he in 
aU respects identical? or was he a different beings or a dif^ 
ferent person; and what is the difference between a person 
and a being ? When he became man, I want to know 
precisely how the two natures came together." 

You want to know; but how wiU you ascertain? Does 
the Bible tell you ? It tells you that your Savior was Gtod, 
and that hei>ecame man. If you rest upon the Bible, you 
must stop here. Will you trust to your own speculations? 
Will you build up inferences upon what the Bible states; 
and think, if you are cautious in your reasoning, you can 
be safe in your conclusions ? You cannot be safe in your 
conclusions. No mind can be trusted a moment to draw 
conclusions from well established premises on a subject 
which it does not fully grasp. 

If you doubt this, just make the following experiment. 
Undertake to teach the elements of geometry to a class 
of intelligent young people ; and as they go on from truth 
to truth, lead them into conversation, induce them to 
apply the active energies of their minds to the subject, in 
reasoning themselves from the truths which their text-book 
explains, and you will soon be convinced how far the hu- 
man mind can be trusted in its inferences on a subject 
which is beyond its grEisp. Your pupils will bring you 
apparent contradictions, arising, as they think they can 
show, from the truths established; and will demonstrate, 
most satisfactorily to themselves, the most absurd propo- 
sitions. In one case, an intelligent scholar in a class in 
college attempted to demonstrate the absurdity of the fa- 
mous forty-seventh. He drew his diagram, and wrote out 
his demonstration, and showed it to his class ; and it was 
long before any of them could detect the fallacy. The 
mathematical reader will understand this, and alt may un- 
derstand, that, in this case, the pupil made out a chain of 
reasoning perfectly satisfactory to his own mind, which 
"h^v/eve- 1'*'^ ♦o absurdity and falsehood. 



IfO TOUlfO CHKISTIAK. [Ch. 6. 

DimwiBf taifereBeea. 8107 of tte Inighia aad tkm ■lalM. 

You saj, perhiqM, " Well, this was because he had just 
begun the atudj; he knew scarcelj any thing about it. 
Such mistakes would onl j be made by the merest be- 
ginners." 

That is exactly what I wish you to say; and to admit 
the same thing in regard to ourselves, as students of reli- 
gious truth. We are mere begitmen; we know almost 
nothing of such subjects as Grod, eternity, and the consti- 
tution of mind. The moment therefore we leave the plain 
propositions o£ the Bible, which are all that are necessary 
for us to understand, and go to dratoing vrferencea, we 
involve ourselves in absurdity and falsehood, no matter 
how directly and inevitably our inferences seem to follow. 
Whenever I hear a man attempting to prove, from the 
nature of the case, that the Word could not have been 
God, and afterward have become flesh, or that God cannot 
reign in the heart, as the Bible says he does, and yet leave 
man free and accountable, I always think of the college 
sophomore endeavoring by his own blundering reasoning 
to upset the proposition of Pythagoras. 

These subjects, which are too difficult in their very na-- 
ture for our powers, are the source of very many of the 
unhappy controversies which agitate the church. The 
mind is not capable of grasping fully the whole truth. 
Each side seizes a part, and, building its own inferences 
upon these partial premises, they soon And that their 
own opinions come into collision with those of their 
neighbors. 

Moralists tell the following story, which very happily 
illustrates this species of controversy: In the days of 
knight errantry, when individual adventurers rode about the 
world, seeking employment in their profession, which was 
that of the sword, two strong and warlike knights, coming 
from opposite directions, met each other at a place where 
a statue was erected. On the arm of the statue was a 
shield, one side of which was of iron, the other of brass, 
and as our two heroes reined up their steeds, the statue 



Ch. 6.] DIFFICVLTIB8 llf RBUOIOIT. 121 

- ^^^m 111 ^"Ji 

Tlie shield of hnm uid iron. Ono kiad oTcoatnMrensr. 

■ - _ 

was upon the side of the road, between them, in such a 
manner that the shield presented its gurfaee of brass to the 
ome, and of iron to the other. They immediatelj feU into 
•conversation in regard to the structure before them, when 
one, incidentally alluding to the iron shield, the other cor-, 
rected him, bj remarking that it was of bra$8. The 
knight upon the .iron side of course did not receive the cor- 
rection: he maintained that he was right; and, afler carry- 
ing on the controversy for a short time by harsh language, 
they gradually grew angry, and soon drew their swords. 
A long and furious combat ensued; and when at last both 
were exhausted, unhorsed, and lying wounded upon te 
ground, they found that the whole cause of their trouble 
was, that they could not see both sides of a shield at a 
time. 

Now religious truth is sometimes such a shield, wUh 
9ariou$ aspecU, and the human mind cannot clearly see all 
at a time. Two Christian knights, clad in strong armor, 
come up to some such subject as moral agency, and view 
it from opposite stations. One looks at the power which 
man has over his heart, and, laying his foundation there, 
he builds up his theory upon that alone. Another looks 
upon the divine power in the human heart, and, laying his 
own separate foundation, builds up his theory. The hu- 
man mind is incapable, in fact, of grasping the subject — 
of understanding how man can be free and accountable^ 
and yet be so much under the control of God as the Bible 
represents. Our Christian soldiers, however, do not con- 
sider this. Each takes his own view, and carries it out so 
far as to interfere with that of the other. They converse 
about it — they talk more and more warmly — then a long 
controversy ensues — ^if they have influence over others, 
their dispute agitates the church, and divides brethren 
from brethren. And why? Why, just because our Crea 
tor has so formed us that we caimot, from one point of 
view, see both sides of the shield at the same time. The 
combatants, after a long battle, are both unhorsed and 

11 



1^ TOUlfO CHRISTIAir. [Ch. 6. 

OUBcQltiM xnt ehildreo. Chfldren>» questions. 



wounded; their usefalness and tbeir Christian eharacter 
18 injured or destroyed. 

Now whMi is the true course for us to take in regard to 
such a subject ? Simply this. Look at our dependence 
on God for a change of heart and for the exercise of right 
feeling, just as the Bible presents this subject, and go 
cordially and fidly just as far as the Bible goes, which is a 
great way. Fix in your heart that feeling of dependence 
and humility which this view is calculated to give. Then 
look at the other aspect of this subject, the active power of 
man, and go here just as far as the Bible goes, and care- 
fully learn the lesson of diligence which it teaches. Sup- 
pose you cannot find where the two come together, be 
willing to be ignorant of a theory which God has not re^ 
vealed. 

It has been my design in presenting this subject, to con- 
vince Christians that they cannot understand every thing 
connected with Christian theology, and to try to induce 
them to repose willingly and peacefully, in a sense of igno- 
rance fully realized and frankly acknowledged. 

3. Difficulties of children, I have discussed this subject 
too with direct reference to children, for the sake of trying 
to guard you against two faults. One is, coming to your 
parents or teachers with questions, and expecting that they 
can in all cases give a satisfactory answer. They cannot. 
T!hey do not know. The wisest parent, the highest intel- 
lect, is incapable of answering the questions which the 
youngest child can ask in regard to the truths of Chris- 
tianity. Do not expect it then. You may ask questions 
fi'eely, but when the answers are not perfectly satisfactory 
to you, consider the subject as beyond the grasp of your 
present powers. Be satisfied if you can understand the 
principles of duty, and spend your moral strength in en- 
deavoring to be as faithful as possible there. 

There is one other suggestion which I wish to make to 
you. When you carry questions or difficulties of any kind 
to your parents or teachers, be very careful to be actuated 



Ch. 6.3 DIFFICULTIES IN RELIGION. 123 

Difficultiefl of parenu and teachers. Tbe adiool-boy's quostion. 



by a nncere desire to learns instead of coming as young 
persons very often do, with a secret desire to display their 
own acuteness and discrimination in seeing the difficulty. 
How often have young persons brought questions to me, 
when it has .been perfectly evident that their whole object 
was not to be taught, but to show me their own shrewd- 
ness and dexterity. They listen in such cases to what I 
say, not to be taught by it, but to think what they can re- 
ply to it, and bring objection upon objection with a spirit 
which refuses to be satisfied. Be careful to avoid this. 
Ask ibr the sake of learning. Listen with a predisposition 
to be satisfied with the answer, and never enter into argu- 
ment, and take your side, and dispute with your parent or 
your teacher, with a view to show your dexterity. If you 
liave this spirit and exercise it, an intelligent parent will 
always detect it. 

4. IHjficuliie$ of parents und ieaeken, I wish to have 
this discussion the means of helping parents and teachers, 
and older brothers and sistens, out of one of their most 
common difficuhies — I mean, that of answering questions 
brought to them by the young. Learn to say, *' I do not 
know.'* If you really will learn to say this frankly and 
openly, it will help you out of a vast many troubles. 

You are a Sabbath-school teacher, I will imagine. A 
bright looking boy, whose vanity has been ftmned by flat- 
tery, says to you before his class, 

** There is one thing in the lesson X do not understand. 
It says, God made tbe earth first, and afterward the sun. 
Now the sun stands stilly and the earth and all the planets 
move round it. It seems to me, therefore, that he would 
have been more likely to have created the sun first, for 
that is the largest and is in the middle, and afterward the 
planets/' 

As he says this, you see a half smile of self-complacency 
upon his countenance as he looks round upon his class* 
nates, to observe how they receive this astonishing display 
<^ youthful acumen. If now you attempt any explanatioD, 



134 TOUirO CHKISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

rrid« !■ ukinc qoafltioM. Bumble spirit. EtM«iicm of CkriMimaky. 

be does not follow you with any desire to have the diffi- 
culty removed. He either is absorbed in thinking how 
ihrewdly he discovered and expressed the difficulty, or 
ebe, if he listens to your reply, it is to find something in it 
upon which he can hang a new question, or prolong the 
difficulty. Me feels a sort of pride in not having his ques- 
tion easily answered. He cannot be instructed while in 
this state of mind. 

"What then would you say to a boy in such a case?'* 
you will ask. 

I would say this to him: '' I do not understand that very 
well myself. I know nothing about the creation but what 
that chapter tells me. You can think about it, and per- 
haps some explanation will occur to you. In the mean 
time it is not very necessary for us to know. It is not 
necessary for you to understand exactly how God made 
the world, in order to enable you to be a good boy next 
week." 

And thus universally I would inculcate the importance 
of a humble, docUe spirit, which will disarm every theoreti- 
cal difficulty of its power to perplez us, or to disturb our 
peace. 



CHAPTER VII. 

EVIDENCES OF C HRISTI AlVITT. 

'* God who at inndry timet and in diyere manners, spake in time past 
VDto the fathers by the prophets, bath, ia these last days, spoken auto us by 
his Sod.** 

The first inquiry which meets us in entering upon the 
consideration of this subject is, "What sort of evidence 
are we to expect? " The only proper answer is, that sort 
of evidence which men require to produce conviction and 
to control the conduct in other cases. The human mind is 
so constituted that men are governed by a certain kind and 
degree of evidence in all the concerns of life — a kind and 



Ch. 7.] Evip£m:ss or chbistianitt. 135 

The mercbant. Tbe doubting clerk. 

a, degree which is adapted to the circumstances in which 
we are placed here. This evidence, however, ahnost 
always falls vtry far short of demomiration, or abtoltUe cer* 
ittiniy. Still it is enough to control the conduct. By the 
influence of it a man will embark in the most momentous 
enterprises, and he is often induced by it to abandon his 
QiDst favorite plans. Still it is very far short of demonstra- 
tion, or absolute certainty. For example, a merchant 
receives in his counting-room a newspaper which marks 
the prices of some species of goods at a foreign port as 
very high. He immediately determines to purchase a 
quantity, and to send a cargo there; but suppose, as he is 
making arrangements for this purpose, his clerk should 
say to him, " Perhaps this information may not be correct. 
The correspondent of the editor may have made a false 
43tatement for some fraudulent purpose, or the communica- 
tion may have been forged; or some evil-minded person 
having the article in question for sale, may have contrived 
by stealth to alter the types, so as to cause the paper to 
make a &lse report, at least in some of the copies." 

Now in such a case, would the merchant be influenced 
in the slightest degree by such a skeptical spirit as this } 
Would he attempt to reply to these suppositions, and to 
show that the channel of communication between the dis- 
tant port and his own counting-room could not have been 
broken in upon by fraud somewhere in its course, so as to 
bring a false statement to him? He could not show this. 
His only reply must be, if he should reply at all, " The 
evidence of this printed sheet is not perfect demonstration, 
but it is just such evidence in kind and degree as I act 
upon in all my business; and it is enough. Were I to 
pause with the spirit of your present objections, and refuse 
to act whenever such doubts as those you have presented 
might be entertuned, I might close my business at once, 
and spend life in inaction. I could not, in one case in ten 
thousand, get the evidence which would satisfy such « 

flpirit*" 

11* 



126 Touifo CHRisTiAir. [Ch, 7. 

Tbe onexperted letter. The tick child. 

Again: you are a parent, I suppose; you have a sob 
travelling at a distance from home, and 70a receive some 
day a letter from the post-office in a strange hand-writing, 
and signed by a name you have never heard, informing 
you that your son has been taken sick at one of the villages 
on his route, and that he is lying dangerously ill at the 
house of the writer, and has requested that his father might 
be informed of his condition and urged to come and see 
him before he dies. 

Where now is the father who in such a case would say 
to himself, " Stop, this may be a deception; some one 
may have forged this letter to impose upon me. Before I 
take this journey I must write to some responsible man in 
that village to ascertain the facts." 

No ; instead of looking with suspicion upon the letter, 
scrutinizing it carefully to find marks of counterfeiting, he 
would not even read it a second time. As soon as he had 
caught a glimpse of its contents, he would throw it hastily 
aside, and urging the arrangements for his departure to the 
utmost, he would hasten away, saying, "Let me go as 
soon as possible to my dying son." 

I will state one more case, though perhaps it is so 
evident, upon a mementos reflection, that men do not wait 
for perfect certainty in the evidence upon which they act, 
that I have already stated too many. 

Your child is sick, and as he lies tossing in a burning 
fever on his beef, the physician comes in to visit him. He 
looks for a few minutes at the patient, examines the 
symptoms, and then hastily writes an almost illegible pre- 
scription, whose irregular and abbreviated characters ate 
entirely unintelligible to all but professional eyes. You 
give this prescription to a messenger — perhaps to some 
one whom you do not know — and he carries it to the 
apothecary, who, from the indiscriminate multitude of jars, 
and drawers, and boxes, filled with every powerful medi- 
cine, and corroding acid, and deadly poison, selects a little 
here and a little there, with which, talking perhaps aH the . 



Ch. 7.] EviDENCfis OF chuistunitt. J 27 



Men act from reasonable evidenee. 



time to those around him, he compounds a remedy for your 
son. The messenger brings it to the sick chamber, and 
as he puts it into your hands, do you think of stopping to 
consider the possibility of a mistake ? How easily might 
the physician, by substituting one barbarous Latin name 
for another, or by making one little character too few or 
too many, have so altered the ingredients, or the propor- 
tions of the mixture, as to convert that which was intended 
to be a remedy, to an active and fatal poison. How easily 
might the apothecary, by using the wrong weight, or 
mistaking one white powder for another precisely similar 
in appearance, or by giving your messenger the parcel 
intended for another customer, send you, not a remedy 
which would allay the fever and bring repose to the rest- 
less child, but an irritating stimulus, which should urge 
on to double fury the raging of the disease, or terminate 
it at once by sudden death. .v 

How possible are these, but who stops to consider them ? 
How absurd would it be to consider them! You adminis- 
ter the remedy with unhesitating confidence, and in a few 
days the returning health of your child shows that it is 
wise for you to act, even in cases of life and death, on 
rea$onable evidence, without waiting for the absolute cer- 
tainty of moral demonstration. 

Now this is exactly the case with the subject of the 
Christian religion. It comes purporting to be a message 
from Heaven, and it brings with it just such, a kind of evi- 
dence as men act upon in all their other concerns. The 
evidence is abundant; at the same time, however, any one 
who dislikes the truths or the requirements of this Gospel, 
may easily, like the skeptical clerk in the case above men- 
tioned, make objections and difficulties innumerable. A 
man may be an infidel if he pleases. There is no such 
irresistible weight of argument that the mind is absolutely 
forced to admit it, as it is to believe that two and three 
make five. In regard to this latter truth, such is the 
nature of the human mind, that there is not, and there 



128 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

Evidencas of CbrlatiaDity, historical, intaniBl aad experimental. 

cannot be an individual who can doubt it. In regard to 
Christianity however, as with all other truths of a moral' 
nature which regulate the moral conduct of mankind, there 
is no such irresistible evidence. The light is clear, if a 
man is wUUng to see ; but it is not so vividly intense as to 
force itself through his eyelids, if he chooses to close them. 
Any one may walk in darkness if he will. 

The evidences of Christianity are usually considered as 
of two kinds, historical and internal. There may properly 
be added a third, which I shall call experimental. These 
three kinds are entirely distinct in their nature. 

1. If we look back upon the history of Christianity, we 
find it was introduced into the world under very remarka- 
ble circumstances. Miracles were performed, and future 
events foretold, in attestation of its divine origin, and the 
founder was restored to life after being crucified by his 
enemies. These, with the various circumstances connec- 
ted with them, constitute the historical evidence of Chris- 
tianity. 

^. If now we examine the book itself, its truths, its 
doctrines, its spirit, we find that it is exactly such in its 
nature and tendency as we should expect a message from 
Jehovah to such beings as we, would be. This is the 
internal evidence. 

3. And if we look upon the effects which the Bible produ- 
ces all around us upon the guilt and misery of society, 
wherever it is faithfully and properly applied, we find it 
efiicient for the purposes for which it was sent. It comes 
to cure the diseases of sin — and it does cure them. It is 
intended to lead men to abandon vice and crime, and to 
bring them to God — and it does bring them by hundreds 
and thousands. If we make the experiment with it, we 
find that it succeeds in accomplishing its objects. This 
we may call the experimental evidence, i 

These three kinds of evidence are so entirely distinct in 
their nature^ that they apply to other subjects. Tou have 



Ch. 7.] KVIDSNCKS OF CHKtSTtANITT. J 29 

nimtnitioB. The PboaphonM. Hiatorieal •▼Meae*. 

a substance which you suppose is phosphorus. For what 
reason? Why, in the first place, a boy in whom you place 
confidence brought it for you from the chemist's, who said 
it was phosphorus. This is the hiHarieal evidence: it 
relates to the history of the article before it came into your 
possession. In the second place, you examine it, and it 
looks like phosphorus. Its color, consistence and form 
all agree. This is itUerfhal evidence: it results from infer- 
nal examination. In the third place, you try U. It bums 
with a most bright and vivid flame. This last may be 
called experimental evidence; and it ought to be noticed 
that this last is the best of the three. No matter what 
grounds of doubt and hesitation there may be in regard to 
the first and second kinds of evidence, if the article simply 
proves its properties on trial. If any one should say to 
you, '* I have some reason to suspect that your messenger 
.was not honest; he may have brought something else;" 
or *' This does not look exactly .like real phosphorus; it is 
too dark or too hard;" your reply would be, " Sir, there 
can be no possible doubt of it. Just see how it bums! " 

Just so with the evidences of Christianity. It is inter- 
esting to look into the historical evidences that it is a 
revelation from Heaven, and to contemplate also the in- 
ternal indications of its origin; but after all, the great evi- 
dence on which it is best for Christians, especially young 
Christians, to rely for the divine authority of the Bible, is 
its present universal and irresistible power in changing 
character, and saving from suffering and sin. 

I. HISTORICAL EVIDENCE. 

If the Creator should intend to send a communication 
of his will to his creatures, we might have supposed that 
he would, at the time of his making it, accompany the 
revelation with something or other which should be a 
proof that it really came from him, Monarchs have always 
had some way of authenticating their communications with 



ISO TOUNO CHKISTIAjr. [Ch. 7. 

Tbe Seal. Miracles. Examiniof whneMes. 

their subjecU, or with distant officers. This is the origin 
of the use of seals. The monarch at home possesses a 
seal of a peculiar character. When he sei^ds any commu- 
nication to a distance, he impresses this seal upon the wax 
connected with the parchment upon which the letter is 
written. This gives it authority. No one else possessing 
such a seal, it is plain that no one can give the impres- 
sion of it, and a seal of this kind is very difficult to be 
counterfeited. Various other devices have been resorted 
to by persons in authority to authenticate their communi- 
cations. 

In tbe same manner we must have expected that Jeho- 
rah, when he sends a message to men, will have some way 
of convincing us that it really comes from him. There are 
so many bad men in the world who are willing to deceive 
mankind, that we could not possibly tell, when a pretended 
revelation comes to us, whether it was really a revelation 
from heaven or a design of wicked men, unless God should 
«et some marks upon it, or accompany it with some indi- 
cations which bad men could not imitate. 

The Bible professes to have been accompanied by such 
marks. They are the power of working miracles and 
foretelling future events, possessed by those who brought 
the various messages it contains. It is plain that man, 
without divine assistance, could have had no such power. 
If this power then really accompanied those who were the 
instruments of introducing the Christian religion into the 
world, we may safely conclude that it was given them by 
God, and as he would never give this power to sanction 
imposture, the message brought must be from him. 

The way then to ascertain whether these miracles were 
actually performed, is like that of ascertaining all other 
matters of fact, by calling upon those who witnessed theiQ 
for their testimony. 

The manner in which these witnesses are to be examin- 
ed, is similar to that pursued in ordinary courts of justice. 
It is similar, I mean, in its principles, not iq its forms. I 



Ch. t.] XVIDBNCEB OF CHRISTIANITT. 131 

TlM court. ^he eourt room. The priioiMr. 

know of nothing which shows more convincingly the satis- 
factory nature of this evidence, than a comparison of it 
with that usually relied on in courts of justice. In order 
to exhibit the former then distinctly, I shall minutely de- 
scribe the course pursued, and, to make my description 
more definite, I shall select a particular case. 

I was once walking in the streets of a large city, in 
which £ was a stranger, looking around for some striking 
exhibitions of human character or efforts, when I saw 
several persons, of apparently low rank in life, standing 
before the door of what was apparently some public build- 
ing. I thought it was probably a court-house, and that 
these were the men who had been called as witnesses, and 
that they were waiting for their turn to testify. As courts 
are always open to the public, I concluded to go in and 
hear some of the causes. I walked up the steps and enter- 
ed a spacious hall, and at the foot of a flight of stairs saw 
' a little painted sign, saying that the court-room was above. 
I passed up and pushed open the light baize door, which 
admitted me to the room itself. 

At the end at which I entered there were two rows of 
seats, one row on each side of an aisle which led up 
through the centre. These seats seemed to be for specta- 
tors; for those on one side were nearly filled with women, 
and those on the other by men. I advanced up the aisle 
. until I nearly reached the centre of the *room, and then 
took my seat among the spectators, where I could distinct- 
ly hear and see all that passed. Before me, at the farther 
end of the room, sat the judge, in a sort of desk on an 
• elevated platform, and in front of him was another desk, 
lower, which was occupied by the clerk, whose business 
it was to make a record of all the causes that were tried. 
There was an area in front of the judge, in which were 
seats fi>r the various lawyers; and in boxes at the sides 
were seats for the jury, who were to hear the evidence, 
and decide what facts were proved. On one side of the 
Toon\ was a door made of iron grating, with sharp points 



192 Toima cHBiniAir. {Ch, 7. 



upon the top, which led, I enppoeed, to an apertnent 
where the prisonen were kept. 

Not long after I had taken mj seat, the clerk said that 
die next canse was the trial of O. B. lor honsehreakiBg. 
Hie judge commanded an officer to bring the prisoner into 
court. The officer went to the iron door I have describ- 
ed, unlocked it, and brought out of the room into which it 
opened, a prisoner; he looked guilty and ashamed; his 
hee was pale— not as though he was afraid, but as if his 
constitution had been impaired by rice. They brought 
him into the middle of the room, and placed him in a smt 
of pew with high sides, and shut him in. He leaned 
against the front of it, looked at the judge, and began to 
listen to his trial. 

The clerk read the accusation. It was, that he had 
broken open an unoccupied house once or twice, and 
taken from it articles belonging to the owner of the house. 
The judge asked him if he pleaded guilty, or not gnihy. 
He said, not guilty. The judge then asked the jury at the 
side to listen to the evidence, so that they might be pre- 
pared to decide whether this man did break open the 
house or not. 

Men, not accustomed to speak in public assemblies^ 
could not easily give their testimony in such a case, so 
that it would be fully understood on all the important 
points. In fact, very few know fully what the important 
points are. Hence it is proper that there should be law- 
yers present, who can ask questions, and thus examine the 
witnesses in such a manner as to bring out fully all the 
fhcts in the case. There is one lawyer appointed by the 
government, whose business it is to bring to view all the 
facts which indicate the prisoner's guilt; and another ap- 
pointed by the prisoner, who takes care that nothing is 
omitted or lost sight of which tends to show his innocence. 
When the prisoner has not appointed any counsel, the 
judge appoints some one for him; this was done in the 
"^ before us. 



Ch. 7.] EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITT. 133 

Testimony of the owner. TeaCimony of the watchman. Lawyer's queetloa. 

1 ^__^ 

The first witness called was the owner of the house. It 
is necessary that each witness should be a man of good 
character, and that he should testify only to what he saw 
or heard. No one is permitted to tell what some one else 
told him; for stories are very likely to be altered in repeti- 
tion ; so that, even in a complicated case, each man goes 
only so far as his oum personal knowledge extends. And, 
in order to be sure that the jury shall have his own story^ 
he is obliged to come personally into court, and tell the 
«tory in presence of all. The owner of this house was 
probably a man of business; and a great deal of vfduable 
time would have been saved if he had been permitted to 
write down his account and send it in. But no; every 
witness, where it is possible, must actually come into court 
and present his evidence with his own voice. This remark 
it is important to remember, as the principle will come to 
view when we consider the other case. 

The witness testified, that he owned a certain house; 
that he moved out of it, and locked it up, leaving some 
articles in an upper chamber; that one day he went in and 
found that the house had been entered, I believe by a 
window, and that the chamber-door had been broken open, 
and some of the articles taken away. He s^d that he 
then employed a watchman to sleep in the house, and to 
try to catch the thief. 

Here he had to stop; for, although he knew how the 
watchman succeeded, he was not permitted to tell, for he 
did not see it. No man testifies except to what he has 
seen or heard. 

The watchman was next called. The lawyer for the 
government asked him, 

*'Were you employed by the owner of this house to 
watch for a thief in it?" 

'* Yes, sir." 

<< What did he tell you when he engaged you?" 

" He told me that his house had been broken open, and 
he wished me to watch for the thief." 

12 



134 TO0KO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

. * — ——— ■ ■ — ■ ■ ■ 

Watchman's story. The Prisoner convicted. 



99 



**Didyoudoit?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Well, relate to the jury what occurred that night.' 

" I watched several nights. For some nights nothing 
occunred. All was quiet till morning." 

" In what room did you stay? " 

" In the room under the chamber from which the articles 
had been stolen." 

"Well, go on with your account." 

"At last, on the 15th of June, as I was then watching, 
about three o'clock in the morning I heard a noise. Some 
one was coming softly up stairs. He went up into the 
room over my head, and after remaining a few minutes 
there, he began to come down. I immediately went out 
into the entry and seized him, and took him to the watch- 
house. The next morning he was put in prison." 

The lawyer then pointed to the prisoner at the bar, aiid 
asked if that was the man. The witness said it was. 

The judge then asked the counsel for the prisoner if ho 
had any questions to ask, and he did ask one or two, but 
they were not material. The jury then consulted together, 
and all agreed that the prisoner was proved guilty ; and the 
judge ordered him to be sent back to the prison till he 
should determine what punishment must be assigned. 

This is substantially the way in which all trials are con- 
ducted. Three or four points are considered very neces- 
sary. 1 . That the witnesses should be of good character. 
2. That they should have actually witnessed what they de- 
scribe. And, 3. That the precise account which they 
themselves give, should come into court. These points the 
judge or the lawyers secure. The latter they obtain by 
having the witness himself always come, if it is possible, 
even if he has to leave most important business for this 
purpose. If from sickness, or any other similar cause, he 
cannot come, his testimony is taken down in writing and 
signed by himself, and that paper, the very one which he 
signed, must be brought into court and read there. This 



Ch. 7.] EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY. 136 

Point! secured on trial. Three pointa to be attended to. 



^ 



is called a deposition. The second point is secured by not 
allowing any man to go any farther in his testimony than 
he himself saw or heard. So that sometimes, when the 
case is complicated, a very large number of witnesses are 
called before the whole case is presented to the jury. The 
first point they secure by inquiring into the character of 
the witnesses. If any man can be proved to be unworthy 
of credit, his testimony is set aside. 

Now all these points must be looked at in examining the 
evidence of the Christian miracles. I alter the arrange- 
ment, however, placing them now in the order in which it 
is most convenient to examine them. 

1. We must ascertain that we have the exact account 
^iven by the witnesses themselves. 

2. We must ascertain that they had distinct opportuni- 
ties to witness what they describe. 

3. We must have evidence that they are credible; that 
is, that they are honest men, and that their word can be 
relied upon. 

These three points I shall examine in order in reference 
to the Christian miracles. The witnesses are the four 
evangelists, Matthew, Mark, Luke, John; and the first in- 
quiry, according to the list above presented, is to deter- 
*mine whether we have exactly the account which they 
themselves give. Witnesses are commonly called into 
court to tell their own story, and then there can be no mis- 
take. If that is impossible, as I remarked above, their 
deposition is taken with certain forms, and the very paper, 
they originally signed is brought and read in court. But 
neither of these courses can be taken here. For, in the 
first place, the witnesses have been for a long time dead, 
so that they cannot come forward to give their testimony ; 
and though they did write a full account at the time, yet 
it was so many years ago that no writing could remain to 
the present period. Time has entirely destroyed all vesti- 
ges of the writings of those days. 

I presume all toy readers are aware, that not long after 




Vttor«t7 or cmteea Efe. >W bt«tg^ * k»e permxlof ig- 

TlMUl Md •elW-lMril0iM^ c^k4 Ibe A^ a@«9v iip<M 

^h« Mfld. After wmm li«e. ho-w«, the re ■«gM . to be 

*» *mhamm f*rU tit Eaiwpe « gi*iu*l B»pr««e»e^. Tbe 

'^no^ta ia fbe rariov* OMVcata b>ving mooiberc^iploviBeaC, 

VMtgan to explore ibe oU Ebrariea aid to tf^dr ibe books. 

"Xttej ntade tbcsnelvca acq«Mn(ed wkb tbe bngugu in 

'^ bich lbe_T were wriuen, and when tbe Ul ofpnotiiig w»« 

Anveiiled Ifaej publiafaed them. Id ooaacqacBce boweTcr 

*^>f tbe inunease numbei of manuacripU coUected m sotMe of 

*i»e libraries, a long time elapsed before tbej «er« Ibllj 

^^plored, and even now tbe work is Dot witoobAtAj complet- 

^=•1- New w-ritings are occa:~iouBllF bnx^it to li^jbt aikd 

X>ublished. The difficulty o( decipbenag aocb <AA, worn 

<^ut. faded, and almost illegible parcbmcm rolls, is v«fj 

^n-eal. 

A great deal of inlerest was feh ^ tbe xety first by theae 
^xpIorer9, to find the oldest copies of tike Kbie, or of way 
I»«jt9 of the Bible. They w^bed to have tbe most accorvte 
^»-«»d authentic copy possible ; and the more ancieiit the copy, 
*^**f more probable it was that it was taken directly from O*^ 
•«»»-.gmiil, and consequemlv the more it was to be depended 
»- pon. li they could have found a manoscript which was 

^L^^if^ttLir^vr^Lri^^' t"*",'v*" "^^ 

TK L ^ coiisidpred mraluable. 

-ine number of manuscriniH i.i'ii.^ ~i, i 

: mtorariB. of Euro,,,, i, „„„ ,u^„ ,' u ^ !^ " '""»• 

:^»eekT..t.m„, not far from „T. h^;.- "^ ""■ '^ 
.noimrirora one hundred and 6fty. They 



Ch 7,] JBVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY. * 137 

■^ - — --- — ^ ^^^^^^^^^ 

GenuiRenesfl of tbe Scriptares. Quotations. IlluatratioD. 

are scattered all over Europe, and are preserved in the 
libraries with great care. The oldest of them however was 
written several hundred years after the death of Christ, so 
that we now cannot ever have the manuscripts actually 
written by the original witnesses. The two methods usually 
relied on therefore in courts of justice, for being sure that 
the actual story of the witness himself is presented in court, 
fail in this case. We must resort therefore to another 
method equally certain, but difierent in form. 

The evidence relied upon to prove that the books we 
have now, or rather the ancient manuscripts in the libraries 
in Europe from which they are translated, are really the 
same with the accounts originally written by the witnesses 
themselves, is this: Immediately after they were written, a 
great many other Christian writers, very much interested 
in these accounts, began to quote them in their own letters* 
and books. They quoted them much more copiously than 
it is customary to quote now, because the art of printing 
puts every important book within the reach of all who are 
interested in it. Then, the original accounts were only in 
manuscript, and consequently could be seen and read only 
by a few. These few therefore in their writings made fre- 
quent and copious extracts from them; and these extracts 
have come down to us separately, and each one proves that 
the passage it contains, which, is in the account now, was 
in that account when the quotation was made. 

An imaginary instance will make this plain. The Vat- 
ican manuscript, €is it is called, that is, a very ancient 
manuscript preserved in the library of the Vatican at Rome, 
is supposed to have been written about four hundred years 
af^er Christ. It contains, we will suppose, John's Gospel, 
just as we have it now in our Bibles. This proves, that if 
the real original account which John gave was altered at 
all afler he wrote it, it was altered before that time. Now 
suppose a Christian at Antioch, living two hundred year$ 
before ike Vatican manuscript was written^ had been writing 
a book, and in it had mentioned John's Gospel, and had 

12* 



IM TO0NO CHKtSTIAir. [Ch. 7. 

Cm nade of qoouttaas. Pstey'c erideoeefl. 



copied out a whole chapter. This book he leaves at 
Antioch: it is copied there again and again, and some 
copies are found there at the revival of learning after the 
dark ages. Here we have one chapter proved to have 
been in John's account two hundred yean earlier than the 
date of the Vatican manuscript. In the same manner 
another chapter might have been quoted in another book 
kept at Alexandria, another at Rome, &c. And the fact 
is, that these quotations have been so numerous, that thej 
have formed an uninterrupted succession of evidences, 
beginning but a veiy short time after the original accounts 
were written, and coming down to modern times. Every 
chapter and verse is not indeed confirmed in this way, but 
every thing in the least degree important is. All the mate- 
rial facts, and every particular in regard to which there 
could be any necessity for this evidence, are furnished with 
it. Learned men have taken a great deal of pains to ex- 
plore and collect this mass of evidence in favor of the genu- 
ineness of the sacred books. These quotations have been 
most carefully examined and republished; so that all who 
are inclined to go into an examination of them can do so. 
Dr. Paley, in his evidences of Christianity, has presented 
enough to satisfy any mind of sufficient attainments to ap- 
preciate such an argument. 

I say, of sufficient attainment, for it requires not a little. 
There are very few, excepting professed scholars, who can 
have time to go fully enough into an examination of this 
subject to form an independent judgment. I have not 
attempted in the above remarks to present you with the 
argument itself, but only to explain the nature of it. As I 
remarked before, I do not think the historical argument is 
calculated to come with so much force to the minds of 
Christians generally, as one of another kind, which I shall 
presently exhibit. All ought however to understand its 
nature. 

We may consider, then, the fact, that these almost in- 
numerable quotations from the writers of the New Testa- 



Ch. 7.] EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITT. 139 

Necessity fur proving the genaineneas of the Scriptures. 

ment, and translations from them, fonning a series which 
commenced soon aAer the writings first appeared, and con- 
tinuing in uninterrupted succession down to the present 
time, as abundant evidence that the story we now have^ is 
the story originally given by the witnesses themselves. 
This evidence does satisfy all who fully examine it. And 
this is the first point in the investigation. 

But the question will arise in the minds of many of my 
readers, why is it necessary to prove so fully and formally 
such a point as this? Why is it necessary to show so 
carefully that these are precisely, in all important respects, 
the very accounts originally written by the witnesses them- 
selves? The answer is this. Unless this point were very 
carefully and fully proved, we might have supposed that 
the prevailing belief of the truth of the Christian miracles, 
and the general circulation of our present books, might 
have arisen in this way. Suppose that, eighteen hundred 
years ago, a good man, named Jesus Christ, had been dis~- 
satisfied with the prevailing errors and superstitions, and 
had taught a purer system of religious and moral duty. 
His' followers become strongly attached to him. They re- 
peat to one another his instructions, follow him from place 
to place, and soon attract the attention of the authorities 
of the country. Like Socrates, he is persecuted by his 
enemies, and put to death. Afler his death, his disciples 
make greater and greater efforts to promote his principles. 
They relate, with some exaggeration, the incidents of his 
life. His benevolence and kindness to the sick and to the 
afflictisd is gradually, as the stories are repeated again and 
again, magnified to the exertion of miraculous power. 
One extraordinary narrative afler another gradually gains 
credit and circulation. No one intends to deceive, but, 
according to the universal tendency in such cases, even 
where stories that strongly interest the feelings are circu- 
lated among good men, the accounts gradually and insen- 
sibly assume a marvellous and miraculous air, and afler a 



140 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

The original records remain. 

time, when years have elapsed, and no method of ascer- 
taining the truth remains, these exaggerated and false 
stories are committed to writing, and these writings come 
down to us. This supposition might very plausibly have 
been made. But the evidence afforded by the series of 
quotations I have above described cuts.it off altogether. 
That long and uninterrupted series carries us irresistibly 
back to the very time when the events occurred. There 
is no time left for exaggeration and misrepresentation. We 
prove that the accounts which we now have were written 
on the spot — that they were in circulation, and exposed to 
rigid scrutiny at the very time in which the events themselves 
took place — and we are thus compelled to believe that the 
original records, made at the time, have been preserved 
unaltered to the present day. 

** But does this,'* you will ask, *' prove that the accounts 
are trtie ? " Most certainly not. We have not yet attempt- 
ed to prove them true. We have not yet come to the 
examination of the evidence itself at all. The original wit- 
nesses, if we admit that these accounts were written by 
them, may have been mistaken, or they may have been 
false witnesses. We have said nothing yet on these points. 
The reader must bear in mind what is the precise point 
now up. It is simply to show that the accounts we have 
now, whatever they may contain, are the very accounts 
which the witnesses themselves wrote. The depositions are 
properly authenticated; not, indeed, by the common legal 
forms — ^seal and signature and witness — but by abundant 
evidence — and evidence of exactly the kind which is always 
most relied on, and entirely relied on, in all other cases, 
where the examination of very ancient documents comes 
up. This point being thus settled, we are now prepared to 
examine the evidence itself, in reference to the other points 
I have mentioned. As it is very desirable, in ojder to have 
clear views of any argument, that a distinct view of its 
partd should be kept in mind, the reader is requested to 



Ch. T.] EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY.' 141 



The second point. Oppoitanities of knowiag. Houie-breaker** trial. 



look back to page 135, for an enumeration of the points to 
be examined, and he will recollect that we have yet dis* 
cussed only the first, and proceed now to the second. 

2. We must ascertain that the writers of these accounts 
had distinct opportunities to witness what they describe. 

Now, in regard to this, their own testimony is to be 
taken. It is common to' ask witnesses on the stand, in 
a court of justice, about the opportunities they had of 
knowing certainly, or the possibility that they might -be 
mistaken, and they give their own account of the situation 
in which they were placed. This account is admitted and 
believed, like all their other testimony, unless something 
appears which shows that the witness is not to be trusted, 
and then aU his sttUenunts are abandoned together. 

I noticed in the trial above described, that the counsel 
fi>r the prisoner was particular on this point. He asked 
the witness, afler he had told all the story about his detect- 
ing the man in the chamber, as follows: 

''But are you 9ure that that (pointing to the prisoner) 
was the man?" 

''Yes, perfectly sure. I could not be mistaken, for I 
took him at once to the watch-house." 

This was decisive ; it proved that the witness had a 
most excellent opportunity to know what he described, 
and that there was no possibility of mistake. Suppose, 
however, that the thief had been active enough to have 
run down stairs and escaped, allowing the witness only a 
glimpse of his person, and the next day the witness had 
met a man in the' street whom he supposed was the same, 
and had procured his arrest and trial, the jury would in 
this case have placed far less confidence in his testimony, 
even if they knew that he was a very honest man and 
intended to tell the truth. The difficulty would have been 
the want of a full and unquestionable opportunity to know 
what the truth was. 

In the same manner, if there is any thing which might 
operate to produce delusion, a jury would receive tMti- 



142 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

Sftered wrltara could not have been mistaken. 

■iW^^^— ^"W — ^^"^ ■■ ■■ ■ ■^— — i^ IPI ■ 111 ■■ ■■■■■■»» — I ■ ^^1— — ^— — ^B— ^^^ 

rnonj with great hesitation. For -example, suppose a 
witness should testify that he saw some supernatural 
appearance in going through a dark wood bj night. Few 
would believe him, however honest a man he might be, on 
account of the gi:eat danger of being deceived in going 
through a scene full of irregular objects, such as the 
varieties of vegetation, the broken rocks, the whitened 
trunks of decaying trees, and going through too at night, 
when all forms are vague and indeterminate, and easily 
modified by the imagination or the fears. Again, an 
honest man, one in whose word I place great confidence, 
may tell me of a cure- for rheumatism. He says he has 
tried it, and it always does great good. I receive his 
testimony with great doubt, because he cannot probably, 
with the little experience he has, know how much the 
benefit he experienced was owing to the supposed remedy, 
and how much to other causes. If the same man should 
come home firom Boston, and say that the State House 
was burnt — ^that he saw it all in flames — or any other 
extraordinary fact, far more extraordinary than the efficacy 
of a remedy for rheumatism, I should believe him, if it was 
only a case where he had dtstinct and unquestionable oppor- 
tunity to observe, and where no room was left for mistake 
or delusion. 

Now if we examine the miracles which our Savior per- 
formed, and the opportunity which the disciples had of 
witnessing them, we shall see that there could not have 
been a mistake. Remember, however, that I am not now 
saying that their story must be true, I am only here 
showing that they could not have been mistaken. They 
must have known whether what they were saying was true or 
not. The case could not be like that of a man telling a 
ghost story, — something which he thinks is true, but which 
is in reality not so. The things done, were done in open 
day. They were done in presence of multitudes; and 
they were of such a nature that those who witnessed them 
could not b^ deceived: healing what are called incurable 



Ch. 7.] SYIDSNCES OP CHRISTIANITY. 143 

Proofii that aacrad writara eoald mil hava been mietaken. 

diseases; feeding multitudes with a small supply of food; 
walking on the sea; rising from the grave, afler remaining 
upon the cross till Roman soldiers were satisfied that life 
was gone. Who could be a better judge of death than a 
Roman soldier? These, and a multitude of similar things, 
might be given as proofs that these witnesses could not be 
mistaken in what they described. They knew whether ^y 
were true or not. And consequently if the third point, that 
is their honesty, should be proved, we must believe what 
they say. If they had informed us only of a few miracu- 
lous events, and those seen by a few people, or of such a 
character as to render the witnesses peculiarly liable to be 
deceived, we might have admitted their honesty, but 
denied the truth of their statements. • As it is, however, 
we cannot do this. 

Not only were the facts themselves of so open and 
public a character that there could not be any mistake 
about them, but the writers of our accounts were eye- 
witnesses of them. They did not obtain a knowledge of 
them by hearsay or report: they wrote what they themselves 
saw and heard. It is noticeable that they themselves 
placed peculiar stress upon this circumstance. Luke 
begins his gospel by saying, ''It seemed good to me, 
having had perfect understanding of all things from the first, 
to write unto thee." John, at the close of his book, dis- 
tinctly records the fact, that the uniler of the account was 
one of the principal actors in the scenes he describes; 
Peter, in his defence of himself before the Jewish authori- 
ties, says he cannot but speak the things he has seen and 
heard; and perhaps the most striking of all is, that when 
the apostles came together to elect one to take the place 
of Judas, they restricted themselves in their selection to 
those who had been, from the beginning, wUtiesses of Uu 
whole. "Wherefore," was. the proposition, *' of these 
men which have companied with us all the time that the 
Lord Jesus went in and out among us, beginning from the 



144 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. T 



Tbey were eye>wita«aMM. Third point. Tbeir etyle of writing. 

baptism of John unto that same day that he was taken up 
from us, must one be ordained to be a wUnesB with U9 of 
his resurrection." These men understood the laws of the 
human mind in regard to believing testimony. They knew 
well what was necessary to make out a case, and they 
secured it. 

We have now explained how the two first points in oar 
chain of reasoning are established, and we may consider 
it as certain, in the first place, that though our witnesses 
are not living, and consequently cannot present us their 
testimony in person, and ahhough so long a time has 
elapsed, that their original writings are woni out and des- 
troyed, yet that there is abundant evidence that we have 
the real account which they delivered; and, in the second 
place, that they could not be mistaken in the facts to which 
they give their testimony, as they were eye-witnesses ot 
them, and the facts are of such a nature that there could 
be no delusion. There is no possible way now/«ifler these 
two points are estsd^lished, by which their testimony can be 
set aside, except by the supposition that tbey were impos- 
tors. This brings us to our third and last point, mentioned 
on page 135. 

3. We must have evidence that our witnesses are credi- 
ble ; i. e. that they are honest men, and that their word 
can be relied upon. 

The evidence on this point is, if possible, more complete 
and more absolutely unquestionable than upqn either of 
the others; the honest and candid manner in which they 
relate their story is evidence ; it is plain, straight forward, 
and simple. Their writings have exactly the air and tone 
of men conscious that they are telling the truth, but aware 
that it will be regarded with very different feelings by their 
readers. They narrate, frankly and fully, the events in 
which they or their companions were to blame; and they 
do nothing more in regard to the guilt of their enemies. 
There are no palliating or extenuating statements or ex- 



Ch. 7.] EYIDENCBS OF CHRISTIANITY. 145 

Impartiality. Barabbaa clMwen and Christ rejected. 

pressions on the one side, nor any disposition to apply 
epithets of odium or exaggeration upon the other. The 
story is simply told, and left to work its own way. 

How differently do men act in other cases! How easily 
can you tell upon which side the writer is, when he gives 
an account of circumstances relating to a contest between 
two individuals or two parties! Open to any history of the 
battle of Waterloo, or of the campaign in Russia, and how 
long can you doubt whether the author is a friend or an 
enemy of Napoleon? Now turn to St. John's account of 
the trial and crucifixion of the Savior — a most unparal- 
leled scene of cruel suffering-r-and there is not a harsh 
epithet, and scarcely an expression of displeasure, on the 
part of the writer, from the beginning to the end of it ; you 
would scarcely know what was his opinion. Take, for in- 
stance, the account of the preference of Barabbas by the 
Jews. Another writer would have said, "The Jews were 
so bent on the destruction of their innocent and helpless 
victim, that when Pilate proposed to release him, in ao- 
cordance with their custom of having a prisoner annually 
set at liberty on the day of their great festival, they chose 
a base malefactor in his stead ; they preferred that a rob- 
ber, justly condemned for his crimes, should be let loose 
upon society, rather than that the meek and^ lowly Jesus 
should again go forth to do good to all.*' But what does 
John say? There is no attempt in his account to make a 
display of the guilt of the Jews^-no effort to throw odium 
upon them — ^no exaggeration — no coloring. ** Will ye," 
says Pilate, "that I release unto you the King of the 
Jews? Then cried they all again, saying — Not this man, 
but Barabbas. Now, Barabbas was a robber." 

In the same spirit is the whole account — ^not only the 
narrative of this writer, but all the writers of the New Tes- 
tament: it breathes a spirit of calm, composed dignity, 
which scarcely any thing can equal. In the midst of one 
of the greatest moral excitements which the world has ever 
seen, and writing upon the very subject of that excitement, 

13 



146 TOUNG CHBISTUN. [Ch. 7. 

' ■ ■ ' — ■ ■ -' - 

Blovated viowB. * Tbaj were disinterested. Our Savior's fkiewell. 



and themselves the very objects of it, they exhibit a se^ 
possession and a composure almost without a paralleL 
Exposed to most extraordinary persecution and consequent 
suffering, they never revile or retort upon their oppressors. 
It is impossible to ovoid the conclusion, when reading th* 
chapters of the New Testament, that the writers under- 
stood and fdit the mpral sublimity of the position they were 
occupying. They seem to have felt that they were speak- 
ing, not to a few thousand contemporaries in Judea, but 
to countless millions of human beings, sclittered over 
th0 earth, or coming up, generation after generation, to 
read their story, to the end of time. They rise entirely 
above all the influences then pressing so strongly upon 
them, and in calm and fearless independeQce offer their 
testimony. They could not have done this— it is not in 
human nature to have done it — ^had they not been sustained 
by this consideration, viz. : They knew that they were telling 
THE TRUTH On the most momentous subject ever presented to 
nwn, and that they were telling it to the whole 
World. 

Another pr.oof of their honesty is, that they were entirely 
disinterested; or rather, they were interested to conceal the 
truth, not to tell it. Their testimony brought them nothing, 
and could bring them nothing but reproach, and suffering,' 
and death. They saw this in the history of the Savior, and, 
instead of endeavoring to keep them unconscious of the 
sufferings that awaited them, he plainly and fraikly foretold 
all, just before he left them. He told them in the most 
affecting manner— the communication he made is recorded 
in the fifteenth and sixteenth chapters of the Gospel ac- 
cording to St. John— all that should befall them. " You 
must not expect," said he, in substance, " to find the world 
more kind to you than it has been to me. They have per- 
secuted me, and they will persecute you. They will put 
you out of the synagogues, and whosoever kiUeth you will 
think he doeth God service. I tell you these things 
beforehand, so that when the time shall come, you will 



Ct. 7.] XYIDENCBS OF CHRISTIANITY. 147 



Interested witnesset. 



remember that I told you, and be comforted then. I wish 
jou to understand the dangers and trials that await you. 
You must not, however, be dejected or discouraged be- 
cause I have told you these things. It is necessary for 
me to go away, and it is necessary for you to encounter 
these evils. But it is only for a little time. The years 
will pass away swifUy, and when yoa have done your duty 
here, you shall come to me again, and £nd a perpetual 
home with me and my Father in a happier world." 

Such was the substance of this part of our Savior's fare* 
well address. His disciples listened to it in sadness, but 
they did not shrink from their duty. A very few hours 
after hearing these last words of their Master in their place 
of retirement, they found themselves gazing in terror, and 
at a distance^ at that dreadful throng which was pouring 
out of the gates of Jerusalem to see their beloved Master 
struggling upon the cross. They were overwhelmed by 
this scene : but terror triumphed only for a time. Imme- 
diately after the Savior's ascension, we find them assent 
bled, making calmly, but with fixed determination, their 
arrangements for future efforts, and waiting for the com- 
mand from above~-one hundred and twenty in an upper 
chamber, planning a campaign against the world! They 
knew, they must have known, thait they themselves went 
forward to suffering and to death. They went forward, 
however. They told their story. They sufiered and died. 
Must they not have been lumeat men? 

The way in which men are inleresUd is always to be 
looked at in judgipg of their testimony. If a juryman is 
interested in the result of a trial, he b set aside: he cannot 
judge impartially. If a witness is interested at all, his 
testimony is received with a great deal of caution, or else 
absolutely rejected. And whenever a case is of such a 
nature that all those who were witnesses of the facts are in- 
terested on one side or on the other, it is extremely difficult 
to ascertain the truth. A very striking example of this 
is furnished by the circumstances of the battle of Lexing* 



148 YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

Battle of Lexington. Parliament and Congress. 



ton, at the commeaceinent of the American Revolution. 
Each of the parties, anticipating a struggle, and desirous 
of being prepared for it, had made efforts to get as much 
of the arms and ammunition of the country as possible into 
its own hands, and the British general in Boston, under- 
standing that there was at Concord a supply of military 
stores, conceived the design of sending a party in the night 
to Concord to obtain it. He kept his design, or rather 
tried to keep it, secret. Late in the evening, the troops 
embarked in boats on the west side of the peninsula on 
which Boston is built, and sailed across the cove to the 
main land. 

This was done in silence, and it was hoped in secrecy. 
The Americans however, in some way, heard of the plan. 
The country was alarmed; men rode on horseback at mid- 
night from town to town, ringing the bells and calling out 
1t)ie inhabitants, and by three o'clock in the morning a 
number of troops were collected at Lexington to oppose 
the progress of the British detachment. 

Now, neither party wished to begin the contest. Like 
two boys eager for a quarrel, each wished to throw the 
odium of striking the first blow upon the other. This diffi- 
culty is however usually soon surmounted, and in this case 
the musketry was soon speaking distinctly on both sides. 
After a momentary conflict the Americans w6re dispersed, 
and the British moved on to the place of their destination. 

Now, after all this was over, there arose the question, 
not in itself very important, one would think, but yet made 
so by those concerned at the time, *'Who began this. 
affray? Who fired firsll^^ To determine this point, the 
American Congress are said to have instituted a formal 
inquiry. They examined witnesses who were on the spot 
and saw the whole, and they found abundant and satisfac- 
tory evidence that the British soldiers fired first, and that 
the Americans did not discharge their pieces until they 
were compelled to do it in self-defence. The British Par- 
liament entered into a similar inquiry, and they came to an 



Ch. 7.] SYIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITT. 149 

Pointa proved. Argument from pToplieey. 

« ■ ■ ^ 

equally satisfactory conclusion — only it happened to be 
exactly the reverse of the other. They examined wit- 
nesses who were on the spot and saw the whole, and they 
found abundant evidence that the Aineriean soldiers fired 
first, and that the British did not discharge their pieces 
until they were compelled to do it in self-defence. Now, 
the reason for this disagreement unquestionably was, that 
each nation examined only its own soldiers, and the sol- 
diers on both sides were interested. Suppose now, that 
there had been in the American army a considerable num- 
ber who admitted that the first guns were fired from their 
own ranks. Suppose that, in consequence of this their 
testimony, they brought upon themselves the dislike of the 
whole army, and, to a great extent, of the nation at large 
— how strong would have been the reliance placed upon 
such testimony! ** There cannot be a doubt,'' the British 
would have said, ^' that you fired upon us first — ^half of 
your own troops say so." This would have been a very fair 
inference. When men bear testimony contrary to their 
own interests or feelings, they are generally believed. 

We have thus abundant evidence that the original pro- 
pagators of the Gospel were honest men, and this com- 
pletes the three positions necessary to prove that the 



Christian miracles were actually performed. 
^ 1. We are sure that the witnesses sire hoi 



honest men. 

2. The facts are of. such a nature, that the witnesses 
could not have been deceived in them. 

3. It is proved that we have exactly the account which 
they themselves gave. 

The miracles being once proved, the dwine authorUy of 
the rdigion is proved; fer no man can imagine that the 
Deity would exert his power in producing miraculous ef- 
fects to give authority to a message which he did not send. 

There is one other independent head of the external 
evidences of Christianity: it is the argument from pro- 
phecy. They who brought the communication which is 
ofiered to us as a message from heaven, said that they 

13* 



150 TOUIfO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

The Savior fhrvtold. Propbeeies. Deatruetioa of Jerusalem. 

were endued with the power, not onlj of working miracles, 
but of foretelling fv$lnreeveni$. In some cases, human 
sagacity can foresee what is future, and eyen distant. 
They however professed to exercise this power in cases to 
which no human skill or foresight could hare extended. 
Such a power as this is evidently miraculous, and they 
who possessed it must have received it from the Creator. 

One or two examples will clearly illustrate the nature 
of this argument. A great number of the prophets who 
appeared in the early years of the sacred history, foretold 
the coming of a Savior. Precisely what sort of a Savior 
he was to be, was not distinctly foretold — at least not so 
distinctly as to remove all misconceptions pn the subject. 
So certain is it however that such prophecies were uttered, 
and generally published, that there prevailed throughout 
the Jewish nation, and even to some extent in neighboring 
countries, a general expectation thai an extraordinary per- 
sonage was to appear. We have evidence enough of this 
— ^not merely from the Scriptures themselves, but from a 
multitude of other writings, which appeared at that time, 
and which have come down to us by separate and inde- 
pendent channels. There can be no question in the mind 
of any one who will examine the subject, that the coming 
of Christ was predicted with so much distinctness as to 
produce an almost universal expectation of the appearance 
of some very extraordinary personage; and the event 
corresponded with the prediction. A most extraordinary 
personage appeared; the most extraordinary, as all will 
acknowledge — Christians and infidels — that ever appeared 
upon the earth. 

Our Savior's prediction of the destruction of Jerusalem 
is another example. The scene was described with aston- 
ishing minuteness and accuracy, sixty or seventy years 
before it took place — and there was, at the time of the 
prediction, no reason whatever, so far as human foresight 
could extend, to expect such a catastrophe. 

Now, to examine fully this species of argument, several 



Ch. 7.] EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITT. 151 

*■ ... I ■ , 

False prophecies. Subject difficult. 

■^■- *■ I J .1 1 - J 

points ought to receive special attention. First, we must 
ascertain that the prophecy was really anterior to the 
event which is alleged to have occurred in fulfilment of it. 
This now, in regard to writings and facts so ancient as 
those of the Scriptures, is a peculiarly difficult task. Sec-» 
ondly, that the event is such an one as human foresight 
could not have foreseen. Thirdly, that there were not, in 
siiiiilar Writings, a multitude of other prophecies which^ 
failed, and that those only have been preserved, which 
have apparently succeeded. Among the ignorant and vul- 
gar, nothing is more common than a belief in the powers 
of fortune-tellers, or of the prophetic meaning of signs and 
dreams. The reason why this imposture retains its as- 
cendency is, that the few successful cases are remembered 
and talked about, and the cases of failure are neglected 
and forgotten. If a person predicts at rafidom in regard 
to common events, he must sometimes be successful, and 
if his votaries will forget the unsuccessful attempts, he may 
soon have the reputation of a conjurer. Now, we must 
ascertain that the prophecies of the Bible are not of this 
character, i. e. a few lucky predictions among a multitude 
of failures. Fourthly, we must ascertain that the events 
themselves were not under the control of men in such a 
way as to enable those who were interested in the success 
of the prophecy to bring about the corresponding result. 

Now to examine thoroughly all these points, so as really 
to form an independent judgment upon them, and to take 
nothing upon trust, requires, in some instances, no little 
maturity of mind, and in others, no little scholarship and 
laborious research. The young must almost entirely take 
this argument upon trust. I can only explain its nature, 
and thus prepare you to read more understandingly other 
works on this subject. Those who have gone into it most 
th6roughly, as is the case with all the historical evidi^nces 
of Christianity, have been most convinced of the firmness 
of the ground. The most profound- scholars in all Chris- 
tian nations, if they have given the subject due attention, 



153 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7 

W«vt Ite Chrlttiaa witnenea believod ? Contett with Pftguiflau 

hare beea most decided in their belief of the Christian 
religion. 

This completes the view which I intended to give of the 
historical argument. It would require a volume to present 
the argument ilitlf in all its detail. My design has been 
to give a <?lear idea of the nature of this kind of reasoning, 
not to present all the facts upon which the various piUars 
of the argument are founded. And here I might rest this 
part of my subject, were it not that there is one con- 
sideration which corroborates very much the conclusion to 
which we have come. The question very naturally arises, 
"Was this story believed at the time? It seems to be a 
plain case, that the disciples of Christ made out very 
decisive evidence of their divine commission ; but the peo- 
ple who lived at that time, and upon the spot, had a much 
better opportunity of judging in this case than we have. — 
Now, did they believe this account?" 

This is a fair question. It is always asked in similar 
cases. A merchant will ask, " Is the report believed which 
was circulated on 'Change to-day?" . "Was it generally 
believed in London that such or such an event would take 
place? " And this belief or disbelief on the part of those 
who have the best opportunities of knowing, is sometimes 
regarded as the strongest evidence which can be procured. 
It is right, therefore, to ask whether the extraordinary 
story of the Christians was believed by those who were 
upon the spot to discover error or imposture, if any was to 
be found. 

The answer is, it wm believed. The story spread with 
a rapidity to which no other revolution in the public mind 
can afford a parallel. When the hundred and twenty 
assembled in their upper, room, paganism was enjoying 
undisturbed and unquestioned possession of the whole 
Roman empire. Paganism reigned in every crowded city 
and in every distant province. Her temples crowned a 
thousand summits; and the multitude, whose interests were 
identified with the support, of her rights, might at any time 



Ch» 7.] EVIDENCES or CHRISTIANITT. • 153 

« m ■ 

Power of truth. Internal evidence. Unity of the Scriptures. 

arm themselves with all the power of the Caesars to resist 
the encroachments of truth. A hundred and twenty , with 
the story of a crucified Galilean rising from the dead, came 
forth to attack this mighty fabric; and they prevailed. 
Opprobrium and ridicule, gentle persuasion and stern me- 
naces; imprisonment, fire and sword; torture and death, 
tried all their powers in vain. And by what means did the 
fearless assailants in this most unequal war prevail against 
such an array as this? Why, simply by reiterating the 
declaration, Jeaua Christ did rise from the grave;' and you 
ought to repent and believe on him. And they conquered. 
'^ The truth is great, and it will prevail," said a Roman 
writer. He could not have found an example like this. 
The simple declaration of a number of competent witness- 
es, after a most energetic struggle, prevails over one of the 
greatest civil and military powers which the world has 
ever seen. Yes; the story was believed. It spread with 
unexampled rapidity, and revolutionized the moral world. 

But we must pass to the second species of evidence we 
have enumerated. 

II. INTERNAL EVIDENCE. 

This evidence consists of an examination of the contents 
of the Bible, to see whether the declarations it contains 
are such as we may suppose would really come from our 
Maker. We ought to enter upon such an examination, 
however, with great caution; for if the book is really a 
message from Heaven, we are to receive it, whatever it 
may contain.'^ It is not for us to decide what our Maker 
ought, and what he ought not, to communicate to us. It 
is interesting however to examine the contents of thd 
Scriptures, to see the indications, with which the volume 
is filled, that it is from Grod. Some of these indications I 
shall mention. 

1. The remarkable simplicity of iV3 whole design. It 
seems to have one simple and single objeet from the begin- 
ning to the end; «nd this is very remarkable, if we consid- 



154 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Cli. 7. 

TIm BIbto ft Bumbar of books. lu ilnglo ol^octl 

•Mw^^^^"^ ■'■■■■■'■ ■' ■»■ ■■•-■■ -- ■■-__■ I ■ I ■ ^^^^^ 

er how many distinct authors it has, and in how distant 
periods it was written. The Bible is not a book^ but a 
library. It consists of a large number of books entirely 
separate and distinct, bound up together. The times at 
which the various parts were written are scattered over a 
period o^ fifteen hundred years. The authors are numer- 
ous. It would be a very interesting exercise for young 
persons to attempt to make out an accurate list of them. 
They are of every variety of character and stsinding — 
learned and unlearned, rich and poor, kings, poets, gen- 
erals. There is every variety in the character of the 
authors and of the style; and yet one single, simple design 
is kept in view from the beginning to the end, with a 
steadiness which is astonishing. But what is that object? 
It may be stated thus: 

The Bible is a history of the redemption of our race by 
Jesus Christ, and it is nothing more. From the beginning 
to the end of it, with a very few, if any exceptions, it is 
nothing but that. Open at Genesis and follow on, chapter 
after chapter, and book afler book, until you come to the 
final benediction in the last chapter of Revelation, it all 
bears upon this. Now if this book was planned by the 
Supreme, and if he superintended its execution during the 
fifleen centuries it was in progress, all this is easily ac- 
counted for. Nothing else can account for it. 

But I must show more fully that this is the single and 
simple aim of the Scriptures. Let us briefly review its 
contents. It begins by explaining simply and clearly the 
creation of the world, and God's design in creating it. 
His intention was to have had a happy community to tenant 
it, who should be united in each other, and united to him; 
forming one family of undivided hearts and aims, all inter- 
ested in the common welfare and all looking to him as to 
the common bond of union and the common source of hap* 
piness. *' Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with vail thy 
heart, and thy neighbor as thyself," was unques^onably 
the law originally written on the human heart. 



Ch. 7.] EVIDBNCBS OF CHRISTIANITY. 155 



Tbe Bible a hUtoiy of Cbrut. 



Men sinned, however; — they broke God's law, and the 
Bible then describes the consequences of sin, in bringing 
Bufiering upon the human family. The earth was filled 
with violence. One dreadful experiment was tried, by the 
flood, of the power of punishment — retribution — to bring 
men back to duty, but they who escaped the flood escaped 
only to go on in sin. 

It is noticeable that, in one of the very first chapters of 
the Bible, the coming of the Savior is foretold, and firom 
that time the sacred history marks out and follows with 
minute accuracy the line of succession which is to conduct 
us to that Savior. There were a vast many nations on the 
earth, or existing in embryo, at the time when the Israel- 
ites were in Egypt, whose history is far more important, in 
every respect but one, than is the history of the Jews. 
There were the Egyptians, the Assyrians, and the Per* 
sians. The sacred history neglects them all, and turns its 
whole attention to a body of Egyptian slaves ; and why ? 
Why it was because among these slaves there was the 
aneeitor of the coming Messiah. 

The Bible represents Jehovah a^ conducting this nation 
by his own hand to a country which was to be their home, 
in order that he might preserve them separate from the 
rest of m;»nkind, and make them the keepers of his com- 
munications with men. A great deal of the' Old Testa^ 
ment history is occupied in giving us an account of the 
particular institutions established among this people, and 
of the circumstances of their own private history. In 
regard to their institutions, there seem to have been two 
distinct objects. One was to preserve them separate fi^om 
the idolatrous nations around, in order that the worship of 
the true God might be the better preserved. The other 
object, perhaps more important, was eflected by the insti- 
tution of sacrifices; of this I shall presently speak more 
fiilly. This Jewish nation, however, in its institutions and 
history, is followed by the sacred writers, who keep all the 
time as close as possible to the line of succession leading 



156 Yovno cHRisTiAW. [Ch. 7. 

BaeriAcM. Meaning of ncrifices. 

to Jeflua Christ. The coming Savior is often alluded to, 
especially whenever any great crisis occurring in their 
history furnishes an occasion upon which God makes to 
jK>me leading individual a distinct communication in regard 
to his plans. 

It ra remarkable, how large a number of the individuals 
whose lives are given in the Old Testament, were the 
ancestors of Christ, and how steadily there is kept in view 
the future coming of the Son of Grod. 

I have mentioned Bacrijices. The design of Jehovah in 
establishing these rites so early, and taking such effectual 
precautions to secure their observance, seems to have 
been this: to familiarize the minds of 'men to the idea, 
that there must be aotnething mare than penitence to atone for 
sin. We are all much more ready to admit this in refer- 
ence to any other government than to the divine. Many 
a father sees the inefficacy of pardon, merely upon the 
ground of sorrow and confession, to restrain his sons frgm 
sin; and many a politician will admit the folly of such a 
course in civil society, who yet think that God may govern 
his dominions on such a principle. In all God*s dealings, 
however, with man, he has taken other ground. Sacri- 
fices were instituted so early] that they have spread to aP 
most every people under the sun. Wherever you go— to 
the most distant heathen nation — ^to the most barbarous 
tribe~-or to the remotest island of the oqean, you will find 
almost all prepared, by the very customs which have been 
handed down from the time of Noah, to admit the necessi- 
ty, that there mttst be retributive suffering where there has 
been sin. God required the Jews, when they had done 
wrong, to bring an offering; not to lead them to suppose 
that the sufferings of bulls and goats could take away sin, 
but that some atonement was necessary. The effect upon 
their minds was undoubtedly this: — ^A man having conmiit- 
ted some sin; instead of merely confessing Ins guilt, and 
expecting forgiveness as a matter of course, came with 
the innocent dove, or the harmless lamb, and offered it in 



Ch. 7.] EVIDKNCSS OF CHmiSTIANITT. 157 



Tbeir moral iaflueace. 



•acrifice; and when he did it, if he did it in the right spirit, 
he unquestionably felt that his sin had done an injury to 
the government of God, which he, hinuelf, could not re- 
pair. He could not come back to innocence alone. The 
ceremony must have had a most powerful influence in 
producing a practical conviction that^sin, once committed, 
could not be recalled by the individual who had committed 
it, but must involve consequences beyond his control. 
That is precisely the conviction necessary to enable us to 
avail ourselves of the redemption of Christ, It is exactly 
the preparation of heart to lead us to him. We have sin- 
ned, and the evil we have done it is out of our power to 
remedy. We may stop sinning, but the evil influence of 
our past guilt must be checked by some other agency far 
more powerful than any penitence of ours. The Jews, 
then, by coming habitually to the sacrifices of their law, 
had this feeling thoroughly wrought into all their thoughts 
and feelings on the subject of sin and pardon. When 
they came with sincere penitence to offer the sacrifice 
required by the law, and with such a feeling as I have 
described, they were undoubtedly forgiven through the 
mediation of a far greater sacrifice, which was only repre^ 
aented by the dove or the lamb. 

If we thus look at the Jewish history and institutions, and 
see their spirit and design, we shall see that they all point 
to Christ. One single object is aimed at in all. Afler the 
history is brought down to the return from the captivity, it 
is suddenly concluded — and why? Because all is now 
ready for the coming of Christ. There is a chasm of some 
hundred years, not because the events of that time are less 
interesting than of the preceding — to the eye of the mere 
scholar or political historian, they are more so — ^but because 
they do not bear at all upon the great event, — Ihe redemp- 
tion of mankind by Jesus Christ — ^to which the whole Bible 
tends. The nation from which the promised Savior is to 
come, is followed in its various difficulties and adventures, 
until it becomes finally established in the country where 

14 



158 TOUKO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

ConclniioD of th« book. , Appropriate language. 

the Messiah is to appear, and then left. There could not 
he a stronger proof that the Bible has the history of Christ 
for its great object, or that that object is kept steadilj in 
view. 

As we draw toward the development of the drama, 
however, the story becomes more minute, and the interest 
increases. The great Redeemer at length appears. We 
have, from four separate writers, a narrative of his life; we 
have a simple account of the first efforts to spread the news 
of salvation through him ; we have a few of the writings of 
some of those -who originally received his instructions, and 
then a revelation of the future — in some respects clear and 
distinct in the awful pictures of scenes to come which it 
draws, and in others dark, and as yet unintelligible to us— 
closes the volume. 

There is something deeply sublime in the language with 
which this final conclusion of the sacred volume is announc- 
ed. Perhaps it was intended to apply particularly to the 
book of Revelation itself but we can scarcely read it with>- 
out the conviction, that the writer felt that he was bringing 
to a close a series of communications from heaven which 
had been making for' fifteen hundred years. The great 
subject of the whole was now fairly presented to mankind. 
The nature and the effects of sin, the way of salvation, and 
the future scenes through which we are all to pass, had 
been described, and he closes with the invitation — ^O how 
cordially is it expressed — ''And the Spirit and the bride 
say. Come, — and let him that heareth say. Come; " — ^that 
is, spread the invitation far and wide. Let every one that 
heareth it repeat the sound. " Liet him that is athirsf come, 
and whosoever will, let him partake of the water of life 
freely." 

And then he says-^and how appropriate fer the last lan- 
guage of the Bible! — 

'* I testify unto every man that heareth the words. of the 
prophecy of this book, if any man shall add unto these 
things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written 






Ch. 7.^ STIDSNCE9 QF CHRISTIANITY. IISO 

. ^ ^' ■ ' ■ ■ " II ... I III ..., . . > 

Advent of the Savior. It« time and place. The Mediternnean wa. 

m tbis book; and if any man shall take away from the words 
of the. book of tlus prophecy, God shall take away his part 
out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from 
the things which are written in this hook." 

Yes, the plan and object of the Bible is single and sim- 
ple from beginning to end. Amidst all that endless variety 
which makes it an inexhaustible mine of interest and in- 
struction, the great ultimate design is never lost sight of or 
fiurgetten. That design is the redemption of a lost xoorld by 
the Son of God; a design which is sorely great enough for 
God to announce to his creatures. 

There is somethmg interesting in the time and plaee se* 
iected for the advent of the Savior. This earth being a 
globe, of course has not, that is, its surface has not' any 
geographical centre; but if we take into view its moral and 
political condition and history, it has some parts far more 
suitable to be radiant points from which any extraordinary 
message from heaven is to be disseminated than others 
It would be difficult to find a place more suitable for such 
a purpose than the very country chosen by Jehovah as the 
scene of the sufferings and death of Christ. Look upon 
the map, and you find that the land of Canaan is situated 
upon the eastern coast of the Mediterranean sea; and if 
you look east, west, north, and south, at the various con- 
nections of this spot, you will find that no other on earth 
will compare with it for the purpose for which it was se- 
lected. Egypt and the other regions of Africa on the south, 
are balanced by Syria and the Caucasian tsbuntries on the 
north. There were the Persian and Assyrian empires on 
the east, and there were the Grecian and Roman empires 
on the west. India and China, with their immense multi 
tudes, are upon on6 side, and modem France, and England, 
and Germany, with their vast political power, upon the 
other. Then look upon the Mediterranean sea,— on the 
borders of which Canaan lies, — ^bathing as it does the shores 
of three quarters of the globe, and bearing upon its bosom 
almost every ship that sailed for the first five thousand 



160 Touifo cmtisTiAir. [Ch. 7. 



iDiMMilag MsoelatkMM. 



jrean of the earth's history. Palestine is a most remarka- 
ble spot for such a purpose. If no such communication had 
ever been made from heaven, and the earth had remained 
in darkness and paganism to the* present day, its history 
having remained, in other respects, the same as it has been; 
and we had looked over it to find the best station for an em- 
bassy from above, Judea would have been the very spot. 
We should have pointed to the Levant, and said, here is 
the' moral centre of the world. If a missionary from heaven 
is to be sent, let him be stationed here. 

It is astonishing how much of the interesting history of 
the human race has had for its scene the shores of the 
Mediterranean. Egypt is there. There is Greece. Xerxes, 
Darius, Solomon, Csesar, Hannibal, knew no extended sea 
but the Mediterranean. The mighty armies of Persia, and 
the smaller, but invincible bands of the Grecians, passed 
its tributaries. Pompey fled across it — the fleets of Rome 
and Carthage sustained their deadly struggles upon its 
waters; and, until the discovery of the passage round the 
Cape of Good Hope, the commerce of the world passed 
through the ports of the Mediterranean. If we go back to 
ancient ages, we find the Phenician sailors — the first who 
ventured upon the unstable element — slowly and fearfully 
steering their little barks along the shores of this sea; and 
if we come down to modem times, we see the men of war of 
every nation proudly ploughing its waves, or riding at an- 
chor in its harbors.' There is not a region upon the face 
of the earth so associated with the recollection of all that 
is interesting in the history of our race, as the shores of the 
Mediterranean sea; nor a place more likely to be chosen 
by the Creator as the spot where he would establish his 
communication with men, than the land of Judea. 

The time selected is as worthy of notice as the place; 
I mean now, the time of the advent of the Messiah. The 
world had been the scene of war and bloodshed far many 
oenturies-*«mpire after empire had arisen upon the ruins 
of the preceding, none however obtaining a very general 



Ch. 7.] BVIDBNCES OF CHAlSTIANITT. 161 

Cliaracter of God. LaDguage of nature. 

sway; at last the Roman power obtained universal ascen- 
dency — and all was at peace. A very considerable degree 
of civilization and knowledge prevailed over a great part 
of the then known world; and every thing was favorable 
to the announcement and rapid spread of a message from 
heaven, provided that the message itself should come 
properly authenticated. The message did come, and it 
was properly authei^icated; and the peculiar suitableness 
of the tune and place selected was seen in the very rapid 
spread of the Gospel over almost half the globe. 

There is another topic of internal evidence of the truth 
of Christianity. The character and administration of God, 
as exhibited in the Bible, correspond precisely with the 
same character and administration as exhibited in the 
light of nature. They both exhibit God as most benevolent 
in his character, but most decided and efficient in his govern-' 
menL In both, we find him providing most fully for the 
happiness of his creatures; but in both we see him frown- 
ing upon sin with an awful severity of judgment. This is 
a fundamental point, and it ought to be fully understood. 
Let us look then at God as he reveals himself in his provi- 
dence, compared with the views of him which the Bible 
presents. 

See yonder child, beginning life with streams of enjoy- 
ment coming in at every sense ; he is so formed that every 
thing he has to do is a source of delight — he has an eye; 
God has contrived it most ingeniously, to be the means by 
which pleasure comes in every moment to him — he has an 
ear, so intricately formed that no anatomist or physiologist 
has yet been able to understand its mysteries* God has so 
planned it, that he takes in wjth delight the sounds which 
float around him. How many times, and in how mar 7 
ways, does he find enjoyment by its instrumentality! The 
tones of conversation — ^he evening song of his mother— 
the hum of the insect — the noise of the storm — the rum- 
bling of distant thunder; — for how many different bul 

14* 



■'-^>. 



162 TOUNO CHBISTIAK. [Ch. 7. 

Of the Bibla. The mtUhnr ie tiie boapiul. 



delightful emotions has the Creator provided! So with all 
the other senses; and now, afler you have examined in this 
way the whole structure, hody and mind, of this being, 
follow him out to a summer's walk, and see how a benevo- 
lent Creator pours upon him, from all the scenery of nature, 
on almost overwhelming tide of- delight. God smiles upon 

" him in the aspect of the blue heavens, in the verdure of 
the fields, in the balmy breath of air upon his cheek — and 
in the very powers and faculties themselves, which he has 
so formed that every motion is delight, and every pulsation 
a thrill of pleasure. Such a revelation does nature make . 
to us of the character of God, and of his feelings toward 
his creatures; and the Bible corresponds — " Grod is love." 
But nature speaks to us sometimes in another tone. Let 
this child grow up, and abandon himself to vice and crime, 
and afler the lapse of a few years let us see him again. 
How changed will be the scene! To see him, you must 
follow me to the hospital-room of an alms-house; for he 
has given himself up to vice, and endured suffering as a 
vagabond in the streets, until society can no longer endure 
to witness his misery, and they send him to an asylum out 
of their sight, in mercy both to themselves and to him. 
He lies upon his bed of straw in uninterrupted agony — 
his bones are gnawed, and his flesh corroded by disease — 
every motion is tormerit, every pulsation is agony ; for the 
God who has so formed the human constitution, that in 
innocence, and in the health which generally attends it, 
all is happiness and peace, has yet so fbrmed it, that vice 

•can bring upon it sufferings— -awful sufferings, of whieh no 
one but the miserable victim can conceive. I once saw in 
an alms-house, a sufferer whose picture has been in my 
imagination while writing the above. I have used general 
terms in my description. I might have given a much more 
detailed and vivid picture of his condition, but it was too 
shocking. Were my readers to see the scene, even 
through the medium of a description of ordinary clearness, 
the image of it would haunt them day and night. As I 



Ch. 7.] BVIDEIVCBS OF CHRISTIANITY. 163 

* ■ ■ . ■ I ■ ■....■ ,m 

The awAil miaery which vice •oroetimet brings upon iu votariaa. 

stood by the side of this man, and reflected that God had 
brought him into that condition, and that Grod was holding 
him there, and probably would hold him in the same awful 
sufiering while life should remain, I could not help saying 
to myself, ''With how efficient and decided a moial Grov-> 
emor have we to do!" No man would have held this 
miserable being in his sufferings a moment : the superin- 
tendent of the hospital would have released him instantly, 
if it had been in his power ;^ but God had the power, and 
he held the gailty breaker of his law under the dreadful 
weight of its penalty. Man shrinks from witnessing suf- 
fering, even where it is necessary to inflict it; but this 
feeling will not measure, and it has no power to limit God's 
dreadful energy in the punishment of sin. All nature tells 
us so, and the language that the Bible uses is the same — 
''God is a consuming fire." Our feelings can no more 
contemplate with composure, as our hearts are now consti- 
tuted, the judgments which the Bible denounces against 
the wicked in another world, than they con the agonies of 
delirium tremens, or the gnawings of the diseases with 
which God overwhelms the dissipated and the vile. In 
both cases there is a severity whose justice we must admit, 
but whose consequences we cannot calmly fellow. If any 
one thinks that I describe the character of God in too dark 
and gloomy colors, I have only to say, that all nature and 
all revelation unite in painting God in the most dark and 
gloomy colors possible, as he exhibits himself iotcard those 
who persist in breaking his law. He is love to his friends, 
but he is a consuming fire to his foes; and every one ought 
to go to the judgment, expecting to find a Monarch thus 
decided and efficient in the execution of his laws, presiding 
there. 

"The Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice," says the 
Psalmist; and again he says, "The Lord reigneth, let 
the people tremble." We have abundant evidence, both 
in nature and revelation, that we must rejoice with trem- 
bling, under the government of God; for that government 



164 TOUNO CHRiSTIAlf. [Ch. 7. 

Batler'a Aoalofy. in. Ezpeiimeiitml evidence. 

ig most efficient and decided against sin — and we are 
sinners. 

There are many other points of correspondence between 
the character and administration of God, as described in 
the Bible, and as exhibited in the constitution of nature; 
but I must not stop now to describe them. Butler, in an 
admirable work usually called Butler's Analogy, has ex« 
plored this ground fufly ; and I would recommend to all 
my readers who take an interest in this subject, to obtain 
and study that work. I say sttidy it, for it is not a work 
to be merely read, in the ordinary sense of that term; it 
must be most thoroughly studied, and studied too by minds 
in no inconsiderable degree mature, in order to be fully 
appreciated. 

I have endeavored, by thus mentioning several points 
in which evidence may be found in favor of the truth of 
the Scriptures, from an examination of their contents, to 
illustrate the nature of the Internal Evidence. I have not 
designed to present the argument fully.* Having accom- 
plished, however, the purpose intended, I now proceed to 
the third head I proposed. 

III. EXPERIMENTAL EVIDENCE. 

The Experimental Evidence of the truth of Christianity 
is its moral power over the human heart. This is the most 
convincing of all. It is direct. There is no laborious ex- 
amination of witnesses to bring the truth to us — ^no grop- 
ing in the dimness of ancient times, and straining the sight 
to ascertain the forms of objects and the characters of oc- 
currences there-. All is before us. We can see distinct- 
ly, — for the proof is near. We can examine it minutely 
and leisurely, — for it is constantly recurring. 

I have remarked^ that I considered this species of evi- 

•« 

"* I would recommend te those of My readers whe «!« interested in this 
jmrt Qf my subject, the examination of the following works; Chalmer's Evi- 
dences of Christianity ; Pa1e>*s do. ; Alexander's do. ; Leslie^s Short Method 
with Deists; Fuley's Horse PaalhiBe; BtrtJer's Anabgy. 



Ch. 7. J BVIDENCftS or CHRISTIA5nTr. 105 

CsM of lick ness auppuiied. Hodleine. 

dence far more calculated to make a strong unpression 
upon the mind than either of the two preceding heads I 
have described, on account of the difficulty, on the part 
of those whose lives are not devoted to literary pursuits, 
of looking back eighteen hundred years, and judging, with 
confidence of evidence in regard to events that occurred 
then. But I have oflen heard it remarked, by men amply 
qualified to investigate such subjects, that the power of the 
Bible, as they have oflen seen it exerted, in elevating to 
virtue and to happiness some miserable victim of vice and 
crime, has made a far stronger impression upon them, in 
favor of its divine origin, than any examination of the 
labored arguments of learned men. Now this must be so, 
not only in the case of Christianity, but in all similar cases. 
Suppose that some dreadful plague should break out in 
London, and after raging for many months, — suspending 
all business, driving away from the ci^y all who could fly, 
and carrying consternation and death into all the families 
that should remain, — suppose that, after all this, the news 
should arrive, that in some distant- part of the earth a 
remedy had been discovered for the disease. We will 
imagine it to have been in China. Perhaps the same dis- 
ease had broken out in former times at Canton, and some 
plant growing in that vicinity had been found to be a 
specific against it: it would cure the sick and protect the 
healthy. The government of Great Britain concludes to 
send a ship to China to obtain a supply of the remedy. 
Afler waiting the proper time for the voyage, a telegraph 
announces the arrival of the ship on her return. She sails 
up the Thames, comes to anchor, and soon the remedy 
for which they have all waited so anxiously is in full cir- 
culation about the city. Now, what will interest the 
people of London most in such a case ? Will it be an 
examination of the officers of thai ship, in order to flitisfy 
themselves that they are not imposing some spurious arti- 
cle on the nation ? Will they lay aside the remedy itself, 
and allow the sick to die, and the well to be attacked, 



166 TOUNO CHRIBTUir. ' [Ch. 7. 

Proof of it. Tlie -Mocker. 

._ ___——— — — a , 

while they examine the proof that this ship has actually 
been to China, and that her supercargo was really faithful 
in obtaining the identical article for which he was sent ? 
No— all such inquiries, if they are made at all, would be 
left to the few official < agents by whom the ship had been 
employed. The mass of the population would turn them- 
selves to the remedy itself, with the eager question, '' Will 
this medicine cure?" And, notwithstanding any skepticism 
or opposition of a few who might be interested in sustain- 
ing some other mode of treatment, the imported remedy, 
if found successful upon trials would soon be in universid 
use among the sick all over the city. 

Now, shall a man who is still under the power and do- 
minion of sin, with this great remedy (which has saved, 
and is continually saving thousands all around him,) en- 
tirely within his reach, shall he waste his time in specula- 
tions and inquiries in regard to the manner in which 
Christianity came into the world, instead of flying to it €it 
once as the remedy for all his sin and suflfering? No; .come 
at once and try the remedy. It restores others to health 
and happiness, and it will restore you. Come and be 
saved by it, and then you may inquire at your leisure how 
it came into the world. 

In regard to the case supposed above, I have spoken of 
the skepticism or opposition of those who might be inter- 
ested in some other mode of treatment. Suppose one of 
these men, interested in the continuance of the disease, 
and inhuman enough to desire on this account to perpetu- 
ate the misery of his fellows, should come into some 
wretched tenement in a crowded part of the city, and 
should find there one or two inmates under all the power 
of the disease. They are children. The mother has been 
away to some public office from which the remedy is dis- 
tributed to the poor, and has obtained a supply for her 
dying boys. As she comes to their bedside, and begins 
with trembling joy to administer it, her hand is arrested by 
the visiter, who says to her, ** Stop; how do you know 



k 



Ch. 7. J EVIDBNCK8 OF CHRISTIANITY. 167 

The mother and her tick soiii. The unbeliever. 

that this is a real remedy for this disease. I beKeve it ill 
all an imposition. That ship never came from China. 
I believe the captain and crew united in an attempt to im- 
pose upon the community; at any rate, you have yet no 
evidence to the contrary. You have not examined her 
papers — ^you have seen no official documents — ^you have 
heard no witnesses. If you are wise you will .look into 
this subject a little before you place your confidence in a 
remedy which will probably, after all, prove only impos- 
ture and delusion." 

What would be the reply ? The mother, if she should 
stop to say any thing, would say this: 

** I have not time to examine any documents or wit- 
nesses; my children are dying. Beside, this medicine 
has cured hundreds in this city, and is curing hundreds 
more. Nay, I was myself sick, and it cured me. That is 
the evidence I rely upon. I believe it will save them, and 
there is nothing else to try.'* 

That is in substance what she would say, and they who 
wish to be saved from sin should say the same. You suf- 
fer now under this disease, and you must suffer more 
hereafler, and nothing but Christianity pretends to be able 
to save. It is successful, wherever it is tried. Now sup- 
pose an infidel, or a vicious man, interested in perpetuat- 
ing sin in this world, and inhuman enough to be willing 
that the sufferings of sin should continue to burden his 
fellows, should come and say to you, ** This religion is 
delusion — it is all an imposture.** You need not go with 
him into any examination of documents and witnesses; you 
ought only to say, " Christianity saves others, and makes 
them virtuous and happy — and I hope it will save me.*' 

But I must present more distinctly the evidence that 
Christianity has power to rescue from sin, and that it ex- 
hibits this power now in the world. " And now how shall 
I show this? " thought I, wlien I first began to reflect on 
the way in which I should treat this part of my subject. 
"How shall I present most clearly and vividly to the 



168 TOVNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

Fvirtr «f Chrtetteiiicy. Particular eaae. 

jrovng, the moral power of Christiaoky? " I thought first 
of the elevated rank in knowledge, fn civilization, to which 
■U Christian nations had attained, and concluded to show, 
if I could, that the passions and p^ns of men always, when 
left to themselves, loaded communities with a burden which 
kept the mind from expanding and - the arts of life from 
flourishing, and bound down the whole in barbarism or in 
subjection to despotic power. Among the thousands of 
nations which this earth has seen, there have not been 
more than half a dozen exceptions to this. Christianity 
controls these passions, and purifies communities to such 
an extent that mind is free; and then the energies with 
which Grod has provided them freely expand. Religion 
has taken off the pressure which had imprisoned them ; and 
thus Christian nations have arisen to a rank, and power, 
and freedom, which no other communities have ever at- 
tained. There is not a savage Chtistian nation on the 
globe. A savage Christian! It is a contradiction in terms. 
But I thought that such general views and statements 
were not calculated to produce so distinct and clear an 
impression upon the mind, especially upon the young; and 
then I thought that I might point my readers to particular 
cases which have occurred, undoubtedly, within the obser- 
vation of every one. There is not a village in our land 
where are not to be seen some of the triumphs of the 
Gospel. There is a vicious man reclaimed, or a careless, 
selfish, ungovernable young man made humble, and faith- 
ful, and docile, by the power of the Bible. Such cases are 
within the observation of every one; and if each one of my 
readers would look at some such case which has occurred 
within his own immediate reach, and examine all its cir- 
cumstances, he would find in it an overwhelming proof 
that the Bible is indeed a remedy for sin. But the difficulty 
is, that such cases are so common that they lose all their 
power to impress us. The cases of reform from vice and 
sin, now continually taking place in every truly Christian 
country, would be regarded with admiration, were they 



Ch. 7.] BVIDENCB8 OF CHRISTIANITY. 169 

SUla Priaoo. Old and oe«riy«tem oTditeipliiia. 

solitary; but they are common, very common, and thutf 
jHToduce a comparatively faint impression. 
' But to show distinctly the efficacy of this remedy for sin, 
I shall point you to its operation in particular cases. And 
in choosing the cases to present, I have selected some 
where the disease had indeed made great progress, but 
which are in other respects wery common. They are both 
cases of convicts in a State Prison. I might perhaps have 
selected narrations far more interesting and striking in 
their attendant circumstances, but I have chosen to present 
those which may be taken as a fair specimen of the ordi-' 
nary effects of the Bible in saving from sin. My object is 
utility, and it is therefore far better to secure sound logic 
than to bring forward a romantic story. 

The reason I take the cases of convicts is, because I 
am now considering Christianity in regard to* its power to 
h^al the disease, sin; of course, the more violent the form 
of the disease, the more clear is the exhibition of power in 
the remedy which cures it. The prisons of our country 
may be considered as hospitals, moral hospitals, where those 
whose diseases have become so violent and malignant that 
it is no longer safe to allow them to go at large in socie- 
ty, are shut up, so that they can injure no one, at least for 
a time. It has been, and is now the practice in many 
countries, to shut up these miserable victims together, and 
leave them to themselves. Of course they grew worse and 
worse. The practice is as absurd as it would be to send a 
hundred patients, in all the stages of fever, consumption, 
and plague, into one great crowded hospital together, with 
no physician, no medicine, and no attendants but turnkeys, 
and there to leave them, each one by the unobstructed 
intercommunication conveying his own peculiar infection 
to all the rest; the whole exposed to every cause that can 
aggravate disease, and thus forming one living mass of 
pestilence and corruption. Such have been a great many 
prisons, and those who entered them came out far worse 
than they went in. 

15 



170 TOUIfO CHRISTIAlf. [Ch. 7. 

SloriOT «r tiM coaTtcts. Tbe diMtodienc sod. 



Some philanthropists formed, some years ago, the plaa 
of visiting these jHrisons, and carrying the Bible there, be- 
lieving that its moral power would be great enough to cure 
even those desperate cases of disease-— and it has suc- 
ceeded. A vast number of the most abandoned men have 
been entirely reformed by it. I do not mean that they 
have pretended to be reformed while in the prison, but have 
proved themselves reformed by their good conduct after 
having been restored to society, when the time of their 
imprisonment had expired. 

The account of the first case I shall mention was taken 
down from the individual's own tips. There is nothing 
extraordinary in it, except that be was a very bad man. I 
give the account in his own language, except that I have 
in one or two instances inserted a few words to make the 
sense more \>lear, and I have omitted some of the very 
frank confessions of his vices and crimes, which could not 
be jNToperly introduced into this book. 

THE FIRST CONVICt's STORY. 

'* When I had been in prison abouf eighteen months, 
I began to think of my past ways, and to see that I had 
sinned against God — to think about dying, and where. I 
should go when I die and appear before God. When I 
first came here, I did not think any thing about dying; I 
had no just idea of the Holy Scriptures, and did not know 
any thing of the Lord. I first began to think about my 
former life when I had been here about eighteen months. 
Once I went off from all my friends, and never let any of 
them know where I was going. I led one of my brothers 
Rway, and it was the means of his death. After I lost my 
brother I went home again, and my father blamed me for 
leading him away. I had been two years from home, and 
my parents said that I was the means of my brother's 
death. They tried to make me steady, and get me work 
at home then; but I wouldn't be steady more than a few 
months before I went off again. My father told me I was 



Ch. 7. EVIDENCBS OF CHRISTIANITT. lYl 

ConvemtioB. 

fitting myself for State's prison. I went away howe^r, 
and it was only about two months before I committed my 
crime and was put into jfiil. That was the first time I eyer 
saw the inside of prison. I often used to think of my 
brother afler I came into the prison. A great many nights 
I used to see a black coffin placed before me, and hear a 
voice telling me I must go soon aiid follow him. I not 
only thought of these things, but all my wicked thoughts 
and all my actions were presented before me — ^what I had 
done and how I had walked in the sight of the Lcvd. I 
used to be a very vicious man, and all the places where I 
had been would appear before me. And I used to be a 
violent blasphemer too, and a riotous person ; and I saw a 
sign which said, this is the road adulterous persons and 
blasphemers go. 

'* Afler I had thought about my wicked life, I felt that I 
had incurred the holy displeasure of the Lord, and de- 
served all that he could indict upon me. I thought that I 
could not suffer too much. I could then see the hand of 
the Lord, how it had followed me in every place where I 
had been. I found that it was the law of the Lord that 
brought me here, for sins which I had committed against 
God, and not against my fellow men." Here the gentle- 
man who was visiting him asked him, 

" How does your heart appear to you now? " 
"My heart appears at times set upon evil; but then 
again, sometimes I feel that I shall get to heaven; and 
then again, I feel very much discouraged. Whenever 
wicked thoughts arise in my heart, I sometimes feel that 
the Lord has given me up. Then again, there is some-^ 
thing to enliven my feelings, and all my wicked thoughts 
go away; my worldly thoughts will be drawn away, and 
my mind will be on heavenly things. I did not know what 
it meant when my heart used to burn within me, until I 
asked my teacher in Sabbath School, if man's heart would 
be warm when he had right feelings of heart." 



172 TOCNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

Hi* acraffglM with tin. The fltory true. 



*' Do you find temptation to sin now? " asked the gentle- 
man. 

" Yes, sir." 

"What do you do?" 

"I trust in the Lord." 

"Do you yield to your evii passions and lusts now? " 

" I have, sometimes. I feel now that the Lord will keep 
me from them. There is nothing that causes me to grieve 
80 as that very thing." 

" Does it take away your happiness? " 

" It did for a time." 

** What security can you have, that when you go out, 
you will not do just as you have done ? " 

"All my hope is in the Lord. I rely upon the mercy 
of the Lord to keep me. Of myself, I can do nothing: I 
rely upon the mercy of the Lord. 

" Was you a drunken man? " 

" I have been intoxicated a number of times, but I was 
never much given to it." 

In the course of the conversation the convict said: 

" I want to ask if, afler men have repented of their sins, 
there will ever be times when they will give up to their 
lusts?" 

"It is a very bad sign if they do," replied the gentle- 
man. 

" Once, when I was greatly tempted, I wept before the 
Lord night afler night, and there was a man appeared to 
me in the room, and said to me, " Thy sins are pardoned;" 
and since that I have been no more tempted, and I think it 
was to show me that I had trusted too much to my own 
heart. I thought I had been so long without any tempta- 
tion that I was fairly weaned. I thought so; but then I was 
tempted, and now I know I trusted more to my own heart 
than I did to the Lord." 

Such was the substance of the conversation, taken down 
by the gentleman on the spot, and copied by me, for this 
book, from his original record. And I beg that my readers 



Ch. 7.] BVIDBNCES OF CHRISTIANITT. 179 

8660tt4 atory. Nature of ardent aplrlt. 

will not forget that my object in presenting it^ is not to offer 
them m pem«rk«bie or an interesting story. There is noth- 
ing remarkable in it, and, excepting for the purpose of my 
argument, nothing particularly interesting. It is, however, 
a remarkably fair specimen of the ordinary operation of re- 
ligious truth, in conricting of sin and bringing man back 
to his duty. 

But I must postpone the comments upon this story which 
I intend to make, until I have given the second narrative. 
The reason why I present two is, because no one that I 
could obtain, exhibits sq fully as I could wish, all the im- 
portant points I wish to bring to view* 

SECOND CONVICX'sf STORY. 

There lived in one of the middle states some years ago, 
a man whom I shall call W. I suppress his real name. 
His character was bad, and he lived with another man 
whose character was worse than his own. 

His employer having some quarrel with another man, 
wanted W. to kill him. He endeavored for five or six 
months to induce him to do it, but he did not succeed. W« 
however, showed a degree of indecision about it which en- 
couraged his wicked employer to persevere. A good man 
would have refused an application like that, in such terms 
and in such a manner that it never would have been 
renewed. 

The employer however understood his character, and, 
like all other bad men who endeavor to induce others to 
commit crime, he knew of an agent which would effectu- 
ally assist him to prevail upon W. to do the fatal deed. 
That agent was ardent spirit — the universal stimulus to 
crime. He accordingly gave it to him, not in such quan- 
tities as completely to intoxicate him, but moderately, only 
enough to destroy what little conscience he had, and yet 
leave him, in a considerable degree, the possession of his 

faculties.' 

15* 



174 


TOUlfG CHRIBTIAir. 


[Ch. 7. 


W.*M crime. 


Learning to read in prison. 


Firat leeMMi. 



After he had drank the mm, he went and laid down to 
sleep in the skirts of a wood, where thej expected to com- 
mit the murder. In a little while another man, who had 
been employed to assist in this work, came and woke him- 
up, and said to him, '' If we mean to do any thing, we had 
better do it now." W. accordingly, rose, and they went 
together. When they came to their victim, W. shot at 
him, and then his accomplice took the gun and beat him 
over the head till he was dead. 

Two persons were hung for this crime, and W. was sen- 
tenced to the State prison for a long time. The man whom 
they had killed was a very bad man; but as W. afterward 
said, that was no cloak for him. 

When W. came to the pris<4i, he was very ignorant; he 
did not know his own age accurately, and he could not 
read. There was in that prison, however, a very faithful 
chaplain, who knowing that the Bible alone could be the 
means of reforming the miserable convicts, always placed 
that book before them immediately. When they could not 
read, he used to teach them. I have been told that this 
course has been taken to teach them; the first lesson was 
the first word in the Bible — /-n. 

" That word is — In,'^ the teacher would say to the pris- 
oner in his cell — '* Can you see how many letters there are 
in it?" 

" Two," the prisoner would reply, afler examining it. 

•* Yes," answers the teacher: ** T^e first letter is called 
f ; the second, n. These letters are very common in the 
Bible, and in all reading; see if you can find another n 
anywhere on this page." 

The prisoner then would look very attentively along the 
lines until he found the letter required. If he made a mis- 
take, and found an wi or an r instead, the teacher would 
explain the difference) and call his attention more fully to 
the true form of the n. He would also explain the differ- 
ence between the capital and small i, and show his pupil 
that he must expect to find the small t, generally. He 



Ch. 7.] EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITT. 175 

Effects of the Bible upon W. Sine againvt God. 

would then- leave him, asking him to find as many of these 
letters as he could before^ the teacher 8ho^ld come again. 
The next lesson would be the next word, the ; and thus the 
pupil would go on slowlj, spelling^ his way, until he had 
learned to read for himself. 

The attempt^to learn to read was proposed to W. and he 
commenced it; and although considerably advanced in life, 
he made no little progress in his work. He was soon able 
to read considerably ; and as the truths of the word of Grod 
came home to his mind they produced their usual effects 
there; they led him to see his sins, and to feel them; and 
they led him to come to the Savior for pardon. His whole 
character was changed; but I must allow him to describe 
this change in his own words. 

These words were taken down by the same gentleman 
whom I have mentioned before. He visited him in prison, 
and after first conversing with him in regard to the crime 
for which he had been committed, asked him, 

" Well, W. how do this and all your other sins now ap- 
pear to you? " 

** Very great," said he; "but this does not appear so 
great as all my other sins agiunst God— cursing and swear- 
ing, and getting drunk. When I first began to reflect in 
my cell, I saw my sins so great that I felt I could not be 
forgiven. I was sitting down one day at my work in the 
prison, and the chaplain came along and asked me my crime. 
I told him. 

" f That,' said he, * is one of the greatest crimes; but 
then you may remember David's sin, and he was forgiven. 
Let your crime be as great as it will, pray to God, and put 
your trust in him, and you shall find rest to your soul.* 

"He told me also; that if I could not read, he would 
visit me in my cell, and put me in the way. I. shall ever 
love him while God gives me breath; I shall love the 
chaplain, for he put me in the way to obtain the salvation 
of my soul; he made me promise him faithfully that I 
would go to God, and try to find mer<;v; and yet, master, 



176 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 



W.*t BMiiUJ fulTering. 



I hftd doubt in my heart — my sins were so heavy — ^whether 
I should be forgiven. The chaplain soon left me, and I 
went into my cell and poured out my heart to God to have 
mercy on me. The more I prayed the more miserable I 
grew. Heavier and heavier were my sins. 

"The next day Mr. B. came along, and I asked him to 
read a chapter to me; and, as God would have it, he turn* 
ed to the 55th chapter of Isaiah. It said, '£very one 
that thirst cth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no 
money, come ye, buy wine and milk without price.' He 
read along to where the prophet says, 'Let the wicked 
forsake his way, and the unrighteous, man his thoughts, 
and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy 
upon^im, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon. 
For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your 
ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are 
higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your 
ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.* 

''I found this gave me great encouragement to go on to 
pray, to see if I could find relief from all my troubles — 
the load of sin that was on my heart. I thought and 
prayed, and the more I prayed the more wretched I grew 
—the heavier my sins appeared to be. 

''A night or two after that, the chaplain came to my cell 
and asked me how I felt. I told him my sins were greater 
than I could bear — so guilty — so heavy. He asked me if 
I thought praying would make my sins any less, I gave 
him no answer. He soon left me, and I went again to 
prayer. I was almost fit to expire. In all my sorrows I 
had not a right sorrow. My sorrow was because I had 
sinned against man, 

"The Sunday following, just after I had carried my 
dinner into my cell, I put my dinner down, iind I went to 
prayer. I rose, and just as I rose from my prayer the 
Chaplain was at the door. ' We are all guilty creatures,' 
he said to me, ' and we cannot be saved, except God, ^br 
Ckn9t*s sake, will s^ve us. If we pray and go to Grod, we 



Chi 7.] EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY. 177 

Hif prayer, Hia way of finding iheHltH Psalm. 

^™^^* ■■■■■■■-■ 11 » ■■■I , m^^^^^ .iM^. ■■ ■■■■■■■ ■■■■! ■ I, 1^— ^^^.^^ 

must go in the name of Jesus Christ; if we expect to be 
saved, we must be saved through the blood and righteous- 
ness of Jesus Christ.' Then I picked up encourage- 
ment. 

"*The sins which you have committed,' he went on, 
' are against your fellow creatures, but they are much more 
against God.^ Now I never knew before that they were 
against Grod. When the chaplain left me I went to prayer 
again. I could eat nothing that day. I did not eat a 
mouthful. 

''I recollected at that time that a minister had told me, 
whenever I had a chapter read, to have the 51st Psalm. 
I could not see any body to get to read it, and how to find 
it I did not know, and the Sunday following, before the 
keeper unlocked the door, I rose up and I went to prayer, 
and I- prayed, ' O Lord, thou knowest I am ignorant, 
brought up in ignorance. Thou knowest my bringing up. 
Nothing is too hard for thee to do. May it please thee, O 
Lord, to show me that chapter that I may read it with un- 
derstanding.' I rose from prayer, and went to my Bible 
and took it up. I began at the first Psalm, and turned 
over and counted every Psalm, and it appeared to me that 
God was with me, and I counted riaht to the 51st Psalm. 
I could read a little, and I begun to spell H-a-v-e m-e-r-c-y 
&c. ; I looked over the Psalm and spelled it, and read it, 
and then put the Bible down, and fell upon my knees and 
prayed: *Have mercy upon me; O God, according unto 
the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgres- 
sions. Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquities, and 
cleanse me from my sins, for my sin is ever before me. 
Against thee, thee only have I sinned, and done this evil 
in thy sight; that thou mightest be justified when thou 
speakest, and clear when thou judgest.' 

** When I came to the words, * Deliver me from blood- 
guiltiness,' I was struck dumb. I could not say any more 
at thai time. I fell upon my knees and prayed to God to 
have mercy upon me, for Christ's sake. But I only grew 



178 YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

Uto teller. CloM c^ the convicta' atorie*. 

■^•^^-^*"~— ^»^>-«""""^"""— ^-^-"i"^"^"""""""— "— ^"■^""■^^■— "^^"^^"^^ I -^^— ■ I - 

more and more miserable. The load <^ my ains was 
heavier and heavier. 

' ' All that I had ever done came plain and open in my 
sight, and I was led to see that I must perish; there was 
no* help for me; all my sin was upon my own head." 

Such is the miserable criminal's account of the suffering 
to which he was brought by the sense of guilt which the 
Bible was the means of fastening upon his soul. He 
continued in this state for some time, until at last, as be 
himself describes it, one day, when he was praying in his 
cell, his burden of guilt was removed. He felt that he 
might hope for pardon through Jesus Christ. The relief 
which this feeling brought over his mind seems to have 
been almost indescribable. Every thing wore a new as^ 
pect; even the gloomy prison seemed a cheerful and happy 
place. His expressions of joy would appear almost ex- 
travagant to any person not sufficiently acquainted with 
the human mind to understand how the whole aspect of 
external objects will be controlled by the emotions which 
reign in the heart. W. concluded his harration in these 
Words: 

^* And ever since that, master, this place where I have 
been confined, has been to me more like a palace than a 
prison— every thing goes agreeable. I find I have a de- 
ceitful heart, but Jesus tells me, if I lack knowledge he 
^ will always lend, if I cast my care on Jesus and not forget 
to pray. It is my prayer morning and evening, that I may 
hold out. If I die here, let me die. Lord, in thine arms. 
I have great reason to bless this institution, and every 
stone in it." 

Now although it is not very common to obtain, in writ- 
ing, accounts of changes of character among convicts so 
full and minute as this, yet the cases themselves are very 
common; so common, that where a prison is regulated in 
such a manner that the prisoners are not exposed to evil 
influence from each other, and the Bible has the oppor- 



Ch. 7.] - EVIDENCES OF CHKI8TIJLNITY. 179 

ChulettowB State Prison. Old building. 

tufliij to try its power, the whole aspect of the prison is 
changed. After I had written the above, I was conversing 
upon the subject of this chapter with a gentleman much 
interested in the improvement of prisons, and he asked me 
if I had ever visited the prison at Charlestown, Massachu- 
setts. I told him I had not. ** If you will go over with 
me, Sabbath morning," said he, ''and visit the Sabbath 
School formed there, you will see the moral power of the 
Bible far more distinctly than you can by any such single 
descriptions as these." 

I of course gladly availed myself of the opportunity to 
accompany him. We walked accordingly on Sabbath 
morning, at the appointed hour, over one of those long 
bridges which connect the peninsula of Boston with the 
main land. The prison is situated in Charlestown, on a 
point of land near the Charles river. Tlie yard extends 
to the water's edge, to afford facilities for lading and un- 
lading the boats which transport stone; hammering stone 
for building . being the principal business at which the 
convicts are employed. 

When we reached the outer gate of the prison yard we 
pushed it open, and on 'closing itself afler we had entered^ 
it Mruck a bell, which gave notice to the keeper of the 
inner gate that some one was coming. This inner gate, 
made of strong iron bars, was opened for us, and we 
passed- up the steps of a large stone building, through 
which lay our'passage to the yard beyond. This building 
consists of one large central edifice, occupied by the family 
of the warden and by some of the keepers, and two exteur 
isive wings. In these wings the prisoners were formerly 
confined, in rooms of moderate size; many convicts how- 
ever being lodged in one room. This was the old system 
of prison discipline, of which I have already spoken, and 
the prisoners almost invariably grew worse instead of 
better under it. A young man, perhaps, just beginning a 
career of vice, or overcome /or the first time by some strong 
temptation, was placed during the long hours of the night 



180 YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

Crowded nigbt rooms. Arms. Prison yard. 

in one of these crowded rooms. Of course he grew worse 
hy such an exposure. Those who had grown old in ma 
instructed him in all their wicked arts. He became fami- 
liarized to infamy; and even ^hile under sentence for one 
crime, oflen formed plans for others, to be executed as 
soon as he should escape into society again. The conse^ 
quence was, that these night rooms, in the wings of this 
great building, were, as they were oAen called, schoob of 
vice and crime. 

The first room we entered in this edifice seemed to be a 
sort of an office, and a row of swords and guns, which 
were arranged there ready to be used at a moment's no- 
tice, proclaimed the intention of the keepers to resort to 
the most decided measures if the prisoners should make 
any attempt to escape. We passed through this room, 
and one or two others, every narrow passage being guard- 
ed by a formidable door of iron, which a turnkey opened 
and shut for us as we passed. 

We, entered a spacious and beautiful yard in the rear of 
this building. I say it was beautiful, because it struck 
the eye most pleasantly by its expression of neatness and 
industry. It was spacious, and extensive shops were ar- 
ranged around it, in which the convicts were accustomed 
to work; and upon the smooth and level ^oor, I had almost 
said, of the area inclosed, were many large and beautiful 
blocks of hammered granite, the fruits of the prisoners' 
industry. 

We walked across the yard and came to a long stone 
building one story high, behind which rose another spa- 
cious edifice of stone. In this last were the prisoners' 
cells. I am not certain that I shall be able to convey to 
my young readers a very accurate idea of the arrange- 
ment and of the interior of these buildings, but I am very 
desirous of doing sa, as it will give them clearer ideas of 
what I intend to present, in regard to the moral aspects of 
such an institution as this. Will you not then make an ef^ 
.fbrt to picture distinctly to your minds what I am describing ? 



Cfau 7.] BYIDENCXa OF CHRISTIANITY. 181 

-. ■ ■ ■ " ■ . 

GbapeU PriMNiera goinf to Bttbtetk School. 

The long low building which I have mentioned, bad a 
strong iron door in the centre, and from that door a pas- 
sage- way extended across to the great new prison bejond. 
On one. side of this passage-way was a large room appro- 
priated to preparing food for the prisoners, and on the 
other side was the chapel. When we came up to the iron 
door in' the front of the building,, we found several gentle- 
men, who had come over from Boston to act as teachers 
in the Sabbath School, waiting for admission. They were 
waiting until the prisoners themselves should have passed 
into the chapel; for when we arrived, they were coming 
in a long procession, from their cells in the rear, into this 
building, each one bringing the tin vessel from which he 
had eaten his breakfast, and laying it upon a sort of count- 
er as he passed on into .the chapel! We could see this by 
looking through an opening in the iron door. 

When all the prisoners had gone into the chapel, the 
outer door was opened by a keeper, and we all passed in; 
the heavy door was swung to behind us« and its' strong bolt 
secured. We turned from the entry into that end of the 
building which was used as a chapel. There was an aisle 
passing up the centre, on each side of which were seats 
half filled with the convicts. The chaplain stood in a 
pulpit at the farther end, and on each ^ide of him were the 
teachers, gentlemen from Boston, who had come to assist 
these unhappy men to read and to understand the word of 
God. 

It was a most delightful May morning, and the whole 
aspect of the room, as I looked over it from my stand near 
the chaplain, was that of cheerfulness and happiness, not 
of gloom. The sun beamed in brightly at the windows, 
and the walls of the room of the purest white, the neat 
benches, and the nicely sanded floor, gave a most pleasant 
aspect to the whole. 

The congregation presented a singular and striking ap-' 
pearance. Had it not been for their dress I might have 
forgotten that I was in a prison. But they were all dress^ 

16 



\ 



18d TOUNO CHRISTIAir. [Ch. 7. 

Aapaet of the School. Prioonert* dren. ExereisM. A claM. 



0d in coarse clothes of two colors, one side of the body 
being red, and the other of some different hue. This is 
the uniform of crime. The object of it is, I suppose, not 
to mortify them with a perpetual badge of disgrace, but to 
expose any one who should by any means escape, to im- 
mediate detection by the inhabitants of the country around. 

''Is it possible," thought I, as I looked over this most 
interesting assembly, "that all these men have come vol- 
untarily this morning to read and study the word of God. ^'' 
Yes, that was the fact. This exercise was entirely volun- 
tary; and out of two or three hundred who had been con- 
demned for crime, about one half were accustomed to 
come voluntarily on Sabbath morning to study the book 
which proclaims from heaven free forgiveness of every 
sin. 

The chaplain opened the school with prayer. He then 
explained to the teachers that the plan to be pursued was 
simply to hear the prisoners read the Bible, and explain 
its contents to them. He desired them to confine their 
conversation strictly to the business in hand, and requested 
the prisoners not to ask, and the teachers not to answer 
any questions relating to other subjects. He then distri- 
buted the teachers around the room, giving each one a 
small class. Three convicts fell to my charge. 

I opened almost at random in the New Testament, and 
let them read in rotation ; and more apparently humble and 
docile students of the Bible I never saw. They read 
slowly and with hesitation, and I thought at first, with a 
little embarrassment; this however soon passed away, and 
it was most interesting to watch the eager expression upon 
their countenances as the various truths which were such 
glad tidings to them came to view. We came almost 
accidentally to the parables of the one sheep and the one 
piece of money which was lost, Luke, 15, and it seemed 
as if the whole chapter was written expressly for prisoners. 

One of these convicts, after expressing a strong interest 
in these parables, said that the Bible appeared like a very 



Ch. 7.] EVIDBNCB8 OF CHRISTIANITY. 183 

ConvertaUon with a convict. Power of the Bible. 

different book to him now, from what it did in former 
times. 

'* How did it formerly appear to you?" asked L 

'* O, I used to despise it. I used to wonder why so 
much was made of the Bible. It seemed to me that I 
could write as good a book myseld" 

** Well, are your views of it changed now? " 

*' O yea,^' said he, '' I am now fully peimiaded it is the 
word of God," 

'* What caused you to disbelieve formerly? was it the 
influence of bad company? '' 

^' Why, sir^ to be frank, it was ign^^rance. I had not 
studied it. I had read it a litde here and there, but not 
attentively, or with a right spirit." 

" What led you to change your views of it? " 

*^ I did not change my views until I came to this institu- 
tion. I had some days of solitary confinement when I first 
came, with no book but the Bible; and when I first began 
to reflect, I recollected that a Christian family whom I 
once lived with, seemed to enjoy more real, substantial 
happiness than any other persons I ever saw; and this led 
me to think there might possibly be something in religion. 
So I thought I would examine the Bible in earnest, and I 
found it a very different book from what I had supposed. 
I took a very strong interest in it, and at last a minister 
preached a sermon here from the text, ' What shall I do 
to inherit eternal life? ' and that, I hope, led me to the Sa- 
vior. I hope\and trust that I have really given my heart 
to God." 

I told him that what he said gave me great pleasure, and 
that I hoped he would persevere in Christian duty^ and 
find the Bible a source of happiness to him as long as he 
should live. ^ 

" When I first came to this institution," he replied, **I 
thought it was rather a hard case to be shut up here so 
long. My time is however now almost out. In a few 
weeks I shall go away ; but if I have really been led Xo 



184 Touiro cHRisTiAif. [Ch. 7.' 

Befomatloa of priM»D«ra. CasM nameroua. Tampemnoe aennoa. 

•ee and forsake my sins, I shall never have any reason to 
regret coming here." 

The chaplain about this time, gave notice that it was 
time for the services to be closed, and I could not con- 
verse with my other scholars much. One of them told 
me however that he had been brought up by pious parents, 
and had read the Bible when he was a child. '^It was 
however," said he, "only to please my parents. I gave 
no heed to it. I have found it, since I came to this 
institution, a very diflferent book." 

I afterward learned that there was as much reason as, 
under the circumstances, there could be, to hope that all 
three of these criminals had really repented of sin and 
obtained peace with Grod, and that they would return to 
society to be useful and happy while they live, and be 
admitted to heaven when they die. 

Such cases as these too are becoming very numerous 
in prisons where the convicts are separated from each 
other, and brought under, the influence of the word of Grod. 
^Since this plan has been adopted in this very prison, the 
results have been most decisive. The number of prisoners, 
and especially of recommitments, is very much reduced. 
The whole number of convicts, which was formerly 375, 
has been reduced under the operation of this system to 2i25, 
and is now constantly reducing. 

But I must proceed with the description of my visit: At 
the close of the Sabbath school, the convicts who had 
attended it marched out, and presently returned with all 
the other prisoners in a long procession, to attend public 
worship; they filled the chapel. The preacher addressed 
them on the subject of temperance; and as he explained 
to them the nature of ardent spirit, and the consequences 
of its use, they listened with the most eager and uninter- 
rupted attention. Each had his Bible under his arm — his 
only companion in his solitary cell — and it was evident, I 
thought, from the countenances of the whole assembly, 
that in the hour of stillness and solitude it had been at 



Gb. T.] BVIBBIfCBS OF CHRISTIANITY. 1^ 

Marchiag to Uw c«lls. Constnictioo of the Piiwm. 

work upon the conscience of many a hardened sinner 
there. It seemed impossible for a man to look upon that 
assembly, understanding their circumstances, and knowing 
how exclusively the Bible had been used nA the means of 
restoring them to moral healthy and how successful it had 
been, and yet doubt whether the book was realljr from God. 

After the meeting was closed the prisoners marched by 
divisions in regular order, <each under the care of a keeper, 
back to the g^reat building in the rear, which contained 
their cells. As they passed through the entry, each one 
took from the place where he had left it, the tin vessel 
containing his evening meal, and they. marched in long 
procession to their silent and Solitary lodgings. We 
followed them into the building. Its construction b pecu- 
liar; and as it is similar to those now almost universally 
built for prisoners, I shall describe it. 

It contains a building within a building — ^the outer one 
being a mere shell, consisting of walls and a roof, with 
rows of narrow gr€ited windows in the sides. The inner 
building is distinct and independent, Avith a passage several 
feet wide all around between it and the outer walls. This 
inner building is simply a block of cells, four or five stories 
high, arranged back to back, so that the doors open on 
each side into the passage-way I have already described. 
The doors however, of the hwer-etary only, can be entered 
from the floor of the passage-way itself, and to gain access 
to the others, long narrow galleries supported by iron pil- 
lars, project from each story« A staircase at one end 
leads the way to these. 

There were no windows to the cells, except a grated 
opening in the narrow but heavy iron door; and this, it 
wHl be perceived, did not furnish an access to the open 
air, for the outer building- entirely enclosed the inner like 
a case. Sufficient light however found its way through 
the outer windows, and thence through the grated door, to 
cheer the prisoner a little in his solitude, and to allow him 
to read the pages of the word of Grod. 

16* 



IM TOUIfO CHRISTIAir. [Ch. 7. 

The b«U4lB|i. Comtnictton of the eelta. 

When we came into the passage-way below, the trains 
of prisoners were passing along the -galleries, and enter- 
ing, one after another, their respective cells. Each one 
closed after him the massire door, and there was some- 
thing peculiarly solemn and impressive in the heavy 
0ound, produced in regular succession, as door after door 
closed upon the unfortunate inmates. The keepers passed 
along after the prisoners of his division had entered their 
cells, and locked them in, and after the last party-colored 
dress had disappeared, and the last bolt sounded to its 
place, the keepers one after another returned, and all was 
silence and apparent solitude. 

Though it was now the middle of a bright May afternoon 
it was but twilight within these walls — the twilight of a 
prison — and so still, that one could hardly realize that 
within the sound of his voice more than two hundred crim- 
inals were confined. And yet they were within the sound 
of one voice; for the construction of these buildings is 
such that every prisoner can hear the chaplain when con- 
ducting religious services in the passage-way. He stands 
there, not seeing an individual whom he addresses — ^noth- 
ing before him but the cold repulsive aspect of the granite 
walls and floor, and pillars, doors and locks of iron — and 
reads the chapter, and offers the evening prayer in the 
hearing of hundreds; and each prisoner, alone in his cell, 
seated upon his little bench, hears through the grated 
window the voice of one unseen, explaining to him the 
word of God, or guiding him in his supplications for the 
forgiveness of his sins, and preparation for heaven. 

As we stood contemplating this sceoe, one of the officers 
of the prison standing there, said to my companion, 

** Mow different this is from what we used to see and 
hear in the old prison!" 

*'Has there been,** asked I^ '' a very decided change 
in the aspect of the prisoners since their removal to this 
building?" 

" O yes," said he, " every thing is changed. Why, 



Ch. 7.1 xviDENCfis <xr Christianity. 18T 

Armed keeper. The Bible tlie meaBfl. 

^^■^■^— — ■ <• ■ ■ ■ ^i.1 I I ■ ■ ■ I ■» ■ I I I ■ - ■ ■— I II I ■■ I ■ ■ 11 m^ 

when they occupied the old building and were locked up 
several together in a room, there was nothing but cursing 
and swearing, and riot, and quarrelling, and blasphemy, to 
be heard all night. How they would rave against religion 
and the Bible and ministers! Nothing would have tempted 
me to have staid in the prison if that state of things had 
continued. Now it is a quiet and peaceful family." 

We passed out last. A keeper, with a sword at his side 
and a pistol at his belt, closed and locked the door afler us, 
and we passed through the yard, and through the great 
edifice which I first described, out beyond the prison walls, 
and returned to our homes. 

Now if there was any one thing which stood forth to view 
in all this scene more distinctly and vividly than all the 
rest, it was that these eflTects were the work of the Bible. 
The very essence of the whole system is simply to cut off 
the bad influences which would otherwise gain access to 
the prisoner, and lay before him the Bible, This was done 
with kindness and sympathy indeed, but still the word of 
God was most evidently the remedy which was applied. 
The prisoners came to their place of worship with their 
Bibles in their hands— the teachers in the Sabbath School 
confined their efforts to reading and explaining the sacred 
book — and it was affecting to observe, that as they went to 
their solitary cells, they found there the word of Grod for their 
only companion. So unquestionable is the moral power of 
this book, that the very authorities of the State, actuated 
by a desire to save the community from the injuries of 
wicked men, place a Bible, at the public expense, in the 
cell of every convict committed for crime. 

Those little cells, so small that the narrow bed, when let 
down at night, leaves the prisoner scarce room to stand — 
destitute of almost every comfort, and showing by their 
whole aspect, that their design is to connect ihe most 
gloomy associations possible with the idea of crime— every 
one of those narrow and naked cells miist have ita Bible^ 
Every legislator knows that that is the book to call back 



188 TOUNO CHBISTlAlf. [Ch. 7. 

• I - 

Aaslyaifl of Ibe convleu' atnrlei. 1. Bible the meeiis. 9. Sim against God. 

the guiltj criminal from his sins. And though men may, 
in speculation, denj its authority and question its influence 
in practice, — ^when they wish to awaken conscience in the 
abandoned, and to recall them so far at least to duty that 
society may be safe from their crimes, they are unanimous 
in invoking its aid. 

But I must return to the two convicts' stories. I did not 
intend to have digressed so far from them. My readers are 
requested to recall those narratives to mind, for I wish to 
analyze them a little, that I may present more distinctly the 
nature of the process by which convalescence and ultimate 
health returns to a sin-sick soul; for I wish to consider 
these not in the light of detached and separate instances, 
but as' fair specimens of cases which are constantly occur- 
ring by tens of thousands in Christian lands. 

I should like to have you notice the following points, 
which are brought to view by those narratives. 

1. The Bible to€u the means of the change. One of the 
convicts said he had no proper views of the Scriptures till 
he came to the prison; the other could not read them at all, 
and it was plainly by means of this book that they were 
brought to understand their true characters. So at Charles- 
town. The whole plan of moral influence consisted in 
bringing, in a kind and sympathizing manner, the truths of 
the word of God to those minds. I was told by one of the 
teachers who was present at the time of my visit, that he 
had in his class a convict who had been repeatedly impris- 
oned, having been confined once or twice in the old build- 
ing. ** And, "said he, "it only made me worse. But 
now, there is a new state of things. When I came to this 
prison, I found nothing but my Bible, and I believe it has 
made me a new man." The gentleman who had taught 
that class, said that he gave every evidence which could 
be given in so short a time, of being a humbled, renewed 
man. 

2. Men are led to eee thai their ems are ogattiif Qod. 



Ch. 7.] KVIDENCKS or CHRISTIANITY. IJB9 

— ^— - - ^ ■ _ I.M I ■ - 

Story of the incendiary. Innorance of the law of the land. 



This you will perceive to be verj strikingly the case, from 
a review of the convicts' stories. And thi» is one of the 
, great peculiarities of the Scriptures. They lead us to see 
that we owe obligations to our Maker; a truth that is 
always neglected or forgotten till the Bible brings it to 
view. 

But what is the meaning of our sins being against God? 
I once knew a boy so abandoned to evil passions, and so 
utterly destitute of moral principle, that he set fire to his 
mother's house, in -a fit of anger with her for some reproof 
or punishment. I do not know whether he intended to 
burn it entirely, or whether he expected that the fire would 
be extinguished, and he should thus only frighten his 
mother. A great deal of injury was in fact 4one by the 
fire, which was however at last extinguished. Now the boy 
very probably supposed this offence was against hia mother 
alone. He knew he was responsible to her authority, and 
thought of nothing more. 

How surprised then would he be if some friend of his, 
after he had done this, should converse with him as fol- 
lows: 

" Do you know what you have done? " 

^* Yes, I set mother's house on fire." 

** And what do you expect will be the consequence? " 

*' Why, perhaps she will punish me; but I don't care 
for that." 
^' I think you will find that that is not the worst of it." 

< * What is the worst of it ? " 

*' Why you have broken the law of the land^ and I ex- 
pect every hour that the officers will 4>e after you to take 
you up." 

** The officers! " says the boy, astonished and alarmed: 
" I didn't know any thing about the law of the land." 

" There U a law of the land, you will find, and you have 
broken it, and they will have you tried and put in State's 
Prison for it." 

At this the boy would perhaps pause and turn pale, and 



190 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 



Voice of tlie Bible. 



his next word would probablj cither be, •* I don't believe 
it," or else, " What $hall I do? " Perhaps he would at- 
tempt to excuse himself by saying, 

'* I did not know that it was against any law — ^I only ^Lid 
it to plague my mother." 

"That makes no difference," his friend would reply, 
«* it will not help you at all. The law of every community 
is, and ought to be, very decided against incendiaries, be- 
cause, as you well know, when you set fire to your house, 
you endangered the others near, and in fact the whole vil- 
lage. As to your not knowing that it was against the law, 
that makes no difference; you knew thtU it was throng." 

I do not know whether this boy learned that he had bro- 
ken the law, and was in great danger of punishment, by 
any such conversation as the above. I know however that 
he learned it in some way, and he fled; he escaped to a 
distant city, but the officers found him there; and I saw 
him afterward confined in his cell. 

Now when men sin in this world they almost always forget 
the very important circumstance, that they are sinning against 
God, They look upon their offences as committed solely 
against their fellow men ; they feel sometimes a little com- 
punction in regard to those few cases where their conduct 
has .injured their fellows ; they never consider these as of- 
fences against a far higher law — and as to all their other 
conduct, they feel entirely at ease in regard to it. 

Now the Bible comes in in such cases, and where its 
voice is heeded, it holds with menmuch such a conversa- 
tion as that which I have described between the boy and 
his fi*iend. 

**Do you know," it says to one who has been living an 
irreligious life for many years, ''What you have been 
doing? " 

" Yes," he replies, ** I have very often done wrong. I 
have sometimes been idle and sometimes a little passionate ; 
but then I have endeavored to make up for lost time by 
subsequent industry, wid I have always repaired all the 



Ch. 7.] KVIDKNCKS or CHRISTIANITY. 191 



3. Feeling awakened. 



injuries of every kind that I have done to others. On the 
whole, I have been a good neighbor and an honest man; 
I have been kind in my family, and upright as a citizen." 

'* Ah t" says the Bible, ** do you not know that there is a 
Gfo(i, and that, by utterly neglecting him, you have been 
all the time unceasingly breaking his lawl You have been 
Kving for yourself, detached and separate from all' around 
you, except so far as your interests or instinctive feelings 
have formed a frail tie. What a divided and miserable 
community would be the result, if all God's creatures were 
to act upon the same principle!" 

*' Besides," continues the word of Grod, ''the sins which 
you acknowledge you have committed, and which you 
seem to consider as chiefly against men, are in a far higher 
sense against Grod. They are violations of his law, and he 
has annexed a most awful penalty to such transgressions. 
In fact, it is possible that some of his officers are now sent 
for you, to summon you to trial and condemnation for your . 
sms. 

Thus men are led to see by the Bible what law they 
have broken, and what punishment they have to fear. The 
convict, whose conversation I have above given, saw, as • 
he expresses it, that all his sins had been '* against God.** 

3. The Bible makes men feel their guilt. Undoubtedly 
many of my readers will go over the explanation I have 
just given of our connection with God, and of the fact that 
all our sins are against him, very carelessly. I do not 
mean that they will not be interested in the mere reading; 
I mean that they will not realize the truth, in its application 
to them. Nothing is more common than for persons to see 
and to acknowledge the truths I have been presenting, 
without feeling any compunction for their guilt; but the 
Bible arouses conscience; it is ''quick and powerful,^ 
sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the 
dividing asunder the soul and spirit." 

It is one of the most remarkable properties of the human 
mind, that a consciousness of guilt may remain a long time 



19^ TOONS cmtisTiAif. . [Ch. T. 

A ilambeilng aenw of |uilt. Sin wiU sting at laat. 

dormant in it — ^producing no uneasiness and no suffering— • 
and 3ret, after the lapse of jears, it will burst forth with most 
terrific power, and drive the victim of it to actual despair. 
This has often been the case. A man who has committed 
sin, is like one bitten bj a road dog. The momentarj pain 
is slight — the wound soon heals; it may keep up from time 
to time a slight irritation, just enough to remind him occa- 
sionally of the occurrence; but ordinarily it is forgotten,- 
and he goes on with his daily amusements and pleasures^ 
entirely unconscious of danger. 

But though the wound is healed, the dreadful infection 
which it has admitted to his system is circulating insid- 
iously there. The poison glides imperceptibly along his 
veins and arteries for wieeks, months, years. It does not^ 
mar his enjoyments or disturb his repose; but still the 
dreadful enemy, though slumbering, is there. At last, in 
some unexpected hour, it rises upon him in all its strength^ 
and overwhelms and conquers him entirely. It brings 
agony to his body and indescribable horror to his soul, and 
hurries him through the most furious paroxysms of mad- 
ness and despair to inevitable death. 

And it is just so with sin. A murderer, for example, 
will often slu\mber ten« twenty, or thirty years over his 
crime. The knowledge of it will be in his heart, like a 
lurking poison, during all that time. He will recollect it 
without anxiety or compunction, and look forward to the 
future without aleu'm. At last, however, some circum- 
stance, often apparently trifling, will awaken him;, he wiU 
begin to feel his guilt; conscience will suddenly rise upon 
him like an armed man, and overwhelm him with all the 
horrors of remorse and despair. Perhaps if one had tried 
a few weeks before to maHe him feel his guilt, it would 
have been vain, he was so utterly hardened in it — so dead 
in trespasses and sins; but now you will find it far more 
difficult to allay or to mitigate the storm, which has, per- 
haps spontaneously, arisen. 

Every person, therefore, who commits sin, takes a viper 



Ch. 7.] EVIDENCES OF GHRI8TIANITT. 19S 

4. Tbe Savior. ' Penance. 

into his bosom— -a viper, wliich maj delay stinging him for 
many years^~but it will sting him at last, unless it is re* 
moved; he is unaware of the misery which awaits him — 
but it must come notwithstanding. This is particularly the 
case with sins against Grod; and the wonder is, that the 
sense of guilt wiil remain so entirely dormant as it oflen 
does, so that no warning, no expostulation, no remon- 
strance will disturb the death-like repose; and yet at last 
the volcano will oflen burst forth spontaneously, or from ^ 
some apparently trifling cause, and overwhelm the sinner 
in suflering. 

Now we certainly should not wish that this suffering 
should come upon any individual, were it not that in a 
vast multitude of cases it leads him to repent of and to for» 
sake his sins. Remorse is not penitence, it is true, but it 
very frequently leads to it. 

4. The Bible leads men to a Savior. Men every where 
have the impression that penitence is not enough to re- 
move and expiate guilt. Whenever we do wrong, there is 
implanted, as it were in the very soul, a fearful looking 
forward to punishment to come in consequence of it. We 
know that no government can be efBciently maintained 
where its settled, regular plan is to forgive always upon 
confession. Now it is found by universal experience, and 
the cases I have narrated happily illustrate this, that when 
men are really brought to feel their sins against God, they 
cannot be quieted by any general assurances that God is 
merciful. They know he is merciful, but then they know 
he is just. They know he is the great moral Governor of 
the universe; and the youngest child, or the most ignorant 
savage, has an instinct, I might almost call it, which so 
assures him of the necessity of a retribution, that he csmnot 
rest, (afler a repeated disobedience,) in the hope that his 
penitence alone will secure his pardon. Hence, in all 
unchristian countries they have various ways of doing 
penance, that is, inflicting severe voluntary suffering upon 
themselves by way of retribution for their sins. Now when 

17 



Ch. 7.] EV1DSNCE8 or GHRI8TIA.NITT. Ift5 

^ ____ ._ I IHIIH !!■ I I ■ I II I ■ r 

War between Rome and Carthage. Regulua as ambaaaador. 

^^^^^— ^ ■ *— ^^^ I ■■■■ M I I , » wp ■■ ■ Mi ■■■■■■I ^ ■■ M II I ■ ■ ■ — — ^W^^^ 

«ndearor to persuade them to complj. If you do not suc- 
ceed, however, we expect jou to return to us again as our 
lawful prisoner. We shall confide in your word." 

Regulus accepted the trust. He set off to Rome, pro- 
mising to return to Carthage if the Romans should not 
accede to the peace. He sailed across the sea and up the 
Tiber, and was soon approaching the gates of the great 
city. He had determined, however, to do all in his power 
to prevent a peace, knowing that it would not be for the 
interest of his country to make one. He understood, 
therefore, that he was going to his native city only to com- 
municate his message, and then to return to imprisonment, 
torture and death, at Carthage. 

His wife came out of the gates to meet him, rejoicing 
in his return. He received her dejected, silent and sad. 
'* I am a Carthagenian prisoner still," said he, *' and must 
floon return to my chains." 

He refused to enter the city. He had indeed a mes- 
sage for the senate, but the Roman senate was not accus* 
tomed to admit foreigners to their sessions within the city. 
He sent them word, therefore, that Regulus, no longer a 
Roman general, but a Carthagenian prisoner, was the 
bearer of a message to them, and wished them to hold, as 
usual, a meeting without the gates for the purpose of re- 
ceiving it. ^ 

The senate came. They heard the proposal which the 
Carthagenians sent, and the arguments of Regulus against 
it. The arguments prevailed. They decided against 
peace, and Regulus began to speak of his return. 

*' Return!" said his friends, and the senators, and all 
the people of Rome; ''you are under no obligation to 
return to Carthage." 

'*I promised to return," said Regulus, *'and I must 
keep mj word« I am well aware that the disappointed and 
exasperated Carthagenians will inflict upon me cruel tor- 
tures, but I am their prisoner stilly and I must keep my 
word." 



196 TOUNO CHAlSTIAN [Ch. 7.* 

Death of Regulua. Cruel rvtaliatton. Supposed case. 

The Romans did all in their power to persuade Regulus 
that a promise extorted under such circumstances was not 
binding, and that he could be under no obligations to re- 
turn. But all was vain. He bade the senate, and his 
countrymen, and his wife farewell, and was soon sailing 
back to the land of his enemies. The Carthagenians were 
enraged at the result of his mission. They put him to 
death by the most cruel tortures. 

When the tidings of his death came back to Rome, the 
senate and the people, who had already been much im- 
pressed by the patriotism of Regulus and his firm adhe- 
rence to his word, were overwhelmed with admiration and 
gratitude. This feeling was mixed too with a strong de- 
sire of revenge upon the Carthagenians, and a decree was 
passed, giving up the Carthagenian prisoners then in their 
hands to Marcia, the wife of Regulus, to be disposed of as 
she might desire. She most unjustly and cruelly ordered 
them all to be put to death by the same sufferings which 
her lamented husband had endured ^ 

My story, thus far, is substantially true. The dialogue 
I have given is intended to exhibit the substance .of what 
was said, not the exact words. The facts, however, are 
correctly stated. The whole occurrence is matter of 
history. 

In order, however, to make the use of this story which I 
have intended, I must now go on in fiction. I will suppose 
that Marcia, instead of desiring to gratify a revengeful 
spirit by destroying the lives of the innocent prisoners at 
Rome, in retaliation for the murder of her husband, had 
been actuated by a nobler spirit, and had sent such a mes- 
sage as this to the Roman senate, in reply to their propo- 
sal to her: 

** I do not wish for revenge. It will do no good, either 
to Regulus who is dead, or to his unhappy widow who sur- 
vives, to torture or to destroy the miserable captives in our 
hands. Dispose of them as the good of the state requires. 
If you think, however, that any thing is due from the 



Ch. 7.] EVIDKNOB8 OF CHRISTIANITY. 197 

ForgiveneM vf erimiiiala for R«gMlus> nke. 



commonwealth to the memory of Regulus or to his surviv* 
ing friends, let it be paid in happiness, not in sufiering. 
There are in the public prisons manj miserable conyicta 
condemned for their crimes; let them be forgiren for Reg' 
iilus' sake, if they will acknowledge their crimes and 
return to their duty.'^ 

A Roman senate would have granted undoubtedly such 
a request as this, if made under such circumstances as I 
have described. Let us suppose they had done so, and 
that the prison doors had been opened, and the ofiers of 
pardon had been circulated among the convicts there. 

Now I wish my reader to bear in mind that I am not 
intending here to ofier an illustration of the way in which 
our salvation is effected by the sufferings of the Son of 
God ; no analogy drawn from any earthly transactions, can 
fully illustrate the way in which the Lamb of God taketh' 
away the sins of the world. My object is to illustrate the 
spirit with which the offer of mercy through Him u to bt re- 
cdved, and I have made this supposition for the purpose of 
placing these prisoners in a situation somewhat like that of 
condemned sinners in this world, that I may show how the 
Bible brings relief to those sufiering under the burden of 
sin, by ofiering them mercy through a Savior. 

A messenger comes then, we will suppose* among the 
imprisoned malefactors — tells them he brings good news- 
to them — an offer of pardon from the Roman senate. The 
prisoners look incredulous. They know that the Roman 
government is an efficient one, and that it is accustomed 
to execute its laws. ''We are justly imprisoned," they 
trould say '' and our time is not yet expired — there can be 
no forgiveness for us till the law sets us free." 

The messenger then relates to them, that in conse* 
quence of the distinguished services and subsequently 
cruel sufferings of a great Roman general, the senate had 
wished to make to his widow some public expression of the 
sjmipathy attd gratitude of the commenweahby and that 
dM had asked il as a boon, thai every penifent prison^^ 

17* 



198 TOVNO CHRISTIiLir. [Ch. 7. 

' ' ■ ■ ■ I ' I ■ 

Its eActi 1b prtooB. 

willing to abandon his crimes and return to his duty, might 
be set free for hbr husband's sake. 

Now unquestionably, if there were any among these 
prisoners who were really penitent for sin and willing to 
return to duty, their abhorrence of their crimes would be 
increased, and their determination to be faithful citizens' 
in fature would be strengthened by receiving such an 
offer of pardon. Nay, it would not be surprising if some 
who were still hardened in their sins, and even in the 
midst of noise and revelry id the prison at the very time 
the messenger appeared, should be arretted, and their 
feelings touched by such mn address. 

"How different," they might reflect, "is the conduct 
of Regulus from ours! We have been, by our vices and 
crimes bringing injuries without number upon our country. 
He, by his labors and sufferings, has -been unceasingly 
endeavoring to do her good; and Marcia, too — ^it was kind 
for her to think of us. When we were at liberty, we 
thought only of gratifying our own passions; we made no 
effort to promote the happiness of others, or to diminish 
their sufferings; we will return to our duty, and imitate the 
example they have set for us." 

It would not be surprising if such a transaction had 
awakened these reflections in some minds; and on the 
whole, the eflect of the offer of mercy through Jesus Christ 
produces very similar effects in the world to those I. have 
here imagined in the prison. When men are told in gen- 
eral terms, that God is merciful and will forgive their sins, 
it does not in ordinary cases really relieve them. Though 
perhaps they do not say it distinctly, yet they feel that 
God's government, to be eflicient, must have strict laws, 
and penalties strictly executed; and they are afraid that a 
mere reliance on God's general mercy may not be quite 
safe. Thousands trust to this till they come to their dying 
hour, and then abandon it. 

But when men are told, by the word of God, that Jesus 
Christ died for them — the just for the unjust — and that 



Ch. 7.] EVIDB«rc)SS 09 CHKI8TIANITT. 199 

The effects of the Gospel the same. The penitegt convict. 

■"■ - ..^^^^ - -J ■ _ _ _ _ _ ■ 

thej must come, asking foi^iveness. in his name and for 
his sake, it throws a different aspect over the whole case ; 
a bright gleam of h<fpe from a new and unexpected quar- 
ter darts in. Though they maj not know fully in what 
way the sufferings of Christ may be the means of opening 
the way for their forgiveness, they still can see that it is 
Tery possible it may in some way do this. It is not neces- 
sary that we should understand fully the way. The con- 
Ticts might be released without knowing all about the story 
of Regulus, or comprehending exactly how such a trans- 
action as their relea$e on hia account would affect the public 
mind in Rome, so as to obviate the evil effects of laxity in 
the administration of public justice. There might be many 
a poor ignorant convict who could not comprehend such 
subjects at all, and yet possess the spirit of mind which 
should bring him most fully within the conditions of release. 
Such an one might come to the officer appointed for the 
purpose, and say, 

" I am very grateful to the Roman senate for offering 
io pardon me for the sake of Regulus ; I was really guilty 
of the crime for which I was sentenced^ and the term of 
my imprisonment is not longer than I justly deserve ; but 
I am glad to be restored to freedom and to happiness now. 
I shall always be grateful to the senate, and shall cherish 
the memory of Regulus as long as I live." 

Now if a prisoner had this spirit, there is no question 
that he would be released, whether he was or was not 
statesman or philosopher enough to understand fully the 
moral character and influence of such a transaction ; and 
so, my reader, if you are willing to acknowledge and to 
forsake your sins, and to accept of freedom and happiness 
in future, on account of another's merits and sufferings, 
you need not distress yourself because you do not fully 
comprehend the nature of that great transaction of which 
Gethsemane and Calvary were the scene. It cannot be 
fully understood here. From the windows of our prison- 
nouse in this world, we can see but a small part of the 



200 TOUNG CHRISTIAN.' [Ch. 7. 

The peaiteat linner. The offer aegleeced. 

■ ■ ■ ■ - .11 ^ 

great city of Grod. We cannot therefore appreciate fully 
any of the plans of his government; we can however yee2 
right ourselves. We can ask forgiveness in Christ's name, 
and believe, on the authority of Grod's word, that God has 
9et forth Jesus Christ to be a propitiation for us, that we 
raight be saved through faith in his blood — that is, by our 
trusting in his sufferings— that God might be just, and yet 
save those who trust in the Savior.* 

But to return to the Roman prison. I have represented 
one prisoner as accepting the offer, and going out to free- 
dom in consequence of it. Let us now suppose that the 
public officer, appointed by the senate to carry the mes- 
sage to the prisoners, and to receive their replies, should 
meet in one of the rooms a very different reception. He 
passes, we will suppose, along a dark passage-way, until 
he comes to the door of a gloomy dungeon; the keeper 
removes the heavy rusty bars, and unbolts and unlocks 
the door, and as he opens it, he hears the unexpected 
sounds of mirth and revelry within 

As he enters, he sees the wretched-looking inmates 
lying around the cold stone floor upon their beds of straw. 
In a corner sit some with wild and haggard looks, relating 
to each other, with noisy but unnatural mirth, the profane 
jest or immoral story. In the middle of the room, two are 
quarrelling for a morsel of food, which each claims, filling 
the air with their dreadful oaths and imprecations. Near 
the door lies a miserable object half covered in his tattered 
garment, and endeavoring in vain to get a little sleep. A 
small grated window high in the wall admits a dim light, 
just sufficient to reveal to view the objects which compose 
this scene of vice and misery. 

The quarrellers and the rioters pause a moment, each 
retaining his attitude, and listen while the messenger from 
the senate lays before them the offer of forgiveness and 
freedom. They gaze upon him for a few minutes with 

* Sm Ronui Hi. 2S^26, 



Ch. 7."1 EVIDENCES OP CHRISTIANITY. 201 

The ('ffttr rejected. Grateful acceptance of the offer. 



cant looks, but before he has fairly finished his message, 
the aogry combatants re-commence their war — ^the story 
teller in the corner goes on with his narrative — ^the sleeper 
composes himself again to rest — and perhaps some fierce 
and angry looking criminal comes up to the messenger and 
says, in a stern voice, ** Away! you have no business here." 

Do you think that these prisoners would be liberated for 
the sake of Regulus? No! the bolts and bars must be 
closed upon them again, and they must bear their sentence 
to the full. This is the way that multitudes receive the 
offers of forgiveness through Jesus Christ. 

(hice more. Suppose this messenger were to meet, in 
sonu) part of the prison, one of the convicts walking back 
and forth alone in his cell, and should repeat to him the 
story which he was commissioned to bring. 

*' Forgiveness for the sake of Regulus!" says he, with 
atone of scorn; *'I want no forgiveness on account of 
another; you have no right to shut me up here for any 
thing I have done; it is unjust and cruel. I demand re- 
lease on my own account — without any condition or any 
acknowledgment of my dependence for it upon the merits 
of another.*' 

Now if the messenger should meet with the exhibition 
of such a spirit as this, he would turn away and close the 
bolts and bars of the prison again upon such a convict, 
and seek subjects of mercy elsewhere. God too requires 
i)f us all a humble and subdued spirit, and willingness to 
a(xept of pardcm in the name of Jesus Christ, who died for 
U9, We must come with the spirit which I first described 
— 4he spirit of the convict who said, 

" I am grateful to the Roman senate for offering to par- 
don me for the sake of Regulus. I was really guilty of 
the crime for which I was sentenced, and the term of my 
imprisonment is not longer than I justly deserve. But I 
am glad, to be restored to freedom and happiness now. I 
shall always be grateful to the senate, and shall cherish 
the memory of Regulus as long as I live." 



20S TouNO chkistijln. [Ch..7. 

Obtfect of this illuMrmtton. Ezcltan^nt and deloaioB. 

Before dismissing this illustration, I wish to remind my 
readers again, that I have been endeavoring to exhibit bj 
it the spirit of mind with which we ought to receive the 
offer of mercy through Jesus Christ, not the nature of the 
atonemeni which he has made for sin. The case I have 
imagined could not safely occur in any human government^ 
because there would be no way of ascertaining who among 
the convicts were truly penitent, and were really determine 
ed on leading a life of virtue in future^ Several other 
difficulties, which in God's government do not exist, are 
unavoidable in every human empire. The spirit of mind 
with which the offer of free forgiveness in Jesus' name is 
welcomed or refused, is all which I design by this illustra- 
tion to explain. If the heart is really ready to acknowledge 
its guilt, and willing to accept of pardon which it does not 
deserve, the offer of a Savior is most admirably calculated 
to restore peace of conscience, and heal the wounded 
spirit. And nothing but the Bible can make such an offer. 
Thus one of the most powerful means by which it changes 
character, is awakening the sensibilities of the heart 
through the exhibition of a Savior crucified for our sins, 
and leading us to feel that we may be forgiven, and the 
obligation and authority of the law we have broken be yet 
sustained. 

5. These changes of character are often attended with 
strong excitement, and sometimes with mental delusion. My 
readers recollect that the first convict saw at one time a 
black coffin, according to his statement; and at another, 
he was addressed by an audible voice in his cell, telling 
him that his sins were pardoned. These two circumstan- 
ces were what chiefly induced me to insert that narrative, 
that I might bring up distinctly this point, viz. that the 
changes of character produced by the Bible are often 
attended with mental delusion in little things, especially 
among those minds that have been but little disciplined by 
philosophical thought. I could not have a fair specimen 
without including an example of this. 



Cb. 7.] KVIDBNGES OF CHRISTIANITT. 203 



Anocdottt of Brinley. 



The humaa miod is so constituted, as all who have stud- 
ied its nature are fully aware, that when any subject of 
great interest, or any strong emotion, takes possession of 
it, it operates immediately upon the body, producing some- 
times animal excitement, and sometimes delusions of the 
senses. So that these very delusions, and this very bodily 
excitement, prove the greatness and the reality of the 
emotions of heart which have occasioned them. If a man 
becomes very much interested in any scheme, how likely 
he is to become enthusiastic in it! And this enthusiasm 
the public usually consider as proving, not tJMprovingy his 
sincerity. It indicates the strength of the interest which 
he feels. It is astonishing what extravagances people 
will put up with fir<Hn men engaged in the prosecution of 
favorite plans, and will consider them as pleasanf indica- 
tions of the strength of the interest which is felt. Brinley, 
a famous canal engineer, was so much interested in his 
favorite mode of transportation, that he used to express the 
opinion that a canal was far more valuable to a country 
than a navigable river. He was once asked what he sup- 
posed Providence intended in creating rivers. He said 
they were good for nothing but to feed canals. And this 
story has been copied by every biographer of Brinley; it 
has been told again and again, in lectures and conversa- 
tions and debates, as a pleasant instance of extravagance in 
a man devoted to a favorite pursuit, which proves nothing 
but the greatness of the interest he feels in it. Nobody 
ever thought the worse of Brinley for it, or distrusted his 
judgment on any point in the science of engineering. 
Millions were risked on his opinion while he was living, 
and his name is remembered with the highest respect. 
So Christians of uncultivated minds, will be sometimes 
extravagant in their opinions, or in their conduct, and only 
show by it the strength of the interest they feel. 

A man who is inventing a machine, will become so ex- 
cited that he cannot sleep. He will perhaps, in his efforts 
to obtain repose, fall into an uncertain state, between 



204 YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 



Cases of excitement. 



sleeping and waking, in which, half in reverie and half in 
dream,. fancy will present him with splendid images of 
success. He will hear a voice or see a figure, or he will 
be assured by some extraordinary mode that he stiall over- 
come all his difficulties, if he will persevere. In (he morn- 
ing, light and the full possession of' his faculties return, 
and as he is generally a man of intelligence, he can analyze 
the operations of his mind, and separate the falso from the 
true. If he was an unenlightened man, however, and 
should in the morning tell his story, how narrow would be 
the philosophy which would say to him, ^' Sii, it is all a 
delusion. Your mind is evidently turned. You had better 
give up your invention, and return to other pursuits." It 
would be a great deal more wise to neglect altogether the 
story of supernatural voices and appearances which he 
might tell, and judge of the value of his proposed inven- 
tion by examining impartially his plan itself, and calculat- 
ing on sober evidence the probability of success or failure. 
So, my reader, when you hear of any thing which you 
deem extravagance or delusion among Christiuns, remenn 
ber how immense a change the beginning of a Christian 
I course sometimes is. The man has been all )iis life neg- 
^ lecting and disliking religion. He has been engrossed in 
sinful pursuits and pleasures, and perhaps addcted to open 
vice. All at once, while contemplating God s holy truth, 
/ his eyes are opened — he sees his guilt, and his imminent 
danger of ruin. He is, and he must be, strongly excited. 
If he feels in any sense his condition, he cannot sleep. Can 
an arrested malefactor sleep quietly the first night in his 
cell? He must be strongly excited, and this excitement 
must, in many cases, bring something like temporary men- 
tal delusion. He must do and say many things in which 
the calm spectators cannot sympathize. But it is most cer- 
tainly very unphilosophical to fasten upon these, and say it 
is all delusion and wildness. The real question to be con- 
sidered is this: Is a bad character really changed for a 
good one? If so, it is a great moral change, invaluable in 



Qh. 7.] EVmENCE3 OF CHRISTIANITY. 205 

Conversion a very great change. ^ Narrow views. 

its nature and results, productive of inconceivable good to 
the individual himself, and to all connected with him. The 
excess of feeling is momentary and harmless. In regard to 
the permanency of the change in the case of those convicts, 
there is one whose subsequent character I have no means 
of knowing. The other however, when he was liberated, 
became a useful and respectable citizen; and after sustain- 
ing uninjured for two or three years the temptations of the 
world, he was admitted to a Christian church ; and up to 
the latest accounts which I have been able to obtain, he 
was a most trustworthy man and an exemplary Christian. 
An abandoned profligate, imprisoned for his crimes, be- 
comes a useful and a virtuous man. Can you expect such 
a change without excitement ? How unphilosophical then 
is it to fasten upon the slight and momentary indications of 
excitement as evidence that there is nothing real in the 
case! 

And yet unphilosophical as this is, I have no doubt that 
there are many persons whose eyes, if they were reading 
the first convict's story, would catch at once the accounts 
of <the supernatural appearances which he thought he saw, 
and they would stop short there. ** Ah! " they would say, 
** he heard a voice forgiving his sins — he saw a black coffin! 
It is all fanaticism and delusion." This is narrow-minded- 
ness. The intellect which reasons thus, is in such a state 
that it does not take a survey of the whole of a subject pre- 
sented, so as to form an independent and unbiassed opinion. 
The man fastens upon one little blemish which happens to 
be turned toward him, and seeing no farther, he condemns 
the whole. Like the inexperienced mariner, who thinks he 
has come to a barren and inhospitable land, because he 
sees nothing but precipitous rocks or sandy beaches on the 
shore which first comes to view. 

There is, however, a narrow-mindedness which may ope- 
rate in another way. Many a sincere Christian will read 
such an account and be perfectly satisfied, because he 

meets with a few expressions of penitence, that the con- 

18 



f06 YOXJVG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7. 

Dsngmr on both sides. Criterion. The duty of snbmisaion. 

— — —*— ^— I ■ ■■■|F» ■■■■■■■■■■■■ ■-■ ■ ■■» ■■■—^■^1^ 

viot's heart is really changed. He thinks the criminal has 
certainly become a Christian, just because he talks like one. 
Whereas it is very possible that he is only repeating lan- 
guage which he has heard others nse, for the sake of ex- 
citing sympathy, or pretending to be reformed, in hope of 
pardon and release from his cell. Now, it is as narrow- 
minded to judge from a very partial knowledge of facts in 
one way as in another. An experienced Christian can in- 
deed often form a tolerably safe opinion of the reality or 
fictitiousness of a pretended change, by conversation; but 
the great decisive evidence after all is perseverance in a 
holy Ufe. 

If then men who have been abandoned to vice become 
virtuous and trustworthy citizens, and exemplify for years 
the graces of the Christian character, we will bear with a 
little excitement, and even enthusiasm, at the time of the 
change. For it is, after all, of comparatively little conse- 
quence whether this excitement shows itself by some open 
manifestation, as by the black cofHn rising to the disturbed 
imagination of the convict in his cell, or the loud shout, 
'* Glory to God," which resounds in the methodist camp; 
or whether it is subdued and restrained, as in the still so- 
lemnity of an inquiry meeting on the evening of the Sab- 
bath, or in the solitary suffering of an awakened sinner 
mourning at midnight the burden of his sins. Remember 
that I say it is of Utile consequence, not that it is of none. 
It would be better if men would follow Jesus as readily and 
as easily as Matthew did. Jesus said unto him, *' Arise 
and follow me; and he arose and followed him." Immedi- 
ate submission, with cordial confidence in the Savior, will 
at once remove all mental suffering and all cause for it. 
But if men will only give up their sins and lead lives of 
actual piety, we will not quarrel with them about the man- 
ner in which they enter the new way. 

Such then are some of the effects of the Bible upon the 
human character considered in detail. I have thought it 



Ch. 7.] EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY. SOflf 



Limited circulation of the Bible. 



best, in order to show the mora] power of this book as dis- 
tinctly as possible, to analyse thus minutely the operation 
of it in some particular cases. But the argument WQuld 
be very deficient if I should leave it here; for if these cases 
were uncommon^ they would prove but little. But they are 
not uncommon. Even in prisons, a very large number of 
such cases have, as I have already stated, occurred; and 
the subjects of such changes have gone, when they hav«, 
been liberated, in peace and happiness to their homes. 
TEere are now scattered over our land vast numbers who 
have been brought, from every stage and degree of guilt, 
to seek pardon through the Savior, and to begin a life of 
virtue and piety. The influence of the Bible, too, upon 
the community at large is so great, that every country 
where it £ree\y circulates is distinguished for the peace 
which reigns there. Vice is comparatively unknown, prop- 
erty and life are safe, every man sits under his own vine 
and iig-tree, with none to molest or make him afraid. But 
when man is lefl to himself, he makes his home a den of 
robbers. If you travel on the Nile or the Tigris, you must 
iook well to your means of defence. Men must go in 
caravans in all those regions for mutual protection. But 
how would an armed escort for a traveller appear on the 
banks of the Connecticut or the Hudson ? 

And yet though benefits so great are procured to society 
by the Bible, they are procured, after all, only by a limited 
application of its moral power. It is a very small propor- 
tion of the whole population, even in the United States, 
which attends at all to the commands and instructions of 
the word of God. The numbers are however rapidly in- 
creasing. The cause of God is advancing with great ra- 
pidity; and as a military despotism or a Christian republic 
must be the ultimate destiny of every nation, we can look 
only to the spread of the influence of the Bible to save our 
country from ruin. 

I will close this chapter by mentioning one more in- 
ftfance of the moral power of the Bible — it is its effect in 



^08 YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 7/ 

Fear of death. Tbe sick young man. Scing of death. 



destroying the fear of death. The fear of death is insiinc- 
Hvei not founded on reasoning. It is reasonable for us to 
fear some things connected with death, but the chief appre- 
hension which every man feels in looking forward to .that 
hour, is the result of an instinctive principle which' Provi* 
dence has implanted in every man's mind; and the only 
way by which it can be counteracted without the Bible, is 
by banishing the subject from the thoughts. That is the 
way that soldiers acquire courage in battle — ^by accustom- 
ing themselves not to think of death at all. It is not in 
human nature to contemplate its approach, habitually and 
calmly, without such a preparation as the Bible gives. 

Come in imagination to this sick chamber. That young 
man tossing restlessly upon his pillow is soon to die. His 
physicians have given him over. His friends despair, but, 
by a most absurd and preposterous species of kindness, 
they will not tell him of his danger, for they know he is 
unprepared to die, and the knowledge of the approach of 
the dread hour they think will distress him! But the sad 
secret they cannot conceal ; — he reads his sentence in 
their anxious looks and agitated words — his pale cheek 
turns paler with fear, and to the natural restlessness of 
disease, there is added the overwhelming agitation of men- 
tal anguish. Can you soothe him? Can you calm him? 
Your very effort reveals to him his danger more distinctly, 
and his heart sinks within him in hopeless terror. Some- 
times, it is true, this fear of death does not reign in the 
heart at the closing hour, for reason may be gone, or the 
soul may sink into stupor. But when death is really fore- 
seen and known to be near, while the faculties retain their 
power, the expectation of it weighs down the human spirit 
with overwhelming fears. 

But the Bible tells us that the sting of death is sin, and 
that Christ will give believers the victory over it. The 
Bible most faithfully keeps this promise. See that dying 
Christian mother. She knows that death is near, and has 
calmly made all her arrangements for the closing scene. 



Ch. 7.] EVIDENCES OF CHRISTiANITT. 209 

Tke dying mother. Practical directions. Uifficultiea. .Disputes. 

She is a Christian, and looks forward to an entrance into 
the world of spirits with no foreboding and no anxiety. 
Her husband, and children, and friends, stand in agitation 
and distress around her bed-side, but »he is calm, A 
Christian death-bed very often exhibits the astonishing 
spectacle of composure and happiness in the one who is to 
drink the cup, while those around, who are only witnesses 
of the scene, are overwhelmed in agitation and sorrow. 
The very one who is to encounter the suffering, is the only 
one who can look forward to it without fear. It is because 
the Bible has been shedding its influences upon her heart, 
and by a moral power, which no other means can exert, 
has disarmed death, the very king of terrors, and given to 
a weak and suffering mortal the victory over all his power. 
But I must close this chapter, and with it close the short 
and simple view I have been endeavoring to give of the 
evidences of Christianity. I cannot but hope that my 
readers see evidence enough to satisfy them that the Bible 
is really the word of God. If you do, lay up the convic- 
tion in your heart, and let it guide and influence you. But 
let me, before I dismiss the subject, give you two or three 
short practical directions. 

1 . Do not think there is no other side to this question. 
There are a great many things which may be said against 
the Bible, and some things which you, with your present 
attainments in Christian knowledge, perhaps eannot an- 
swer. Bui tiuy do not touch or <iffect the great arguments by 
which the authority of the Bible is sustained. They are all 
small, detached difficulties. Then let your mind rest, 
ealmly and with confidence, upon the great but simple 
arguments on which the strong foundations of your belief 
stand. 

2. Never be inclined to dispute upon the evidences of the 
christian religion. The difficulty with unbelievers is one 

of the hearty not of the intellect, and you cannot alter the 
neart by disputing. When they present you with argu- 
ments against Christianity, reply in substance. '* What you 

18* 



210 TOUNO CHRISTIAir. [Ch. 8. 



Dfrtng duty. 



Bay seems plausible ; still it does not reach the broad and 
deep foundations upon which, in my view, Christianity 
rests; and conse<|uently, notwithstanding what you say, I 
still place confidence in the word of God." 

3. Notice this, which, if you will watch your own ex-* 
perience, you will find to be true. Your confidence in the 
word of God and in the truths of religion will be almost 
exactly proportional to the fidelity with which you do your 
duiy. When you lose your interest m yottr progress in 
piety, neglect prayer, and wander into sin, tken you will 
begin to be in darkness and doubt. If you are so unhappy 
as to get into such a state, do not waste your time in trying 
to reason yourself back to belief again. Return io duty. 
Come to God and confess your wanderings, and submit 
your heart to be inclined to him. If you do this, light for 
the intellect and peace for the heart will come back to-* 
gether. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

STUDY OF THE BIBLE. 
'* Able to wake vm wise unto salvation.*' 

It is not my intention in this chapter to give any de» 
scription of the Bible itself, or of its history since it came 
into the world; nor shall I endeaw)r to establish its divine 
authority, or present the evidences or the nature of its 
inspiration. My object is to point out practical duty, and 
I shall confiile myself to a description of the best methods 
of reading and studying the book. 

I ought, however, to remark at the outset, that I intend 
the chapter to^be'^f a 'highly practical character, and I 
shall go accordingly into minute detail. Besides, I an, 
writing for the young, and ishbll, as I have generally 
done in this book, confine myself exclusively to them, for 1 



;^n 



have much more hopvthat they will be influedced to follow 



Gh. 8.] . 8TUDT OF THE BIBLE. 211 

Able to make iit wise unto salvation. Way to study the Bible. 

«» ■■■. ■ .1, , 

the course which I shall endeavor to describe, than that 
my efforts will produice any good effect upon those who 
have gone beyond the meridian of life. If a man has pass- 
ed the age of thirty without the Bible, it is to be feared 
that he will go on unaided by its light through the remain- 
der of his pilgrimage. It is different, however, with the- 
young. You shrink from passing life in impiety. You 
know that the Bible can be the only safelaaip to your feet; 
and if you are not now living by its light, there is hope that 
you may be persuaded to come and give yourself up to its 
guidance. 

There should be a distinction made between the manner 
of reading the Bible on the Sabbath, and during the bustle 
of the week. The two objects to be accomplished, and 
the method of accomplishing them I shall describe. 

On the Sabbath the Bible should be studied. Every 
person, old or young, igflorant or learned, should devote a 
portion of time every Sabbath to the study of the Scrip- 
tures, in the more strict and proper sense of that^term. But 
to show precisely what I mean by this weekly study of the 
Bible, I will describe a particular case. A young man 
with only such opportunities as are possessed by ail, re- 
solves to take this course. He selects the epistle to the 
Ephesians for his first subject; he obtains such books ^d 
helps as he finds in his own family, or as he can obtain 
from a religious friend, oi^ procure from a Sabbath-school 
library. It is not too much to suppose that he will have a 
sacred Atlas, some Commentary, and probably a Bible 
Dictionary. He should also have pen, ink and paper; and 
thus provided, he sits down Sabbath morning to his work. 
6[e raises a short but heartfelt prayer to God that he will 
assist 9.nd bless him, and then commences his inquiries. 

The Epistle to the Ephesians I have supposed to be his 
subject. He sees that the first question evidently is, 
** JVho were the Ephesiansl^' He finds the city of Ephe- 
sus upon the map; and from the preface to the Epistle 



212 TOVNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 8." 



The young man's experiment. 



contained in the commentary, or from any other source to 
which he can have access, he learns what sort of a city it 
was — ^what was the character of the inhabitants, and if 
possible, what condition the city was in at the time this let- 
ter was written. He next inquires in regard to the writer 
of this letter or Epistle, as it is called. It was Paul; and 
what did Paul know of the Ephesians? had he ever been 
there? or was he writing to strangers? To settle these 
points, so evidently important to a correct understanding 
of the letter, he examines the Acts of the Apostles, (in 
which an account of St. Paul's labors is contained,) to learn 
whether Paul went there, and if so, what happened while 
he was there. He finds that many interesting incidents 
occurred during Paul's visits, and his curiosity is excited 
to know whether these things will be jalluded to in the let- 
ter; he also endeavors to ascertain where Paul was when 
he wrote the letter. After having thus determined every 
thing relating to the circumstances of the case, he is pre- 
pared to come to the Epistle itself, and enter with spirit 
and interest into an examination of its contents. 

He first glances his eye cursorily through the chapters 
of the book, that he may take in at once a general view of 
its object and design — perhaps he makes out a brief list 
of the topics discussed, and thus has a distinct general 
idea of the whole before he enters into a minute exami- 
nation of the parts. This minute examination he comes to 
at last — ^though perhaps the time devoted to the study for 
two or three Sabbaths is spent in the preparatory inquiries. 
If it is so, it is time well spent ; for by it he is now pre- 
pared to enter with interest into the very soul and spirit 
of the letter. While he was ignorant of these points, his 
knowledge of the Epistle itself must have been very vague 
and superficial. Suppose I were now to introduce into this 
book a letter, and should begin at once, without saying by 
whom the letter was written, or to whom it was addressed. 
It would be preposterous. If I wished to excite your in- 
terest, I should describe particularly the parties, and th^ 



ir 



Ch. 8.] STUDY OP THE BIBLE. 213 

The family circle. Distribution of books. 

circumstances which produced the letter originally. And 
yet how many Christians there are, who could not tell 
whether Paul's letter to the Ephesians was written before 
or after he went there, or where Titus was when Paul 
wrote to him, or for what special purpose he wrote ! 

Take another case. The father or mother whom Provi- 
dence has placed at the head of a family, contrive to close 
their worldly business at an early hour on Saturday eve- 
ning, and gather around the table at their fireside all those 
who are committed to their charge. They choose some 
subject for examination — real, thorough examination. Per- 
haps it is the rebuilding of Jerusalem after the captivity. 
The various books calculated to assist their inquiries^ are 
distributed among the members of the group; the reference 
Bible is given to one — the Concordance to another — an 
Expositor to the third — the Bible Dictionary to the fourth ; 
at)d then, when all are seated, and the divine blessing has 
been asked upon their labors, the father asks them all to 
turn to any part of the Scriptures which gives information 
upon the subject. They examine first the account of the 
destruction of the city, when the Jews were carried cap- 
tive, that they may know in what condition it was probably 
found on their return. They search in several books for 
an account of the first movements in Babylon of those 
who were desirous of return; they examine the plans they 
formed; compare one account with another; every question 
which occurs is asked, and the information which it seeks 
for, obtained. The two expeditions of Ezra and Nehemiah 
are examined — ^the object of each and the connection be- 
tween them. Under the control of a judicious parent, even 
secular history might be occasionally refi^red to, to throw 
light upon the subject. We may properly avail ourselves 
of any helps of this kind, so far as their tendency is really 
to throw light upon the sacred volume. The children of 
the family soon take a strong interest in the study, their 
inquiries are encouraged, their curiosity is awakened; they 
regard it a pleasure, not a task. Instead of the evening 



214 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 8. 



Inurest of tlie ehildren. 



of Saturday, the afternoon or evening of the Sabbaih, if 
more convenieiU, majr be aaed; and if the children are 
members of a Sabbath School, their next leason may be 
the subject. Those accustomed to the use of the pen will 
derive great advantage from writing, each evening, notes 
or abstracts, expres^g in a concise and simple style, the 
new knowledge they have acquired ; and every difficulty 
should be noted, that it may be presented at a convenient 
opportunity to some other Christian student, to the supers- 
intendent of the Sabbath School, or to a minister of the 
Gospel. 

This method of studying the Scriptures, which I have 
thus attempted to describe, and which I might illustrate by 
supposing many other cases, is not intended for one class 
alone; not for the ignorant peculiarly, nor for the wise; 
not for the rich, nor for the poor; but for all. The soli- 
tary widow, in her lonely cottage among the distant moun- 
tains, with nothing but hep simple Bible in her hand, by 
the light of her evening (ire, may pursue this course of 
comparing Scripture with Scripture, and entering into the 
spirit of sacred story, throwing herself back to ancient 
times, and thus preparing herself to grasp more com- 
pletely, and to feel more vividly the moral lessons which 
the Bible is mainly intended to teach. And the most 
cultivated scholar may pursue this course in his quiet 
study, surrounded by all the helps to a thorough know- 
ledge of the Scriptures which learning can produce or 
wealth obtain. 

I hope the specimens I have given are sufficient to con- 
vey to my readers the general idea I have in view, when I 
speak of studying the Bible, in contradistinction from the 
mere cursory reading of it, which is so common among 
Christians But I must illustrate in minute detail the 
various methods of doing this ; for there are many persons 
who really wish to study the Bible more intellectually, and 
to receive more vivid impressions from it, but who really 
do not know exactly what they are to do to secure these 



Ch. 8.] sTtmr or thk bible. 215 

1 .. .. i ■ I ■ » 

Ftotlcular directions. Familiar aounda. 

— - ■ ■ . . _ ,L J- r^ ■ I - I n ■-■ r - — T - I 

I 

objects. I shall therefore describe some of the means 
which can easily be adopted, and which will be very effi- 
•cient for this purpose. 

1 . Pictvring to the imagination the scenes described. There 
is a very common difficulty felt by multitudes in reading 
the Bible, which admits of so sure and easy a remedy by 
the above direction, that I cannot avoid devoting a few 
paragraphs to the formal consideration of it. 

A person who is convinced that it is his duty to read the 
word of God, and who really desires to read it, and to re- 
ceive instruction from it, sits down on the Sabbath to the 
work. He opens perhaps to a passage in the Gospels, and 
reads^ on verse after verse. The phraseology is all per- 
fectly familiar. He has read the same passage a hundred 
times before, and the words fall upon his ear like a sound 
long familiar, producing no impression and awakening no 
idea. After going through a few verses, he finds that he 
is making no progress ; perhaps his mind has left his work 
altogether, and is wandering to some other subject. He 
' begins back therefore a few verses, and endeavors to be- 

came interested in the narrative ; but it is to little purpose ; 
and after spending half an hour in reading, he shuts his 
book, and instead of feeling that renewed moral strength 
and peace of mind which comes from the proper use of 
the word of God, he feels disappointed and dissatisfied, 
and returns to his other duties more unquiet in spirit than 
before. What a vast proportion of the reading of the 
Bible, as practised in Christian countries, does this de- 
scription justly portray. 

Now some one may say that this careless and useless 
study of God's word arises ftom a cold and indifferent state 
of heart toward God. It does unquestionably often 
arise, in a great degree, from this source, but not entirely. 
There is another difficulty not connected with the moral 
state of the heart. It is this: 

Words that have been often repeated gradually lose 
their power to awaken vivid ideas in the mind. The clock 



dl6 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 8. 

- ■ ■ - 

The mottA in the ichool-rooni. Description from the Bible. 



which has struck perhaps many thousand times in your 
room, you at last cease even to hear. On the walls of a 
school-room there was once painted in large letters, ''a 

PLACE FOR EVERY THING, AND EVERY THING IN ITS PLACE;" 

but after a little time the pupils, becoming familiar with the 
sight of the inscription, lost altogether its meaning; and a 
boy would open his disorderly desk and look among the 
confused mass of books, and slates, and papers there, for 
some article he had lost, and then as he looked around 
the room, his eyes would fall on the conspicuous motto, 
without thinking a moment of the incongruity between its 
excellent precept and his own disorderly practice. It is 
always so. The oft-repeated sound falls at last powerless 
and unheeded on the ear. 

The difliculty then that I am now to consider, is, that 
in reading the Bible, especially those portions which are 
familiar, we stop with merely repeating once more the words, 
instead of penetrating fully to the meaning beyond. In 
order to illustrate this difficulty and its remedy more fully, 
let me take a passage, the sixth chapter of St. John for 
example, to which I have opened at random. 

" After these things Jesus went over the sea of Galilee, which is the 
sea of Tiberias. And a great multitude followed 'him, because they 
saw his miracles which he did on them that were diseased." 

How familiar, now, this sounds to every reader. Every 
phrase comes upon the ear like an oft-told tale, 1)ut it 
makes a very slight impression upon the mind. The next 
verse, though perhaps few of my readers know now what 
it is, will sound equally familiar when they read it here. 

" And Jesus went up into a mountain, and there he sat with his 
disciples." 

Now suppose this passage and the verses which follow it 
were read at morning prayer by the master of a family; how 
many of the children would hear it without being interest- 
ed, or receiving any clear and vivid ideas from the descrip- 
tion. And how many would there be who, if they were 



Ch. 3.] STtTDT OP THE BIBLE. ^11 



Vivid eoBMptloiM. 



jadoed two iiouro aftenrard what had been read that monk- 
ing, wavM be utterly unable to telL 

But mem jntppose that thk aarae &her could, by some 
magic power^ «how lo hia children ike real scene which 
iheee verses describe. Suppose he eould go back through 
the eighteen hundred years which have elapsed since these 
events oecurred, and taking his fiunily to some elevation 
an the romantic scenery of Palestine, from which they 
ought ov«riook the country of Galilee^ actually see all that 
this chapter describes* 

''Do you see," he might say, ''that wide sea which 
spreads out beneath us and occupies the whole extent of 
the valley? That is the sea of Tiberias; it is also called 
the .sea of Galilee. AU this country which spreads around 
tt is Galilee. These distant mountains are in Galilee, and 
that beautiful wood wMch skirts the shore i» a Galilean 
forest." 

" Why is it cidled the 01^ of Tiberias?" p ehtlA might 
ask. 

^ Do you see at the loot of that hill, on the opposite 
fihore of the lake, a small town? -It extends along the 
margin of the water {i&r a considerable distance. That is 
Tiberias, and the lake sometimes takes its name." 

'* But look — ^there is a small boat coming round a point 
•of land which futs out beautifully from this side of the lake. 
It is slowly making its way across the water — ^we can al^ 
most hear the splashing of the oars. It contains the Savior 
and some of his disciples. They are steering toward Hbe- 
rias — now they approach the shore — they stop at the 
=landing« and the Savior^ followed by his disciples^ walks 
tipoa the shfore.** 

Suppose now that this party of observers can remain a 
little longer at their post, and see in a short time that some 
sick person is brought to the Savior to be healed. .Another 
iilkd another comes. A crowd gradually collects around 
him. He r^reats slowly up the rising ground, and afler a 
iittle time he is seen to take his place upon an elevated 

!9 



^18 tfifavQ <naitrsttAW. [Cb. 8. 



Picturteg tlie MBan to the mind. 



*8pot, where lie can overtook «nd addreM the Ihrong 'wyoh 
has collected around him. 

If this could he <done, iiow strong «nd how iastiiig an 
impression would be made upon thoise minds! Years, «nd 
perhaipB the whole of life itself, would not obliterate it. 
Even this faint descrtption, though it brings nothing new 
to the mind, will probably make a much stronger and 
more lasting impression than merely reading the narration 
would do. And what is the reiison? How is it that what 
I have here said has impressed this scene upon ybur minds 
more distineCly than the simple language of the Bible? 
Why, it is only because I have endeuvofed to lead you to 
picktre thiB tcme'io ytmt mttuif—- 4o conceive of it strongly 
and clearly. Now any person can do this for himself in 
regard to any passage of Scripture. It is not necessary 
that I should go on and delineate in this manner the whole 
of the account. Each reader can, if he will task his 
Imagination,. paint fifr KivH^lf the scenes which the Bible 
describes. And if he does bring his intellect and his 
powers' of 'confeepiion to the work, and Tead, not merely to 
repeat, formally '^md coldly, sounds already familiar, but to 
1)nng to hfi3 mind vmd and dear eoniseptions of all which 
is represedted there, he will be interested. He will find 
«ew and strtlcing scenes coming up continually to view, 
and wiH be 'surprised at the novelty and interest which this 
simple and easy effort will throw over those very portions 
of the Btbie to which the ear has become most completely 
familiar. 

I wish now that every one of my readers would really 
try this experiment. It will do very little good merely to 
read the foregoing directions and resolve generally to try 
in future to form vivid and clear conceptions of what is 
described when you are reading; you must make aporltc- 
^lar effort to lemm to do this. Now the next time you sit 
^own to reading the Bible, turn to the 5th chapter of the 
Gospel according to St. Luke, and picture to yourself as 
vividly as possible the scene described there. Do not 



Cfc. 8.} STin»7. Off t»E BtMIB. 319 

Clear eonoeptioM. Wesra pictui* of Clirist rajeeted, 

think of a shore in general, hut eosceiye o£ some partieu- 
lar shore. Giye k s^pe and ibrm^ Let it be rocky or 
sandy, or high or low, hordeied.with voods, or with hitls, 
or with meadows* Let it be flomething distinct You 
may, if you please^ conceive it ta be a long sandy beach, 
with a lofty bank and a verdant field behind; or you may 
have it an open wood, sloping gradually down to the wa- 
ter's edge; or a rocky^ irregular coast, full of indentations; 
or a deep and narrow bay, whose shores are overhung with 
willows. Let it assame either of these .forms, or any 
other which your &ncy may portray, and which may suit 
the circumstances of the narrative ; only let it be someti^ing 
cKfliiiet-*— clear and distinct in all its parts; so that if you 
had power to re|Hreaent upon canvass by painting the con- 
ceptions of your mind,, you might execute a perfect picture 
of the whole scene. 

To do this properly will require time and thought. You - 
must be alone, or at least unintenrupted,- and your first 
effort will be a difficult one. The power of forming clear 
and vivid conceptions of this kind varies greatly in differ- 
ent individuals. The faculty can, however, be cultivated 
and strengthened by exercise. Historical painters, that 
is, painters of historical scenes, are enable to produce 
very great e^cts by the possession of this power. West, 
for example, formed in his own mind a clear, and vivid, 
and interesting conception of the scene which was exhibit- 
ed when the crowd of angry Jews rejected the Savior and 
called for bis crucifixion. He painted this scene, and the 
great picture which he has tiius produced has been gazed 
at with intense interest by many thousands. 

I saw this picture in the gallery of the Athenseum at 
Best^i. The gallery is a large and lofty apartment, light- 
ed by windows above, and containing seats for hundreds. 
As I ccune up the stairs which lead into the room, and 
stepped Irom them upon the fioor of the apartment, I found 
a large company assembled. The picture, which was, as 
I i^hould suppose, ten or fifteen feet long, stood against one 



mmM upoa the asMBbly. Writing 



nde of the apartmeiit, «ii4 before tt, arranged upon the 
seats, were the assembled spectators, who were gaziiig 
with inleose interest, and almost hi perfect silence, apoQ 
the scene. As we came forward before the canvass we 
felt the same solemn impression which had sflenced die 
others, and it was interesting «id affecting to obsenre, as 
party after party came up the stairs, talking with usaal free* 
dom, that their voices ipradually died away, and they stood 
silent and subdued before the picture of the Savior. 
' Yes^; there stood the Savior in the middle of the picture, 
passive and resigned, and with a conntenance whose ex- 
pression plainly said that his thoughts were fiur away. 
The Roman governor stood before his palace endeavoring 
to persuade the mob to consent to their prisoner's release* 
The uncovered and hard-featured soldiery sat at his feet 
upon the cross which they had been carrying, and were 
holding in their hands the spikes with which the limbs of 
the innocent one before them were to be pierced« All the 
other attendant circumstances were most vividly and strik- 
ingly represented* The mob were there, with fury and 
rage and hate in every variety upon their .countenances, 
Barabbas was there, with his look o£ hardened and unsub- 
dued guilt — and the centurion's little daughter, whose life 
Jesus had saved, stood by her father, apparently entreating 
him to interpose his power to rescue her preserver* 

Now, West must have possessed, in order to succeed in 
executing such a work, the pdwer, first, of forming a clear 
mental conception of the scene, and secondly, of repre- 
senting this scene by colors on the canvass. The ibrmer 
of these only is the one necessary for the object I have 
above described, and you ought, while reading accounts 
oi Scripture scenes, to form as vivid and distinct concep- 
tions of the scenes described as if you were actually in- 
tending to represent them by the pencil. 

2, Writing questipns, A young man, with pen and paper, 
before him, sits down, I will suppose, to the ezaminati<m 
of some portion of the Bible, intending to write questiooa 



Ch. 8.} STUDY OF THE BXBLE. 221 

^■— ■■ II ■ ■ " ■■ - ■ ■ I IM I I — ^^»^i^»^— ^— — ^1^.— ■■Ill ^ 

God's command to Abraham. QuefUons upon the paMafB. 



ufHNft thQ pfissi^^y such a^ he would ask if he were heiyr- 
iQg ^ ci^as in a Sahbath SchooJL Suppose he opens to. t)iQ 
a$H:;ipfwt pf Abraham's ofFeriug Isaac. 

Th^ foUowing is the. passage ; I copf it, that the reader 
nny^ the blotter understand the questions. 

1. And it came to pass afler these thing*, that God did tempt Abra- 
ham, and said unto him, Abraham*; andhe^said) Bdioidi hete I am. 

8. And he iaid, Take now thj wm^ thine imif •«» UmOj whom 
thou k>TBit, and f9t theQ into tb^ J»nd( of Mof^i, amdoffsr him t||ere 
for a burnt ofiering, upon one of the mountains which I will tell 
thee of. 

^ 3. And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and ttddled hii aai, 
and took two of his young men with him, and Isaac his son, and claye 
the wood for the burnt olSering, and rose up and went iiito the place 
of which God had told him. 

4. Then on the third day, Abraham lifted iq> hia eye* and saw the 
place alar off. 

5. And Abraham said unto his young men, Abide ye here with the 
ass : and I and the lad will go yonder and worship, and come again 
to you. 

He reads this narrative carefuUy, verse, by ver^e, and 
writes a question for every important fact stated. Perhaps 
the questions might be somewhat as follows. The reader, 
in examining them, is particularly requested to compare 
the questions individi^ally with the verses in whi^ the 
answers are contained. I ought al^o to remark, that I 
do not offer these as examples of good questions, but only 
as a specimen of such as I suppose most yoiHig persons 

would write. 

■♦ 

1 . To what land did Giod command Abraham to go to 
offer up his son? 

2. How was he to be offered ? 

3. Was he to be offered on a mountain ? 

4. How did Abraham travel ? 

5. What time did he set out? 

6. How many attendants had he ? * 

7. How long a journey was it? 

8. What is stated in the 6th verse? 

* 19* 



m YOtmo eutitfPttAfr, [Ck 8* 



OuMtloM written by a bof. 



I have written tbese questions as I imagme thej might 
be written by mteYligent ybnng persons. Some of them 
are however evidently not good. A lecMiKiig question 
ought not to be aslced, i. e. one so written as to inijdy 
what the answer is; tior ought it to be so written that the 
answer should be simply yes or no. No. d of the above 
is a leading question. No. 8, too, is a bad question. It 
is not important that one should remember what is told 
in any particular verse. It would have been better in 
some such form as this: 

8* What irrao g^meiit wu made after they arrived at the mountain^ 

In order, however, that my readers might understand 
what is actually attainable by young persons in such an 
exercise, I asked a boy to write for me some questions on 
Acts 19, and I insert the^m just as he gave them to me* 
It was his first attempt. 

<< When Apolloe was at Corinth, what did Pattl do ? 

Who did he find there ? 

What did he say to them f 

What aniwer did they nahe 2 

What did he then aak then? 

What did they say f 

What did Faut then gay > 

When !*aol had laid his hands open them, what happened 

How many men were they ? 

Wheie did Paul then go? 

Whatdidhedo? 

What did he do when diners were hardened ? 

For how long a time did this continue ? 

What happened to those who dweR in Asia? 

By whose hands did Qod perform special miiaolea.^ 

tn what manner did Paul heal the siclt ? 

What is said in the 13th verse ? 

What is the meaning of exorcist ? 

How many were there that did so ? 

What did the evil spirit say ? 

What did the man in whom was the evil apirit do * 

What did they dot 

To whom was this known ? 

What fell on them > 



Ch. 8.] STCDT OT THE BIBLC. 22S 

Many faulty. Utility of writiaf qaeatioai. 

WhtMie n&me wai magrnified f 

What did many do who belieTed ? 

What did many do who used ouriont arta ? 

After these things were ended, what did Paul design to do ? 

Where did he say he most go after he had been there ? 

Whom did he send into Macedonia? 

What were their names ? 

Where did he stay ? 

What happened at that time f 

What was the cause of it? 

Who was Demetrius ? 

What accusation did he bring againat Paul ? 

What did fie gay was in danger? 

What did they do when they heard tbest things? 

What liappened to the city ? 

What else did they do? 

What kept Paul from going in to the people ? 

. My readers will all see that these questions are, many 
of them, quite faulty. A second attempt, if the writer had 
read the remarks I have made, or if he had actually tried 
his questions upon a class, would prohahly have heen 
much better. 

If any person will attempt such an exercise as this, he 
will find it one of the most efficient means that he can pos- 
sibly devise, of fixing upon his mind the facts contained in 
any portion of history. In order to make out the question, 
you look at -the fact in various aspects and relations. All 
its connections are considered, and the mind becomes 
thoroughly familiarized with it; for you will find, afler a 
very little practice, that the same fact may be made the 
subject of a great number of different questions; and to 
look at these with a view of selecting the best, is a most 
valuable intellectual exercise. Take for instance the very 
questions I have already spoken of, particularly No. 8. 
See how many different questions or rather in how many 
forms the same questions, can be asked, some bad and some 
good, upon the single verse to which it relates. 

1 . What did Abraham s^y to the young men when he 
reached the mountain? 



4M T0U5O CHRISTIAN, [Cb. 9« 



Mwiy questiont upon on« yene. 



2. What plan did Abrahwo, fori^ wb^u be i:e^Q)ied the 
mountain? 

3. Did all the party go together to the place where 
Isaac was 16 be offered ^ 

4. How was the party divided when tbey reached the 
mountain? 

6. How many persons went with Abrabttn t« the place 
of sacrifice ? 

6. When Abraham went with Isaac alone to the place 
of sacrifice, wbnt dfd he say be was going for? 

7. When Abraham lefi the young men bebkid, to go with 
Isaac alone to the place. of aacnfice» what did he say he 
was going to do? 

8. What did he tell them he was going to do? Was 
this the truth? Was it the whole truth? Are we always 
bound to tell the whole truth? 

The reader will thus see that one and the same fact may 
be viewed in so nianj aspects and relations as to suggest 
a very large number of (juestions. After a very little 
practice, several questions will accordingly suggest them- 
selves at each verse to any individual lyho attempts the ex- 
ercise. He will consider which to choose. He will, in 
thus considering, necessarily view the recorded fact under 
its various aspects, and acquire a far more thorough and 
permanent knowledge of it than. is possible in any other 
way. So great is t^e advantage of this method of writing 
questions upon any book which the pupil desires thoroughly 
to understand, that it is not iinfrequently adopted in schools 
^-each pupil of a cjass being required to write questions 
upon a part or upon the whole of a lesson, which questions 
are then read and answered at the recitation. 

I fancy now that I can hear some one of my readers, of 
a mind somewhat mature, saying, ''I will myself try this 
experiment, and after writing the questions, I will rea4 
them to some younger members of the family, to see if 
they can find the answers." Perhaps the individual who 
resolves on this experiment is the head of a family — a 



Ch. ff.] flTCTDT dF turn BfBLK 926 

Expaf iment tximd by a mother. A Sabtaatb-tchool teaeber. 

mother. She gathers her chikli%n around, after the pain 
lie services on ^ Sabhath, and says to them-—" We will 
study a chapter in the Bible. / will study, and you shall 
study. I will read it carefully, and write in this little book 
aH the questions I can think of; and you at the same time 
may read it alteatively, and try to understand it, and re- 
member what it says. Then after tea we will gather 
around the tabic before our bright fire, and I will read my 
questions, and you may see if you can answer them.'' 

The children enter with spirit into the plan. They gather 
into a little circle, and read their lesson aloud, verse by 
verse, questioning each other in regard to its difficulties, 
and endeavoring to anticipate the questions which the 
mother is preparing. Even the little Benjamin of the fam- 
ily is interested; who, though he can scarcely read, looks 
attentively upon his Bible with the large print, hoping that 
(here will be some easy question which will come to him« 

At the appointed hour they gather with eager interest 
to their recitation. The mother finds that many of her 
questions are ambiguous, some too difficult, and others 
could not be answered from fault of the scholars; still a 
large proportion are understood and answered* The mo- 
ral lessons of the chapter are brought to view, and gently 
but forcibly impressed upon the heart. 

Are you a Sabbath-school teacher^ Lay aside your 
printed question-book for one Sabbath, and write questions 
yourself upon the lesson of the day. Then compare what 
you have written, with those printed for your use. Strike 
out fi'om your own Hst oil that are upon the other, and car- 
ry the rest with you to your class, and say to your pupils 
somewhat as follows: 

" I have been writing some new questions on this les- 
son. Now I do not suppose you can answer many of 
them, because you did not have them while you were 
studying But should you like to have me re«d them to 
you, and let you try?** 

You will in such a case find the curiosity and interest 



39^ rmmo etmisTiAM. [Ch, S,. 

m __^ ■ 

% Re-writfng Bcriplore. Th» boy's •¥«nteg work. 

of youf daes strpngly awakened.; aad though your firfeit.exr 
perinMQt may »ot fully succeed, you may my to th^m, ''I 
wiU wrke some more for next we^. Wbea y«u are atu-p 
c^ing your lessons then, I shoold^like to bai^e you.reinem* 
ber tlHHt I am writing other questioBs than those in tiM 
book, and endeayof to understand and reineni{>er eveiy 
fact stated in the lesson, so that you can answer all my 
questions as weU as the printed ones, i know it will be 
hard, buit I preaittne you can do it.'V 

A Sabbath-sckool teacher who will mal^e such efforts as 
these, to render his work more intellectual, and to int^rest 
himseU' .and his ptipils mor^ deeply in the thorough study 
of their lessons, will find thsdL both himself and his pupils 
will advance with at least double rapidity. 

3. R$'writing portions, of Scripture, Read, or rather 
study, some portion of Scriptiure thoroughly ^ and then 
write, the substanee of it in your own language. I can 
iHustiate this b^^st perhaps by repeating the following 
dialogue. It is» I will suppose, Sabbath evening; the 
family are goin^g Qiit» and one son, a boy of fou^een, is to 
he left at h<Hne. 

^' What shall I do. th¥ evening?" asks the son. 

'* What wonld you like to do?" 

'* I don't know. I am to be all the evening alone, and 
I want something to eioploy my time." 

The father turns to the filth chapter of Luke, and says: 

''Take this chapter, read the first eleven verses> aod 
form a clear and distinct- conception of the whole se^^ne, 
just as if you had witnessed it. Then write anb account of 
it in your own language. Be. careful to write entirely. ij^ 
your otvn language.'* 

'' Mufit I not use the language of the Bible at aU?^' 

'* No. You have two separate things to do. First read 
the account attentively and thoroughly, in order to form ip 
your ewn mind a distinct picture of the whole. Try to «6f. 
it as plainly as if you had stood upon the hank and actuaUy^ 
looked. down upon the whole transaction. Thei^ shu( your 



Ck.'8*] STWT OF THB BIBLE. 9^ 

■ " ' ■ fj I . 

Actual casa. P«*Ni^ 

Bible, aad write your ownaecewU of it, just as if jou were 
writing a letter to me, and describing sometbing "v/hMk-fm 
had yourself seen.'* 

Now suppose the boy engages in this woii( in the man- 
ner described above, with how sanch more mterest than 
mual will he read the passage! He will scriHuiize k 
li^arefully; guanine every cireujoManee of the narrative 
minutely, and notice many points tf£ iatereilt which w^ild 
ordinarily escape him. 

Once when I asked a lad, under eireumstances eimilar 
to these, to re-(write this passage, he had not been five 
minutes at his work befiwre he came with a question which 
I presume hundreds of my readers have never thought to 
ask, though they idl have doitbtless read tiie passage again 
and again, I 'must, hO#ever, £rst give the (passage. 

LvBK 5:1. 

1. And it came to pua that m the people preened upon him to hear 
.the iwoid.ef God, he stood by the lake o£ Genneaaret, 

t{. And saw two ships standing by the lake ; but the fishermen were 
gone out of them, and were washing their nets. 

3. And he entered into one of the ships, whidh was Simon's, and 
prayed him that he would thrust out a little frem die land. And be 
eat down and. taugbt the people out of the ship. 

4. Now when he had left speaking, he jaid unto 8imon, Launch out 
into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught. 

5. And Simon answering, said unto him, Master, we have toiled all 
the night, and have taken nothing; nevertheless, at thy word I will let 
down the net. 

6. And when they had this done, they enclosed a great multitude of 
fishes ; and their net brake. 

7. And they beckoned unto their partners, which we're in the other 
ship, that they should come and help them. And they came, and fill- 
ed both the ships, so that they began to sink. 

8. When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus's knees, saying. 
Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord. 

9. For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught 
of the fishes which they had taken : 

10. And so were also James and John, the sons of Zebedee, which 
were partners with Simon. And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not; 
firoffl henceforth thou shalt catch men. 



fS8 TOtTNO CBRIBTIAir. [Ch. 8. 

DittoUty wrtolBf. Explanation of It, The Paraphraao. 

11. Asd when they had broa^t their ships to land thej fonook mil 
feUowed 



The difficult J proposed was this: 

''In the second Terse," sajs he, ^' it is said that fish- 
ermen had gone md tf fAetr h^oH^ and were washing their 
nets, but in the third, Christ efitera one of them and asks 
6inM« to move off a little from the shore; that seems as if 
Simon was tit his boat.*' 

How apparent was it firom this question, that he was 
reading the Bible nnderstandiagly, and not merely repeat- 
ing once more the familiar sounds bj which the scenes of 
that passage are describedl Upon a litde peflection, it was 
manifest that Stmon might have remained in his boat, while 
the fishermen g«ner<K0y had gone ashore; or he might have 
stood iMar, so as to be easily addressed by the Savior. 
The difficulty vanished in a moment. But, by the ordina- 
ry, dull, sluggish reading of the Bible, both difficulty and 
solution would have been alike unseen. 

The following was the description produced in this case: 

I copy it without alteration, that my readers may see, from 

actual inspection of an actual example, what degree of 

success they may expect to attam. 

"Once, as Jesus was standing near a lake caHed Grennesaret, a great 
multitude crowded around him, wishing to have him address them. 
I|e saw near the shore two fishing ressels, bat the fishermen had gone 
away to clean fhelr nets. He went into one of them, whieh belonged 
to Simon, and asked him to fbove t^ yessel out -a litCle waj iato the 
water, and he talked to the people firom the deck. When he had 
finished, he told Simon to go out into the sea imd cast in dieir nets 
in order to get some fish. And Simon said to him, we have been 
working all night and have not caught any tiling, but as yon have de- 
sired it, we will let down our nets again. Having done it, fhey took a 
great many fishes, and their net was broken, and there were so many 
fishes tiiat both ships were filled and began to sink. Simon was so 
much astonished, and they that were with him, at ta'king so many 
fishes this time, when they had been laboring all night and caught 
nothing, that (he fell down before, Jesus, saying, Depart firom me, fi>r \ 
am a sinful man). 6imon*s companions, James and John, were also 
surprised at the fishes. And when they had brought their ships to the 
shore, they left all their things and folloT^d Jesus." 



Ch. 8.] STUDY OF THB BIBLB. SS9 



8loi|rofMkab. 



The part enclosed in a parenthei^ is Scripture language. 
The boy said he could not express that idea tn any other 
way, and he adopted that method of indicating that the 
language of the Bible was, in that clause, retained^ 

I hare obtained also several other specimens of a similar 
character, written by persons of different ages and of vari- 
ous intellectual attainments; two or three, of which I wiH 
iQsert here. The reader will observe that these were 
written by persons of very different degrees of mental ma- 
turity. The style is very dissimilar in the different speci- 
mens, and they show therefore more distinctly that the 
exercise is of such a nature as to be adapted to every age 
and capacity, < 

THE STORY OF MICAS, 

** A woman belonging to one of the tribes of the Isrsefifes, from a 
ntistakeft idea of true religion, resolved to procure some images for her 
household worshijl, intending to consecrate her son to act as priest. 
She accordingly dedicated to the Lord the sum to be paid for making 
the images, and laid it aside for the purpose. This money wav stolen 
firbm her by Micah, the very son for whose benefit chiefly she had 
formed the plan. Upon missing the money, she was* greatly enraged, 
and pronouniied, in the hearing of her son, the seTerest imprecation* 
upon the sacrilegious thief. This s^ terrified Micah that he confessed 
his crime and- restored the money to his mother. Her joy was very 
great at receiving again her treasure. She told her son Id what pur- 
pose it was appropriated y and they accordingly procured the images. 
It was agreed that instead of Micah, one of his sons should act as 
priest, uatH a niot« suitable person should- be obtained. The son was 
accordingly ^ovided with sacerdotal apparel and consecrsCed to th* 
priesthood. - - 

Under these circumstances the idol worship went on tern some time, 
until there came -one day to the house of Micah a wandering Levite, 
by the name of JonajLhan. This man seemed to be out of employment^ 
and being <^ the Levites, the tribe set apart for the holy offices, Micah 
thought he should do well to retain him as bis family priest. Accord- 
ingly, he made to him proposals to this effect, offeTing faidi for har 
services, his board, one suit of clothes, and a small sum of money a 
year. Jonathan very gladly agreed to these terms, aind was forthwith 
ccmstituted priest. .. 

" It happened soon after, that there came to M leak's bouse anunibev 

20 



tSO TOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 8. 



Story of Hicata continued. 



•f men who had been sent out by the tribe of Dan to survey the ad- 
jacent country, with a view to enlarging their own territories. When 
these men came to Micah's house they recognised with surprise the 
Toiee of the newly consecrated priest. They inquired how he came 
there, and what be was about. The Levite told them his story ; and the 
Danites seem to have regarded the circumstances of the affair as per- 
fectly proper ; for they even requested that he woutd inquire of the 
Lord for tbem, if they should meet with success in their present expe- 
dition. The Levite pietended to make the inquiry, and returned to 
them a favorable answer. The event was such as the Levite predict- 
ed. The Danites succeeded in driving before them the inhabitants 
•f the territories they wished to possess. . After the conquest, as the 
army were passing the house of Micah, the five men who had first been 
aent out, and who had stopped at this house, informed the others that 
there were in it a graven and a molten imsge, and a priest with an 
ephod; and perhaps intimating that in their n6w settlement they would 
themselves need such ah establishment, they inquired what had best be 
done. Afler some deliberation, it was agreed forcibly to take from 
Micah his images and the sacerdotal garpnenls, and to entice the priest 
to go with them. Accordihgly, while the rest of the army remained as 
guards at the entrance of the house, the five men before mentioned 
went in and commenced their depredations. The priest' inquired in 
amazement what they were about ^ Hush.!" said t)^ men; " say no- 
thing and go with us ; will it not be more to your advantage to be the 
priest of a whole tribe than of only one man ?'* The Levite was over- 
joyed at the proposal, and p^pared immediately to set out with them. 
• " Great was the dismay of Micah upon finding himself thus robbed 
of priest and gods. He called his neighbors to his assistance, and col- 
lecting a small company together, he went in pursuit of the depreda- 
tors. As he approached the army, they inquired of him why he had 
eome out with such a company « ''What ails you ?" said they. '' What 
mils me /" replied Micah ; '' you have taken from me my priest and my 
gods, and now you ask IVhat ails me !'* ''You had better return to 
your house," said some one of the number, " or you will lose your 
life." Seeing that there was no possibility of prevailing against hun- 
dreds of arnfed men, Micah took the advice of the Danite and returned 
home. 

•" Meanwhile the army of the Danites pursued their way to the plape 
of their destination, where they established the worship of their stolen 
images, under the direction of the runaway priest." 

The two following are upon the same subject, but the 
writers were 17 and 11 years of .age. They are accord* 
ingly very different in their style and character. 



Ch. 8. ] STUDY OF THE BIBLE. SSI 



Two ■pecimenf on the same subject. 



BBLSHAZZAR S FEAST. 

** The king of Babylon, named Belshazzar, made a great feast for all 
his lordsi hk wives, and concubines. And he sent and took from thai 
house of the Lord the golden and Bilyer vessels, and he and his com- 
pany drank wine out ef them. While they were enjoying in impiouA 
mirth the ieast, the fingers of a roan's hand were seon on the plaster- 
iqg of the wall, over against the candlestick. Then was the king 
very much frightened, and his. knees smote against each other. He 
sent for all the wise men in the kingdom to read the^ writing, but they 
could not. Then he called aloud again, Jf any man can read it he 
shall be clothed in scarlet, and have a chain of gold around his neck^ 
and shall be the third ruler jn the kingdom. Then came in his wife 
the queen, to tell him that there was a man who could interpret dreamt^ 
who^ name was Daniel. He read the writing. Mene. — ^God hath fin- 
ished thy kingdom. Tekel — Thou art weighed, and art found wanting, 

<^ Peres — Thy kingdom is given to^the Medes and Persians. Then 
wad a proclamation made that he was the third ruler in tli6 kingdom. 

** And the same night the king died.*' 

8TORT or BKL8HAZZAR. 

<< It was night; but the usual stillness of that hour Hvas broken by the 
sounds of feasting and revelry.. It had been a festival day in Babylon, 
and the inhabitants had not yet sunk into repose. The song and the 
dance still continued, and the voice of music waa^heard. All seemed 
in perfect security, and no precautions had been taken to avoid the 
danger which hung over theit devoted heads. An invading army was^ 
even then, surrounding the walls of the city; but those who ought to 
have defended it, confident and secure, left it unguarded and exposed 
to the attacks of the enemy. Fear was excluded even from the walls 
of the^alace, and the monarch was giving his own example of rioting 
and mirth to his subjects. A thousand of the noblest lords in |iis 
kingdom were feasting with him, as his invited guests. They had al- 
ready '' tarried long at the wine-," when Belshazzar, in the pride and 
impiety of bis heart, commanded his servants to bring the silver and 
golden vessels which had b^en taken by his grandfather Nebuchad* 
nezzar from the temple at Jerusalem. They were brought and filled 
with wine ; and as they drank it, they extolled their gods of wood and 
of stone. - - ^ - ^ 

" But while they were thus sacrilegiously employed, their mirth was 
suddenly changed intor amazement and consternation. A hand like 
tliat of a man was seen to write upon the wall of the palace, and as 
ihey gazed upon it, it traced tlie sentence, ^Mene, Mene, Tekelj 



9S% TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 8. 

Questions. 4. Collating tbe Scriptures. 



-^ -- — - - - _ _ _ ^ 

Uphanin.* No one among that vast companj understood its meaningr, 
bat to their i^righted imagination it was full of portentous import. 
The king, who was exceedingly terrified, sent in haste for all the as- 
trologers, and those persons in whose powers of divination he had been 
aocnstomed to place confidence ; but none eoald explain tlie mysterious 
warning.- At this juncture the queen entered, and informed the king 
Hhat Daniel was in the city, and that he wm supposed to possess the 
«'isdom of the Gods. He was hastily summoned into the royal pre- 
sence, and after reproving the trembling and condemned monarch for 
the pride of heart whi6h he had manifested', revealed to him the doom 
which was pronounced upon him. He told him that his kingdom atrd 
bis own life were nearly at a clos^ ; that his empire should be divided 
between the Medes and Persians : and also that bis own character had 
been examined, and found lamentably deficient. 

"The reward which had been promised was now bestowed upon 
Paniel. He was arrayed in a kingly robe, adorned with a golden chain, 
tnd procli»med the third in authority in the kingdom. Ere the next 
rising sun fielshazzar was numbered with the dead.'^ 

QUXilTIOirS. 

At what time and under what circumstances had the golden and sil- 
ver vessels been taken from the temple at Jerusalem ? 

In what language was the writing upon the wall; and why. could no 
one of the wise men of Babylon interpret it? 

Why were the Chaldeans included among the astrologers and sooth- 
sayer^ ? v 

The original writing was, " Mene, Mene, Tekel,, Upharsin ," why, 
fn the interpretation, is Peres substituted for Upharsin ? 

It is a very good plan to write questions at the close of 
such an exercise as in the last specimen, bringing up diffi- 
culties, which have occured to the writer while rfeading and 
writing the account. These questions can be subsequent-^ 
ly proposed to some person qualified to answer them. The 
whole plan may be adopted more or less extensively^ ac- 
cording to the time and taste of the individual. - 1 knew a 
young man who re-wrote .the whole book of. the Acts in 
this way. The result he preserved in a neat manuscript^ 
and the effort undoubtedly impressed the facts on his mem- 
ory with a distinctness which remained for years. 

4. Collating the Scriptures. The next method I shall 
describe, by Which variety and efficiency can be given to 



''1 



Ch. 8.] STtJDlf OF THE BIBLE. 

Ptun tried by Jaiiifs and John. 

jour study of the Scriptures, may be called collation. It 
consists of carefully comparing two or more different- ac- 
counts of the same transaction. 

To illustrate it, I will imagine that two young persona 
sit down on a Sabbath aflernoon by their fire-side to read 
the Bible, and they conclude to collate the several accounts 
of Paul's conversion. To show that this exercise doea 
not require ^any advanced age, or maturity of mind, I witt 
imagine that the scholars are quite young, and^will give in 
detail the conversation, as we might imagine it in such a 
case to be. We will suppose James to be thirteen or 
fourteen years of age, and John some years younger. 

John. ** Well, what shall we read.? " 

James. *' I think it would be .a good planxfor us to read 
and compare the two accounts of the conversion of Paul. 
Here is the first account in the nintji chapter of the Acts, 
and I believe her aflerward gave some account af it himself 
in his speech." 

Jahn. ** What speech?" 

James. ** Some speech he made at his trial. I will try 
to find it; it is somewhere in the last part of the book of 
Acts." . , - , 

The boys iurn over the leaves of their Bibles, until at 
last James says, 

*' Here it is; I have found it; it is in the 26th chapter.'* 

" No," says Johh, *' it is in the 22d| it begins at the 4th 
verse." 

James. '' Let me see it. O, there are two accounts in 
his speeches; that makes three in all. Would yt)u com- 
pare them all? " 

John. *' Yes; we can put our fingers into all the places, 
and re^d one verse of one, and then one verse of another, 
and so go through." 

James. '** Well, let u» see where these two speeches 
were made." 

The boys then examine the introductory remarks con- 
nected with these two addresses of the Apostle, and lejan 

20*' 



f94 . TOUNO CHRI»TIAH. [Ch. 8. 



.^ 



Three accounta of PaiiPa conv«r«ion. 



before whom and under what circumstances they were 
made^ and then proceed with their comparison. 
James. '* I will read first in the ninth chapter.'* 

1. "And Saul, yet breathing out threntenings and 
daughter against the diciplea of the Lord, went unto the 
Ugh priest. 

2. ^'And desired of him letters to Damascus, to the 
synagogues, that if he found any of this way, whether they 
were men or women, he, might bring them bound unto 
Jerusalem. 

'* Now you may read as much," he continues, '*in the 
S2d chapter." 

John. ''Where shall! begin?" 

Jamefi (Looking at the passage), '^At the dth verse, I 
believe." 

John. (Reading.) 5./ 'As also the high priest doth bear 
me witness, and all the estate of the elders ; from whom 
also I received letters unto the brethren, and went to 
Damascus, to bring them' which were there bound unto 
Jerusalem, for to be punished." 

"Do you see any difference, James?" 

James. "Yes; there are two differences: it says in the 
first account that he took letters from tbe high prieBi alone; 
and in the second, from the elders too— o// th^ estate ef the 
elders. It says too,' in the first acqoubt, that his letters 
we>e to the syne^ogues, but in~the second, that they were 
to the brethren." 

Boys of twelve years of age would probably see no 
farther than to notice such obvious pdints of comparison as 
those I have mentioned ; but a matur^r mind, attempting 
this same exercise, would go far deeper, and consequently 
-with a stronger interest, into the subject. Such a one will 
take great pleasure in observing how every expression in 
the account in the 23d chapter corresponds with the circum- 
stances in which Paul was placed. -He was in Jerusalem. 
A great popular tumult had been excited against him. A 
few of his determined enemies had, by the arts with which 



Ch. 8.] STUDT OF THE BIBLE. Q35 

Effect of tbit method. Advantafas of the plan. 

it is always easy for bad men to inflame the multitude, 
urged them on^ almost to fury, and an immense throng had 
gathered around him, with the marks of the most determin- 
ed hostility in their looks and gestures and actions. At this 
moment a Roman military fofce appeared for his rescue; 
he was draWn out from the crowd, and standing upon the 
stairs of the castle, above the tumultuous sea from which 
he had been saved, he attempts to address the assembly. 

He had been represented to the crowd as a foreigner--* 
an Egyptian, who had come to Jerusalem to excite sedition 
and tumult; and of course his first aim would naturally 
be to destroy this impression, and present himself befbrie 
this assembly as their 'fellow countryman-~-one who had 
long resided among them, and had regarded them ' as 
brethren. How natural is it therefore that he should speak 
so distinctly of his connection with the Jewish nation! He 
commences his account with the statement that he is a 
Jew — by birth, by education, and by feelings* This pecu- 
liarity in the speaker's condition accounts most fully and 
in a most interesting memner for the diflTerence between 
the expressions which he uses here, and those used in the 
9th chapter. Where, in the narrative ^ the high priest only 
was alluded to in the defence, the speaker mentions respect- 
fully all the estate of the eldhrs. The histofian, employing 
the simple historical style, says that Paul went mth letters 
to the synagogues. The orator, in hid effort to alkiy irritat- 
ed feeling, uses the word brethren — a term equally correct, 
but far more suitable to-^his purpose. 

I ma)ce these remarks, not to go into a commentary 
upon Paul's speech, but to show what hind of reflections 
will occur to an intelligent mind, in thus collating different 
portions of the sacred volume. Notice every di^rence; 
and endeavor to discover, in. the circutoi^ancesofthe case, 
its cause. Tou will find by so doing that new and striking 
beauties will arise to view at every step; the pages of the 
Bible will look brighter and brighter, with meaning hitherto 
unseeo, and you will find oew exhibitiimu of character and 



236 YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 8. 



List of Lessons. 



conduct so natural and yet so sample as to constitute al* 
most irresistible evidence of the reality of the scenes which 
the sacred history describes. 

There are a great many of the events of which two dif- 
ferent accounts are given in the Bible, which may he 
advantageously collated in the manner I have described. 
In hopes that some of my readers will study the Scriptures 
in this way, I enumerate some of them. 



LE^SSONS. _ . 

Solomon^'s Choice, 1 Kings and 2 Chronicles. 
' Dedication of the Temple. 1 Kings, 2 Chronicles. 

Revolt of the Ten Tribes, I, King^s, 2 Chronicles. 

Story of Elisha. 

Story of Elijah. 

Story of Hezekiah. Kings, Chronicles, and Isaiah. 

Genealogical Line from JMam tq Abraham. Genesis and 
1 Chronicles. 

Catalogue of the Kxngs of Israel. Kings and Chronicles. 

Catalogue of the Kings ofJudah. Kings and Chronicles. 

Preaching of John the Baptist. Matthew, Mark, Luke^ 
and John, 

The Temptation of Christ. Matthew, Mark, and Luke. 

The Savior^s arrest. Four Evangelists. 

His TVial. Four Evangelists. 

His Death. Four Evangelists. • . 

His Resurrection. Four Evangelists. 

Institution of the Lord's Supper. Matthew and 1 Corin- 
thians. 

Genealogy of Cht^t, Matthew and Luke. 

The above subjects vary very much in the degree of in- 
tellectual effort necessary for their examination, and in 
nearly all the reader will often be involved in difficulties 
which he cannot easily remove. * If we merely read the 
Bible, chapter afler chapter, in a sluggish and formal man- 



Ch. 8.] STUDY OF THE BIBLE. 237 

DifficultieH to be anticipated The Sabbatb. 

ner, we sec little to interest us and little to perplex ; but 
in the more thorough and scrutinizing mode of study which 
I here suggest, both by this mode and the others I have 
been describing, we shall find beauties and difficulties 
coming up together. Let ev^ry one then who undertakes 
such SL collation of different accounts, espect difficulty. 
Do not be surprised at apparent contradictions in the 
narrative ; you will find many. Do not be surprised when 
you find various circumstances in the different accounts 
which you find it impossible for you to bring together into 
one view ; you must expect such difficulties. Look at them 
calmly and patiently; seek solutions from commentariefi 
and from older Christians, and what you cannot by these 
means understand, quietly leave, A book which, under 
divine guidance, employed the pens of from fifly to a hun«- 
dred writers — scattered through a period of 1500 years; 
whose scenes extend over a region of immense extent, and 
whose narratives are involved with the most minute history 
of all the great nations of antiquity — ^Babylon, Assyria, 
Persia,. Greece, and Rome — such a book you must not 
expect to understand fully in a day. 

5. Studying by subjects. Select some subject upon 
which a good deal of information may be found in various 
parts of the Bible, and. make it your object to bring togeth- 
er into one view all thai the Bible says upon tbat subject. 
Take .for instance the .life of the Apostle Peter. Suppose 
you make it your business on one Sabbath, with the help 
of a brother, or sister, or any other friend who will unite 
with you in the work, to obtain all the information which 
the Bible gives in regard to him. By the help of the Con- 
cordjance you find all th^ places in which he is mentioned 
— ^you compare the various accounts in the four gospels; 
see in what the^* agree and in what they differ. After fol- 
lowing down his history as far as the Evangeli^ts bring it, 
you take up the book of the Acts, and ^o through that for 
information in regard to this Apostle, omitting those parts 
-which relate to other subjects. In this way you become 



^8 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 8 

Jerasalem. The Sabbaih. 



fblly acquainted with his character and history; you under- 
stand it as a whole. 

X JeruscUem is another good sii^bject, and the examination 
would afford scope for the exercise of the faculties of the 
highest minds for many Sabbaths: find when the city is 
first named, and from the maimer in which it is mentioned, 
and the circumstahces connected with the earliest accounts 
of it, ascertain what sort of a city it was at that time. 
Then follow its history down; notice the changes as they 
occur; understand every revolution, examine the circum- 
stances of every battle and siege of which it is the scene^ 
and thus become acquainted with its whole story down to 
the time when the sacred narration leaves if. To do this 
well, will require patient and careful investigation. You 
cannot do it as you can read a chapter, carelessly and with 
an unconcerned and uninterested mind; you must, if you 
would succeed in such aji investigation, engage in it in 
earnest. And that is the very advantage of such a method 
of study; it breaks up effectually that habit of listless, dull, 
inattentive reading of the Bible which so extendvely pre- 
vails. 

You may take the subject of the Sahhath ; iexamine the 
circumstances^ of its first appointment, and then follow its 
history down, so far as it is given in the Bible, to the last 
Sabbath alluded to on the sacred pages. 

The variety of topics which might profitably be studied 
in this way is vastly greater than would at first be suppos- 
ed. There are a great number of biographical and geo- 
graphical topics— a great number which relate to manners, 
and customs, and sacred instructions. In fact, the whole 
Bible may be analyzed in this way, and its various contents 
brought before the mind in new aspects, and with a freshness 
and vividness which^ in the mere repeated reading of the 
Scriptures in regular course can never be seen. It may 
assist the reader who is disposed ^o try the experiment, if 
I present a small list; it might be extended easily to any 
length. 



Ch. 8.] STUDY OF THE BIBLE. 299 

List of Topic*. * Stady of the Bible. 



V. 



BIOGRAPHICAL TOPICS. 

Hezekiiji. Herod. 

Daniel. John the Baptist. 

Elijah. Peter. 

Elisha. Nicodemus. 

Isaiah. JudaB. 
Jeremiah. 

GEOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL TOPICS. 

Jerusalem. Sea of Galilee, 

Egypt.' Tyre. 

Nile. Sidon.' 

Babylon. ^ Philistines. 

Red Sea. Moabitcs. 

Jordan.' Ammonites. 

Damascus. Ethiopia. 
Samaria. 

TOPICS RELATING TO RELIGIOUS RITES. 

Sacrifices. Ark of the Covenant. 

Sabbath. Tabernacle. 

Pentecost. Baptism. 

Feast of Tabernacles. Lord's Supper. 

Passover. Syagogues. 
Fasting. 

: There are various other methods which might be men- 
tioned and described; but enough has been said to enable 
any one who is disposed, to engage at once, for a short 
time each Sabbath, in such an intellectual study of the 
Bible. Parents can try the experiments I have above 
described, in their families; and Sabbath-school teachers 
can try them in their classes. Sabbath schools would be 
astonishingly improved at once, if the teachers would put 
their ingenuity into requisition to devise and execute new 
plans, so as to give variety to the exercises. There would 
be a spirit and interest exhibited, both by teacher and pu- 



SiO TOimO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 8 

Too little intellectttal study of the Bible. Object of tbe bistoric form. 

pil, which the mere servile reading of printed questions, 
and listening to answers mechanically committed, never 
can produce. 

There is far too Kttle of this intellectual study of the 
Bible, even among the most devoted Christians. Its lite- 
rature, its history, its biography, the connection of its parts 
— all are V)ery little understood. It is indeed true, that 
the final aim of the Bible is to teach us personal re/igiotit 
duty. It comes to the conscience — not to the lUerary taste 
of men; and is designed to guide their devotions, not to 
gratify their curiosity, or their love of historic truth. But 
why is it that God has chosen the historic form, as a means 
of communicating his truth ? Why is it that his communi- 
cations with mankind w^re for so many years so completely 
involved with the political history of a powerful nation, 
that that whole history must be given? Why is our Sa- 
vi6r's mission so connected with the Roman government, 
and all this connection so fully detailed that no inconside- 
rable portion of the geography, and customs, and laws of 
that mighty empire, is contuned in the Gospels and the 
Acts. The moral lessons which our Savior taught might 
have been presented in their simple didactic form. The 
whole plan of salvation, through the sufierings of a Re- 
deemer, might have been given us in one single statement, 
instead of leaving us to gather it piece by piece from mul- 
titudes of narratives, and addresses, and letters. Why is 
it then, that instead of one simple proclamation from the 
Majesty on high, we have sixty or seventy different books, 
introducing us to the public history of twenty nations, and 
to the minutest incidents in' the biographies of a thousand 
men? Why, it is that we may be excited by the int^erest 
of incident and story ; that religion and impiety may be re- 
spectively presented to us in living and acting reality ; and 
that the principles of God's government, and of his dealing 
with men, may come to us in all the vividness of actual 
fact. If then we neglect to understand this history as hiS' 
ton^f and to eater into all the incidents which are detailed, 



Ch. 6.] STITDT tip tRB tilliLfe. $4f' 

S««4f n g practical ly. Daily reading of th^ Bibte. 



Ht^ loM the very benefit which the Sptrh h^d in ¥ie# hir 
nakiog the Bible sueh a Tolume as it isi. Wkhotff gaeftf 
an occasional effort to make the Scriptures a Mudj^ exaiii>- 
knng them intellectuidly, cofnparing one part wi^h another, 
tnd endeavortng to bring vividly to view the sceftei^ w9kic1i' 
th^y present to our minds, it may safely be said ditat'no' 
^■e can trnly understand the Bihl^, or enter info' the spirit 
of its descHptfoiits^ its warnings, and its appeals. 

But aller aB, the great object in studying the Bible m 
ttot merely to understand it. The revelation whic¥# Qod 
has made, is a message sent, not to the hdtUecf; But to the 
<i^m»tiencH and 'hentrts^-of men; and unless it reaches the 
conscience and the heaitt, it entirely fiitls of accomplishing 
its object. We ought indeed' to gain an mtellectiral know- 
ledge of it, but that is only to b6 eon^dered as' a means to 
enable us the more fully to apply to o^r own characters 
aind conduct the practical lessons which it teache^; 

The Sabbath seems, for most persons, the most* proper 
time for the systematic stod^of theJScriptures, but a* portion 
t^ it i^ould be ^ead practically every day. TTiis' part of 
tikj subject does not need so fiill ah illustratibn as the 
<yther, fbr the great difficulty in regard to reading the Scrips 
tares practi6ally, is a want 6f disposition to do it. They 
who really wish io learn their duty and overcome their 
ten^ptatk)ns, who desire . that tfie sins of their heaHb and* 
lives should feife brought to their view by the word of God, 
will easily make for themselves an application of tte truths 
Which the ]^bl'e contains. 

Will not all my' readers do this, faithfully anif perse vei^ 
ingly ? Resolve to bring a short portion of the preceptive 
of devotional parts of the Scriptures home to ydtir' heaii 
ev<iry day; and let your object be, in this daily reading of 
the Bfble, not so ifiuch to extend yoy'r intellectual view of 
the field open to jou in its pages, bls to increase it^' moral*' 
and spirit uied influence upon your heart and conduct. Be' 
not so carefol, then, to read this exact (JuBntify, or that; 
bat to bring home some portion really and fully to ibti 

21 



S4S TOUNO CHRI8T1AK. [Cfa. 8. 

m , - T - I I M^ . - 

UMleM tvading. Tb« Apprankfce. 



Iieart and to the conscience — to do it so forcibly, that the 
influence of those few verses read and pondered in the 
morning, will go with you through the day. 

Habitual reading of the Bible, is however sometimea 
practised with a very different spirit from this. A boy, for 
example, whose parent or whose Sabbathnschool teacher 
has convinced him that he ought to read 4he Bible daily, 
takes his book and sits down by the fire^ and reads away, 
rapidly and thoughtlessly, the portion which comes in 
course. He looks up occasionally, to observe the sports 
of his brothers and sisters, or to join in their conversation^ 
and then^ returns again to the verse he 4eil. In fifleea 
minutes he rises from his seat, shuts his book, and pushes 
it into its place upon the shelf, saying, *' There — I have 
read my chapter;" and this is the last he knows or thinks 
of the Bible during the day. 

Consider now another case. In an unfurnished and 
even unfinished little room, in some crowded alley of a 
populous city, you may see a lad, who has just arisen from 
his humble bed, and is ready to go forth to his daily duties. 
He is a young apprentice,' — and must almost immediately 
go forth to kindle his morning fire, and. to prepare his place 
of business for the labors. of the day. He first, however, 
takes his little Testament from his chest; — and breathes, 
while he opens it, a silent prayer that God^will fix the les- 
son that he is about to read, upon his conscience and his 
heart. '^Holy Spirit!" whispers he, 'Met me apply the 
instructions of this book to myself, and let, me be governed 
by it to-day; so that I may perform faithfully all my duties 
to myself, to my companions, to my master, and to- Thee." 
He opens the book, and reads perhaps as follows: — ''Be 
kindly affectioned one to another, with brotherly love, with 
honor preferring one another." He pauses — ^his faithful 
self-applying thoughts run through the scenes through 
which he is that day to pass, and he considers in what 
cases this verse ought to influence him. " Bz kindly affec" 
tionedr* I must treat my brothers and sisters, and all my 



Gh. 8.1 - STUDY OP THE BIBLE. 243 



Reading two verses aright. 



companions, kindly to-day. I must try to save them trou^ 
ble, and to promote their happiness. *' In honor preferring 
one another,^' As he sees these words, he sighs to reflect 
how many times he has been jecdous of his fellow appren- 
tices, on account of marks of trust and favor shown te 
them,' or envious of the somewhat superior privileges en- 
joyed by those older than himself, and he prays that Grod 
will forgive him, and mjake bim bumble and kind-hearted 
in future, to all around him. 

'* JVb( slothful in business ; fervent in spirit; serving the. 
Lordy He 'Stops to consider whether he is habitually in- 
dustrious, improf^ing all his time in such a manner as to bo 
of the greatest a<iyantage to his master; — ^whether he is 
fervent in spirit; u e. cordis^ly deVoted to God's service, 
and full of benevolent desire^ for the happiness of alU—- 
whether he serves the Lord in. what he does, i. e. whether 
all his duties are discharged from motives of love to his 
Maker and Preserver. While he thus 'muses, the fire 
burns. He shuts his book, and asks .God to protect him^ 
as he now must go out into the labors and temptations of 
the day. God does bless and. protect him. Ete has read 
indeed, h\xtiwo verses; but these verses he earries in his 
heart, and they serve as a memfsrial of kindness and love 
tp man, and fidelity toward G^d, which accompanies hinr 
wherever be goes, and keeps him safe and happy. The 
Bible is thus a light to his feet and a lamp to his paths.- 
Which, now, of these, do you think, reads the Bible aright? 

Let no child who reads this understand me to say that I 
consider two verses enough of the Bible to read each day. 
Wliat I mean by this case is, that so much more depends 
upon the spinr and mann^ with which the Bible is read» 
than the quantUy-^ihdX a very small portiot), properly read« 
may be far more useful than a much larger quantity hurried 
over in a careless and thoughtless" manner. No precise 
rules can be given in regard to quantity ; it must vary with 
circumstances, and of these the individual must, in most 
cases, be the judge. 



944 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch.,^^ 



The Sabbath. 



CHAPTER IX. 

TUB SAMATH. 

** Remember t!be Sabbath day to keep it holy.'*' 

Mt FefiderB are undoubtedly generally aware that th«r 
present obligiation to keep the Sabbath has been, by some 
persons, denied, on the ground that the keeping of one diif 
m seven is a sort of ecreiiMMi^, and that it was only intended 
to be required of the Jewish nation. I do not intend, iu 
this chapter, to enter af aU into a disctission of ^hat subjects 
Most, if not all of thoi^e who will read this book, are un- 
doubtedly satisfied in regard to it. ' I will, however, simply 
state the facts, on (he ground of which t)ie present binding 
authority of the L»ord*s-day is generally admitted by Chris- 
tians. 

• ■ " ' ' ' ' ' 

As seen as God had finished the creation, it Is stated 

that he rested on the seventh ^day and sanctified it; that is, 
he set it apart for a sacred use. The time and the circum- 
8l4aice» under which this w^s done, sufficiently indicate 
that it was iniended to apply to the whole race, and to 
extend through all time. A ceremony solemnly established 
aft the found^ition of an empire, would be universally con- 
sidered as desij^ned to extend as fer and continue as long 
as the empire itself should extend and continue, unless it 
idiould be distinctly repealed. And so with a duty estab- 
fished at the foundation of a world. 

Many years afterward the Creator gave a very distinct 
code of laws to his people, the Jews. These laws were of 
two kinds, ceremomal and moral. It wds the design of the 
former to be binding only upon the Jewish nation ; the lat- 
ter are of permanent and universal authority. 

The ceremonial laws were merely repeated to Moses^ 
and he made a record of them; you will find them in nearly 
all the chapters of Leviticus' and Deuteronomy. All the 



Ch. 9.] THE SABBATH, 245 



Change frinn SntuMay to Sunday. 



regulations relating to sacrifices are of this character. 
The moral laws were, however, given in the most solemn 
manner from Mount Sinai. They are the ten command- 
ments, and they Were written, by the direct power of God 
himself, upon tablets of stone, which were carefully pre- 
served. 

Now, as if to remove all possible ground of' doubt in re- 
gard to his design, the observance of the Sabbath was 
made the subject of one of these ten commandments*; and 
it has been observed from that day to this, by a Vast ma- 
jority of all those who have wished to obey their Maker's 
commands. 

These facts are abundantly sufficient to convince those 
who are willing to keep the Sabbath, that God intended 
that all men should keep it. They who are not convinced, 
reveal by their doubts their " unwillingness to obey. I 
would advise, therefore, any one who has doubts about tho 
divine authority of the Sabbath, not to spend his time in 
looking for the arguments for and against, in this contro- 
versy, but to come at once to his heart. A'sk yourself this 
question: **Do I fully understand what it is to remember 
the Sabbath day and keep it holy, and am I cordially and 
sincerely willing to do it?" In the affirmative answer to 
this question you will find the solution to all your doubts. 

The Sabbath was observed, from its establishment down 
to the coming of ^Christ, oh the seventh day of the week, 
that is our Saturday. Our Savior rose from the dead on 
the day ajter the Sabbath, and we find, soon after his re- 
surrection, that Christians observed that day instead of the 
former one, as sacred time. There is no direct command 
to do this, and no indication that there was any controversy 
about it at the time. They all at once simultaneously 
change. They keep one day in seven as before, but it is 
a di'flTerent day. We infer that they had some authority 
for so doing, though it is not at all necessary that that au- 
thority should be specified. It is the custom in most of 
the schools in New England to consider the afternoon of 

21* 



%4B TOUNO CHRJSTIAX. [Ch. 9, 



Beginning of the Sabbath. 



Saturday a half-holiday. Now, suppose a boy should leave 
tjt^s ^uDtry to go on a foreign voyage, and af\er being 
ilbsent many months, should return, and find, when 
Saturday afternoon comes, that all the boys in his native 
lown go to school as usual, but that on Monday aflernoon 
the schools are all suspended. . He sees that this is the 
universal custom, and it continues so permanently. Now 
it is not, under these circumstances, at all necessary that 
the onginij vote of the school committee by which the, 
change was made should come before him. The tintoer- 
Baliiy (ftht practice is the best of evidence in such a case. 
No boy would wish for more. It is just so with the evi- 
dence we have that the Sabbath was changed. Suddenly 
all Christians changed their practice; they, changed 
together, and without any evidence of a, controversy, and 
the new arrangement has been adopted from that day to 
this. 

But yet sqme persons are not quite satisfied about it^ 
and there are various other questions connected with the 
time of the Sabbath, which have occasioned in. the minds, 
ormany. Christians serious tioubt and pei'plexities. Some 
imagine that they ought to have n^ore evidenpe of the 
change from the seventh to the first day of the week; 
they think too, that the Sabbath is intended to be com- 
memorative of God's fest after dnishing the creation, and 
that this object is lost by altering the day ; and some lose 
themselves in endless arguments on the question whether 
sunset, midnight, or morning, marks the beginning of the 
sacred day. The diflference of views on this siybject, pro- 
duces some difference of practice. There are denomina- 
tions of Christians who prefer to keep Saturday as holy 
time, and not Sunday, regarding the former as the seventh 
day meant by the commandment. There is a difference 
of practice, too, in regard to the time, of commencing the 
holy day. In some portions of our land the Sabbath i» 
understood to begin on the evening of Saturday, so that 
when the sun goes down on Sunday e veni|ig, they return . 



Gh. 9.] THB SABBATH. S4t 



Idle eoatruv«ffslM. 



lo their usual duties and cares. la other places, inidoight 
IB considered as the limit which marks the beginning and 
the end of sacred tirne^ 

The actual inconvenience arbing from this diversity is 
comparatively slight. The great evil which these difier^ 
en'ces of opinion produce, is the interminable disputes 
ivhich arise from them. Perhaps some of my readers, 
when they saw the subject of the Sabbath announced,' may 
have been qurious to know whidh side I was going to take 
in regard to some of these points; for example, on the 
question whether it id proper, to commence holy time on 
Saturday evening, or on Sabbath morning. Now, in fact, 
I am going to take both sides. I am going to try to con- 
vince you thajt it is entirel}' immaterial which is adopted, 
and that the whole subject is completely unworthy of being 
made a matter of controversy among Christian brethren. 

When God giyes us a comn^and, I am aware that we 
must obey it exctetly. But a command' is obeyed exactly, 
if it is obeyed, in all. the particulars expressed in the words 
of it. I think the following principle may be laid down as 
fundamental in regard to all laws partaking of a cerieinonial 
character, human and divine. So far as (he ceremonial part 
is essential, it will he distinctly described %n the command. 

The fourth command partakes of the, ceremonial charac- 
ter. It is for the observance of a particular day. It spe- 
cifies what day, but it does not specify at what hour it is to 
begin, and therefore we are led at liberty to begin it so as 
to coitrespond with any common mode of computijig time. 

But to illustrate the above mentioned principle, (for it 
s0ems to me that if it were cordially and fully admitted, it 
would save a vast num1i>er of disputes on many other sub- 
jects,) let us suppose that a father, about to be absent 
from his home, leaves his tw:0 boys with the command 
that t^iey should work, every, day, a little while in^ the 
garden. Now^ in «(uch a case. as this, the boys ^ught not 
to consider themselves as liiniteid to any particular tiipe for 
dfHng. itv They must oon^id^r their father's design in the. 



S48 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 9. 



A father'* comioaDd to bis boys. 



command, and act in such a manner as to. comply with the 
spirit of it; but they may do as they please about the time 
of beginning. They may work in the morning, or in the 
evening, or at mid-day, according to their own conve- 
nience. 

Suppose, however, he had been a little more definite, 
and had said, *' I wish you, my boys, while I am absent, 
to work a/«w hours every forenoon in the garden." This 
would have been a little mdre definite. And just so far as 
it is definite in regard to the time, just so far it would be 
binding in that respect. They would not now be at liberty 
to choose whether they would work forenoon or aflernoon, 
but still they would be at liberty in regard to the jn-ecise 
time of beginning. If one of the boys should r.ttempt to 
prove that they ought to begin: exatiily at half past eight, 
because the father had usually begun at that, hour, or be- 
cause the neighbors did, the other might reply, that the 
time of beginning was not specified in the command, and 
they might, if they chose, begin at an earlier or later hour, 
if they only honestly fulfilled the command by working 
faithfully as much as they supposed their father meant by 
the expression, ** afeio hours, ^* 

Ltet us, however, make the command more definite still. 
Imagine the iaiher to have said, *' I wish you, my sons, to 
spend from 9 till 12 o^clock, every day, in the garden, 
working for me." This leaves them much less discretion- 
ary power. The time for beginning and ending is distinct- 
ly specified, and the command is bitiding, in regard, to 
these points of form and manher, just so far as they are 
distinctly specified. Still there is room for a dispute. 
The spirit which makes so much of a controversy on the 
question whether holy time begins at sundown or at mid- 
night, would have easily made a controversy here. For 
we will suppose that there had been a clock in the hall 
of the house, and a dial in the garden. All my readers are 
aware, I presume, that a clock, if it is a good one, keeps ' 
regular, equal time; but that there is some irreguUritj in 



Ch. 9. J ^HB SABBATH. 849 

■^^i^^— ■■■ ■ I ^^^^^ I ^^^^^ ■■■■ I I ■■■■■■ ■■■ 11 ■--■ »^»^^w^ 

The quMtioii about the clock and the dial; Uniyenal prindple, 

II . - -— - I — ■ 

the motions pf the heavenly bodies, which prevents th« 
dial from always corresponding with it exactly. Some-t 
times the dial, which marks appamni time, that is, what 
appears to be the time by the sun, is before, and some^ 
times behind the clocks; for they mark the real, or true 
time, as it is called. Now, how easily might these boy9 
get into a dispute on the question whether their father 
meant them to keep true or apparent tjme, that is, whether 
he meant them to begin by the clock or by the diall 
sometimes the difierence is fifleen minutes. They might; 
say that they must obey their father's compiaQd exactly, 
and each might iindertake to show, from arguments drawa 
from the nature of time,, which perhaps neither of them 
understood, or from the father's practice, or the practice 
of other workmen in the vicinity, that one method of com- 
putation or the other was the, proper one. How unwise 
would this be! The proper ground unquestionably for 
boys in such a case to take would be, ''It is no matter 
which mode of reckoning we adopt; it was not father's 
object to have us begin at any precise moment," ** If 
you prefer the clock," one might say, "I have no objec- 
tion to it. I think we have a right to take which we 
please; for father did not specify any thing in regard to 
it; and if he had had any preference, he would have 
stated it." 

Just so in regard to the Sabbath. Gfod says in sub- 
stance, '* Keep holy one day in seven." There is no 
minute specification in regard to the moment of ^cemmea- 
cing; we are at liberty therefore to commence according, 
to anyeslablished and common method of computing time. 

May not then the principle stated above be considered 
as universal, in regard to obedience to all laws of a cere* 
monial nature.^ So far as the form ai^ manner are deemed, 
essential, they are always distinctly expressed in the law, 
* Look at the law^ in these States for the solemnization of 
marriages: all that is essential is distinctly expessed. So 
with the laws in regard to the transfer of property : everjf 



S50 YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. d. 

Two doves. Aday of23J boure. 



form that is intended to be required is detailed in the sta- 
tute. So with the purely ceremonial laws of the Jews. 
If a command required, the sacrifice of two doves, the Jew 
would plainly not feel at liberty to bring one or three, tior to 
offer, instead of the bird prescribed, vultures or sparrows.' 
But he just aa plainly would be at liberty to offer doves of 
any color; he might choose black or white, or any other 
hue: and if his neighbor should say to him, ** Your, doves 
are not of the right kind; nobody offers^ sucli doves as 
those;" his proper reply would be, ** I obey the command. 
The color is not specitied." So with Christians in keeping 
the Sabbath. It is not essential whether you begin at sun- 
down or at midnight ; if you keep the Sabbath faithfully 
and regularly according to one method or the other, you 
obey the command; the moment^ for beginlaing is not spe- 
cified. 

It seems to me that any person who endeavors to obtain 
a philosophical idea of the nature of our mode of comput- 
ing time by days, must see the impossibility of marking 
fuiy precise limit for the commencement and close of sacred 
time. Nothing is so indefinite, if we take an enlarged .and 
philosophical view of the subject, as theirs/ day. Astro- 
nomers commence it at twelve 6'clock at noon. Some 
nations begin it at midnight. On shore it is reckoned as 
commencing at one hour, and at sea, as a^ another. The 
day, too, begins at a different time in every different place, 
so that a ship at sea, beginning a day in one place and 
ending it in another, sometimes will have 23J and some- 
times 24^ hours in her day^ and no clock or time-piece 
whateyer can keep he^ time. An officer of the ship is 
obliged to determine the beginning of their day every noon 
by astronomical observation. A sea captain can often 
make a difference of an hour in the lengtK of his day, by 
the directi(m in whibh he steers }iis ship; because a day 
begins and ends in no two places, east and west of each 
other, at the same time. At Jerusalem they are six hours 
in advance of us in their time, and at the Sandwich Islands 



Ch. 9.] THE SABBATB. 251 



_!. 



A day at the pole. A day loat. 

six hours behind. In consequence of this, it is evident 
that the ship, changing her longitude, must every daj 
change her reckoning. These sources of difficulty in 
marking out the limits of a day, increase as we go toward 
the pole. A ship within (ifly miles of it, might sail round 
on a parallel of latitude, and keep it one continual noon or 
midnight to her all the year; only noon and midnight 
would be there almost the same. At the pole itself all 
distinction between day and night entirely and' utterly 
ceases ; summer and .winter are the only change. Habita- 
ble regions do not indeed extend to the pole, but they ex- 
tend far beyond any practical distinction between noon and 
midnight, o.r evening and morning. 

The difference between the times of commencing and of 
ending days in different parts of the earth is so great, that 
a ship sailing round the. globe, loses a whole day in her 
reckoning, or gains a whole day, according to the direc- 
tion in which she sail^. If she sets out from Boston,. and 
passes round Cape Horn, and across the Pacific Ocean, 
to China, thence through the Indian and Atlantic Oceans 
home, she, will find, on her arrival, that it is Tuesday with 
her crew, wl^en it is Wednesday on shore. Each of her 
days will have been a little- jon^er than a day is in any 
fixed place, aqd of course she will have had fewer of them. 
So that if the passengers were Christians, and have endea- 
vored to keep the Sabbath, they will not and cannot have 
corresponded with any Christian nation whatever in the 
times of their observance of it. I suppose my readers 
will believe these facts on my testimony; but they will 
have a far more vivid idea of the truth in this case, if they 
will ask some sea capt^n, who has sailed round or half 
round the globe, if it is not so,, and converse with him on 
some of the interesting questions i^nd difficulties which 
arise from this peculiarity in the nature of the computation 
of time. 

But beside this difficulty arising from the variation in 
the time at different longitudes, there are also other causes 



SW TOimo CHRISTIAN. [CSl. §. 

No itilkaet for months. Sabbaths in Greenland. Change to the first day. 

which wilt produce greater difficulty still in the way tyf marh- 
iag out a preeide motnent at which the bouadnry betweetf 
sacred anrd common time is to be marked. As we go nortfc 
or ilouth from the equator, the lengths of the days increase 
in the summer season, until at last, as I have already 
intimated, in a certain latitude the sun ceases altogether 
te set for a period equal to many weeks of our reckoning. 
Now what will a man who supposes that our Maker meant 
' to comfTiand all maokind to keep the Sabbath exactly from^ 
sn/Mti to sunset y or from midnigkt to midnight — 'what will 
such a man say to a Christian in Greenland, where the sun 
does hot set for months together? . 

Is the moral law limited to latitude in ifs application, or 
did the great Framer of it not know, or did he forget that 
the motions of the sun which he himself ordained, would 
gi\^e to some of the people to whom the command was 
addressed, no sunset or midnight for months at a time? 
No; it is absurd to press a^vritten command to any greater 
strictness, in regard to the form aiid nvanner of its ob- 
servance, than the letter expresses. God says to us 
simply, "Keep holy one day in seven." We may reckon 
that day in any of the common methods of computing time. 
If it was customary in- old times to reckon the day from^ 
sundown to sundown, the servants of God would probably 
reckon their Sabbaths so too. If it is customary now to 
reckon from midnight to midnight, we may reckon, our 
Sabbath so. We must keep the command in jis spirU, but 
we need not pfess the form any farther than the letter of 
the command itself presses it. 

The same principles apply to the change from the 
seventh day to the first. That is not an' alteration of the 
command, hut only of practice under the command, in « 
point which the letter of the law does not (tx. Christians- 
labor six days and i:est the seventh now. By our artificial 
nomenclature we. call it the first; but that does not altter 
the real nature of the command, which is simply, that after 
eeery six days af labor there shall be regtdarly one of f^sH 



Ch. 9,y THE SABBATH. ^5d 

No change in the command. , Th« creation. 

This requirement has never been changed or touched; it 
stands among the ten commands^ unaltered and unaltera- 
ble, like all the rest. The pradict, in a point not fixed by 
the phraseology of the command, is indeed altered; but 
that no more affects obedience to the law than a change 
from parchment to paper, in the drawing up of a legal 
instrument, would violate a law which did not prescribe 
the material. Who would think of saying in such a case, 
•*The law has been altered; — when the statute Was enact- 
ed, the universal practice was to write upon parchment, 
and now men universally use paper; — we can find no 
authority for the change, and consequently the law is 
broken ? ". The law would not be broken unless it une- 
quivocally mentioned parchment in contra-distinction from 
all other materials. The day then in present use is to be 
continued as the holy time until it is changed by proper 
authority, and the change made known in a proper man- 
ner. But that authority and that manner need not be by 
any means so formal as was the original command, because 
it does not alter that command at all ; it only alters prac* 
tice arising under the command, and that in a point which 
the law itself does not specify. 

Some one may perhaps, however, say that the Sabbath 
was in commemoration of the rest of Jehovah afler the 
creation, and that this object is lost by the change. But a 
moment's reflection will remove this difficulty. Af\er seven 
weeks had passed, the Sabbath would come on the 49th 
day afler the creation. Now suppose it had then been 
changed, by being moved one day forward, so as to come 
on the 50th'; who can give any good reason why the 50ih 
day may not ^is well be celebrated in commemoration of the 
creation as the 49th? Besides, if the precise time of God's 
resting is to be reckoned at all, it is to be reckoned ac-" 
cording to the culmination of the sun at Eden, and the day 
there is many hours in advance of us here ; so that strict, 
precise accuracy, in regard to hours and minutes, is, in 
every view of. the case, entirely out of the question; and 

22 



954 Touiro ghrivfian. [Ch^ 9» 



Principle important. 



the fact that the command does not attempt to secure hi, 
H^vee evidence that it was intended for general dteiUaiwm 
aimong mankind. To a person standing still in one pdae^i 
and looking no farther than to his own hmited henson^ the 
word day seems definite enough; but when a voice froin 
Mount Sinai speaks to the whole world, eomiaaBding afi 
men, at sea and on land, in Arctic regions and under an 
equinoctial sua, under every raendian and at ev«rj para^ 
lei, to rememher one day in seven and keep it holy, t^ere 
must be great diversity in the form and moment- of obedi** 
ence. We cannot, looking over the whole field, find ft 
precise and universal limit. The eMnmand, if we consider 
it as. addressed, to the world, is entirely indefinite in regards 
to the precise period of the commencen^ent and close of 
sacred, time; but the gr^at principle of it is clear: — ^KJeep- 
one day in seven, accpnKtig' ia somB amnm^t modt of eam^ 
ptUation^ holy to the Lord. 

I should not, have spent so mueh^time in- endeavOTing to- 
prove that minute accuMiey in* regiffd td^e Ibrm and man- 
ner o£ obeying this eommand is unattainable, were it not 
that ihm- discussion' involves* a pritHipk which applies to 
many other cases; so that if you are induced to. see its rea- 
ao^aUenesa and to admit its force fully and cordially in this 
case, you willb» safved from^.a great deahof useless pei^ 
p]exk[^ abouti ike^ miniltisB of form in a great many other 
ceases, fi^emembnr then this- principl^^ that commands «re 
totbe obeyed u^tkeir spri^, except Where the precise form 
ia.o, maUey^ofpasUkje and diatUkit specificn^tum. 

I have 000 or two praetical r^emarks< to make in r^r^ 
mM>e to this- part of my subject', s 

I, In respect, to those points of duty on which the Scrip** 
turesigive no-direct instructions, you will do well to csoip- 
form to the custonns of Christians around- you. . If you . liven 
m a oommunity where the Sabbath isf generally, (tommencedi 
OA Saturday evening, begin yours at that time: conform nolr 
oi^y in this^ bMt JUTatt other unnnportant points; kneel; op' 



oil. S.] THB «A»BA1«. 3d& 

Non-essentiali. Liability to evasion. 

' ' ' ■ " '-■ II —^—■——— I , , f , I I I I I 

Btsad, ofr flit at prayers, asothmr peotxle do around you. I 
JoMfe known persons 90 ooQtroUBd hy the determination i^ 
have their own way in Iktie things, and to consider all other 
ways wrong, that they could not it/ oi tmhk while a bleaa* 
ing was asked, as is the common oustom in many placeB^ 
without being very much shocked at the imaginary irrever* 
ence. Some men will be pained if a mimster say we in the 
pulpit, and others will quarrel with hira if he says /; and a 
grave discussion is sometimes carried on, on such points as 
these, in religious journals. One Christian cannot endure 
a toritten prayer; another cannot bear an exUmpere one. 
A is troubled if there is an organ in the church, and B 
thinks that music at church is nothing without one. 
will almost leave, the meeting-house if he should see the 
mimster come in wearing a silk gown; and D would be 
equally shocked at seeing htm in a cowl. Now, all this is 
wrong. ' These points are not determined by any express 
command in the Bible, and consequently they are lefl to 
the varying taste and convenience of mankind. £very 
person may perhape have a slight preference, but this pre^ 
ference he ought at all times to be willing to give up, in 
consideration of the wishes and feeling of his Christian 
brother. He who intends to do good in this world, must 
go about among mankind with a spirit which will lead him 
to conform, easily and pleasantly, with the customs of men, 
except in those cases where the letter or the spirit of the 
Bible^ forbids. 

2. This discussion reminds m^ of one great and striking 
characteristic of many, if not all, of God's commands 
They are peculiarly liable to evasiori. This is one of their 
excellences, as a part of a system of moral discipline. The 
object of human laws is to preterU injury from crime — not to 
improve and perfect the character. The object of divine 
laws is to discipline moral beings, to train them up to moral 
strength, and make them sincere and faithful servants of 
their Master in heaven.. This gives rise to a great diffop- 
ence in the form of the commands themselves. How 



9^ roojfo camraTiAif. [Ch. 9 



Human and divin* laws. 



much palps ^do men take, when making laws, to cut off 
eveiy possible chance of escape, by specifying with minute 
accuracy all the details of transgression! Hence the 
enactments of men are . very voiuminious. . The laws of a 
state on the subject of thefl-will fill a volume;. but GrOD 
disposes of the whole subject in four words, ''.Thou shalt 
HOT STBAL.'' The HUMAN lawgiver studies to cut off, by. 
the fulness and legal accuracy of bis language, every 
opportunity for quibbling or evasion ; but if any jnan wishes 
to escape from the laws of Crod by quibbling and evasion^ 
he may-^he door is wide open: and that is what gives 
the' law of God its admirable adaptedness to be the means 
of moral discipline to the human soul. 

The reason why it produces this effect is tl\is: The pnore 
strict and minute are the details of a ^ommsi^nd^ the less 
room is there for the exercise of ^delity and voluntary 
obedience. God might, in regard to the Sabbath for exam- 
ple, have been so precise and specific in his command,, 
that the whole world might know exactly? the moment 
when sacred time is to begin, jtnd exactly the manner in 
which its hours are to be spent; nay more, he might have 
so interrupted the course of nature, that all the business 
of life must have ceased, and men have been compelled to 
test on the Sabbath. But this would have been no moral 
trial; tt would have afforded no prior al discipline. God 
does not accordingly adopt such a course. He expresseai 
his command in general and simple language. They Wto 
wk^h to obey, can easily ascertain what they ought to do; 
and they who do not, will easily find excuses. 

There are some, and perhaps many, who make the 
question whether Saturday or Sunday evening is to be 
kept, an excuse for keeping neither. But those who icish 
(o obey God* a commands will keep one or the other faith- 
fully ; and one great design in having uncertainty in such 
cases as this is unquestionably to try us — ^to see who does 
and who does not wish on vain pretexts to evade God's 
Goomianda^: 






• Ch. 9^.] TH& SABBATH. 257 

^ m ■ ■■■■■■■ ■■ ^^^^^^^^^^^^ , , ■■ , ■ ■■ ■■■■■■ ^i^^m^^^^^^i^^k^^k^i^mmii^^^m^m^^^^ ■ .mm 

Spirit of the-law. James** way of reading the Bible. 

I procee^d to cooeider the tpirit and manner in which the 
Sabbath should be kejpi. 

The object of the Sabbath is to interpose an efTectual 
interruption to ail worldly business, and to promote aa 
highly as possible the improvement of the character. Do 
tlfen these two things: 1st, suspend all' worldly pursuits; 
and 2nd, spend the day in such a manner as will best pro* 
mote your spiritual impcovement. The first point is easy; 
I shall therefore pass it by, and direct my ^teotion imm^ 
diately to the last. 

'Hiere are wise and there are unwiee ways of keeping 
the Sabbath holy. James is a boy who has set his heart 
upon reading the Bible thro^h in as <short a time as possi- 
ble, and he thinks there is no other way of spending the 
Sabbath so properly as by carrying forward this good work 
with all his strength. He carries bis Bible to bed with 
him at night, and places it ynder )iis pillow, that he may 
read as soon as it is light in the morning. You may see 
him at breakfast^time counting up the chapters he has read, 
and calculating how long it will take him at that rate to get 
through a certain book. He can hardly wait for family 
prayers to be over, he is so eager to drive forward his 
work. He reads a great many chapters in the course of 
the day, and lies down at night congratulating himself on 
his progress; but alas! he has made no progress in piety. 
His perusal of sundry chapters ia4he Bible, as if he were 
reading for a wager, istiot progress in piety. He has ppent 
the day without exanuning his heart. He has not made 
f esolutions for future duty. He has not learned to be a 
;nore dutiful son, a more affectionate brother, or a more 
Jbumhle and devoted Christian^ No, he has read twenty 
chapier$ in the Bible! He has been making no new dis- 
^soveries of his secret sins, has obtained no new views of 
fais duty, has not drawn nigh to Grod and found peace and 
happiness in communion with him ; no, he has had no time^ 
for that ; he has been busy all day running over his twenty 
chapters in the Bible! It were well if James was avfare 

22* 



^tt^m^nmm^ 



m^mmm 



ft5S TOUNQ CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 9. 

A boy study iiiK the Bible. The boftt. 

that his real motive for this work is the pride of thinking 
and perhaps of telling others how much he has read, and 
that the cultivation of such a spirit is a had way of spending 
God's holy day. I would not say a word against reading 
the Bible, but it must be read in a proper manner. Many 
a boy has wasted every' hour of the Sabbath, and yet done 
nothing but read the Bible from morning to night. 

Many young persons think there is no way to bj-eak the 
Sabbath but by work or play. But the Spirit and* meaning 
of the fourth command undoubtedly is, that the Sabbath 
should be devoted to the real improvemeni of the Christian 
character. And if this is neglected, the Sabbath is hroken, 
no matter in what way its hours may have been spent. 

Yes, if this is neglected, the command is disobeyed; no 
formal attention to any external duty whatever can be made 
a substitute. A boy sits at his window studying his Sab- 
bath-School lesson; his object, I will suppose, ts not to 
learn his duty and to do it, but he wishes to surpass some 
companion at the recitation, or perhaps is actuated by a 
mere selfish desire to obtain a reward which has been per- 
haps very improperly offered him; be l6oks out of the win- 
dow across the valley which extends before his father's 
house, and sees upon a beautiful pond there^ a boat full of 
his playmates, pushing off from the shore on an excursion 
of pleasure. 

♦* Ah! "says he, ** those wicked boys, they are breaking 
the Sabbath! '^ • 

Yes, they are breaking the Sabbath; and so is he; both 
are perverting it. God looks at the heart, and requires 
that all should spend the Sabbath in honest efforts to 
discover, and confess, and abandon sin, and to become 
pure and holy and devoted to him. Now, both the boys 
in the boat and the one at the window are neglecting this. 
They are doing it for the pleasure of a sail; he is doing it 
> for the honor of superiority in his class. The day is mis- 
pent and perverted in both cases. 

Mrs. X. is the mother of several children, and she is ex- 



Ch. 9.] THB SABBATH. S59 



The careful mother. 



ceedinglj desirous that all her family should faithfully keep 
the Sabbath. She cannot bear the thought that it i^ould 
be profaned by any under her ifoof. Before sacred time 
comes, therefore, the whole house is put in order, all 
worldly business is brought to a close, so that the minds 
of all her family may be free. All this is excellent; but 
how does she actually spend the sacred hours? Why, her 
whole attention is devoted to enforcing the mere external 
duties of religion in her household. She is careful to ban- 
ish every secular book; she requires one child to sit still 
and read the Bible; another she confines to a prayer-book, 
or to some good book of religious exhortation; a third is 
kept studying a Sabbath-school lesson. AH however must 
be still;' it ns her great desire and aim to banish every thing 
like worldly work or play. There must be no light con* 
versation, and even the little infanty creeping upon the 
floor, has to relinquish' her playthings and spend the day in 
inaction. 

Now, when night comes, this mother thinks that she has 
kept the Sabbath, and induced her household to keep it 
too ; and perhaps she has. But all that I have described 
does- not prove that she has kept it according to God's 
original design. God did not institute the Sabbath in order 
merely that children might be kept from play, or that they 
might be forced to read, mechanically, good books; but 
that they might improve their ^ih^rctcters, and make "real 
preparation for anf>ther world. Now, unless, a moth^ 
adopts such pethods as shcdl most effectually promote 
the improvement. o£ her children, and unless she succeeds in 
interesting them in it, she does not attain the object in 
view. If your children are spending the day in a cold and 
heartless manner, complying with your rules from mere 
fear of your authority, they are not, properly speaking, 
keeping the Sabbath. The end in view, improvement of 
character, is not attained. - ■ 

But many a mother who reads this will ask, *^ How can 
I interest my children in such efforts to improve? ** You 



S$0 TOUNO CHEISTIAN. {Ch. 9 



Way tp intefMt cbildren. 



Will find a baa4red weyf , if yoa set your hearts upoa k. 
The only dtoger m» that you will not fuUy feel the neco»- 
mij of it. You are salM/fed, or ihere 10 greait danger th«|t 
you will be saAiafied, viibh the mere foriaality of exUrtuU 
decorum on the Lord'e-day, forgettiiig ^hat the empire in 
which your infloenee ought to <<eiga oa that day, w ike eHi^ 
pire of ffie heoHf not the external condiicl. ¥oa ought 
'therefore to aim at adopting eack means of tLddressing and 
influencing your children «e shall seeia best calculated to 
Teach and control their hearto. If you really wish to do 
this, and really try fee 4» it^ you will aooa learn. 

Imagine aodkaaoene as this: A mother, with several 
children under eight or 4en years df age, collects them in 
her chamber on a pleiaaant Sabbath a&c^noon in summer, 
and with a ckeerBil d^aotonapce and pleasant tone of voice, 
wlien all are seated, addresses them as follows: 

'* Well, efaildrBn, you Idrow what the Sabbath is for; it 
is to give us time and opportunity to improve. I suppose 
you want to improve. . The way to do it is to find out our 
faults, and then eonrect then. Are you willing now to try 
to £nd out ycmr faults ? ^' 

** Yes, OMljher.'* 

*' I have Iftiongfat of this plan. How should you like it? 
I will pause a oMnate or tWo, and we will all try to think of 
faults that we have seen among ourselves within a week. 
You may try, and { will toy. Afler a fiodnute or two, I wBl 
ask yeu all around. 'Should you Kke to do this? *' 

A mother vho raaoatges her chiklren in a psoper mamMr 
with habitual kindness and afeetion, will receive a cordial 
assent to such a proposal as this. After a few minutes she 
puts the question round: 

* * Mary, haVe you thought of any thing ? " 

^*Ye8, mother; I think that John and i quarrel some- 
times." 

'* Do you think of any case which happened last week?'' 

Mary hesitates, and John looks a little confused. 

** You may do just as you please," says the mother, 



Ch. 9.] THE SABBATH. 261 



Conrersation with the children. 



*' about mentioning it. It is unpleasant to think and talk 
about oiir faults, and of course it will be unpleasant '^r yoa 
to describe particularly any thing wrong which yoQ have 
done. But then if you do honestly and frankly confess it, 
I think you will be much less likely to do wrong in the 
same way next week.** 

' Mary then tells, in her own simple style, the story of 
some childish contention, not with the shrinking and hesi- 
tation of extorted acknowledgment, but openly and frank- 
ly, and in such a manner as greatly to diminish the danger 
of falling into such a sin again. When she has said all, 
which however may not perhaps have been more than twd 
or three sentences, the mother continues, addressing her- 
self to the others: 

* ** Well, children, you have heard what Mary has said. 
Have you observed any thing in her expressions which 
tended to show that she has wished to throw the blame off 
upon John?" ' 

They will probably sayi Yes. A child would not be a 
rery impartial historian in such a case, and other children 
would be very shrewd to detect the indications of bias. 

"Now I do not know," says tTie mother, " but that John 
was most to blame. Mary told the story, on the whole, in 
a very proper manner. I only asked the question, to re- 
mind you all that our object is now to learn our own faults, 
and to correct them; and you must all try to see as much 
as p'bssible where you yourselves have been to blame:" 

She then turns to some passages of the Bible on thd 
subject of forbearance and harmony between brothers and 
sisters, and reads them- — riot for the purpose of loading her 
children with invective and reproach, or telling them, with 
a countenance of assumed solemnity, how wicked they 
have been — but of kindly and mildly pointing out what 
God's commands are, and the necessity as well as the hap- 
piness of obeying them. 

If this is done in a proper manner, and if the mother 
remembers that she must watch the feelings of her little 



MS TOUKO CHIUSTJAIf. [Cll. 9. 

■ II 11 ^— ,^ 

Ingenuity and efTort neeatMrjr. The bmrt to be reached. 

eharge, and vp^\y her means of inflaence dexterously and 
ikilfally, she will succeed, certainly afler one or two trials, 
in producing a diidike of contention, a desire to avoid it, 
fttd a resoluiioB to sin, in this respect, no more. She may 
in the saine ananner go through the circle — fauk after fault 
will be brought up, its nature and its consequences kindly 
pointed out, iind those commands of God, which bear upon 
the subject, plamly brought to view. The interview may 
be closed by a short and simple prayer — ^that God will for- 
give, for ChriM's sake, the sins they have confessed, and 
give then all streogth to resist temptation during the 
coming week* Sqch an exercise, if managed as every 
kind and faithful mother can manage tt, will succeed,; the 
children will go away from it with consciences relieved in 
9ome degree from the burden of sin — ^they will look back 
upon it as a serious, but a happy interview, and will feel — 
though a wise mother will not be over anxious to draw from 
them an expression of that feeling — that it is a happy thing 
to repent of sin, and to return to duty. I asked my readers 
|U the outset, to imagine this scene^ but, in fact, it is not 
an imaginary scene*— in substance, it is reality. 

This, now, is a proper keeping of the Sabbath. Such 
im influepce comes to the heart, and it accomplishes directly 
and innnediately th^ very object that God had in view in 
the appointment of the Sabbath. I only offer it, however, 
as a specimen ; if repeated in exactly this, form every Sab^ 
bath, the sameness might become tiresome. The idea 
which I mean to convey is, that the heart must be reached, 
find the process of improvement must be advancing, or the 
object of the Sabbath is lost. Let my young readers re-> 
Oiember this. Unless you are improving and elevating 
your characters, discovering your faults and correcting 
them, learning God's will as it applies to your own con^ 
duct, and confessing and forsaking your sins — unless yon 
are doing such work as this, you cannot be keeping the 
Sabbath day. The simple question then is, ar^ you willing 



Ck. 9.] THB 8AB8ATS. 209 

Vaiiety. Remarkt of a GleifjFmaa.- 

to devole honesUy and cont cten^ti*^ Mt^ dajf in Mven (d feinl 
ofier sincere e^'brte <b mdke progre$9 ti> jnefjf? 

Jf yo» sre willing, and every Chrtetian' cetiakily anH be^ 
yioix are not to go forward blindly, relMliag aad' reflcictkig. 
without system or plan, on the vain supposition that H ihtr 
nifid is actually employed on religions subjects, aU is gjoing 
on welL You must take inia ctireful ooafideratioa tbe 
nature ofthe human mind» and the meaiii^ wbk^, aee'ordibg, 
to the luw» which the Creator has given it,, are most cialeu^ 
latedi to havA an influence over kt Thts^^riacit^le wiU re;*' 
(luire^attention: to several poiaUsi 

1. Variety in the exeraisei of tiit Sahha^. When I WaiS 
thinking of thisr topic,, and considering hew I shcMuld present 
it here, I one da^ accidenlaHy feH into- convei^ation with 
a clergyman who had had far more exfuerience as a teacher 
than I have enjoyedc T requested himi td reduce to writing 
the views he expressed, that S might insert them her^ 
He soon after sent ra«¥ ther foHowin^:- 

" Many (Dhristians whtv feel dlseply- the inportailce of 
spending the Sabbath m d- prepet maimer, find, notwith* 
standing all their endeavors, thai the sacred hours do at 
times pass heavily along. Now* the Sabbath should be not 
only the Christian's meat profitable, but moet happy day. 
E once knew a> young Christian who r^iolved that he would 
pass the whole day in prayer; but very soon he became- 
ejihaueted and weary. He however pers^vereii^ through 
the whole day, with the exception of a few necesseiry intlsr- 
raptions;- and when night came, he felt adeadness and ex- 
haustion of feeling whioh he unhappily mistook for spirit* ' 
ual' desertion. No human mind can, in oi^lnary casesy. 
sustain such long and intense application to dne subj^ot^ 
thepe must be variety, to give cheerfbloeiss and tb invigo^ 
rat6. Oflen a conscientious young Christian takes hiS> 
Bible, resolving' to spend the Sabbath in reviding^ the Bibles 
8tnd in prayer » He perhaps passes cat houir or t¥fa'm thiS' 
Way very pletBantly, and dien he feels tired; he tries, to 
rouse his- feelings, and bitterly condemns luiliself for uImk 



3S4 TOUIVO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 9. 

Neeewity of variety. Sel igious books. 

Yoidable languor. I have known persons' to be greatlj 
disquieted and distrustful of their Christian character^ be- 
cause they could not pass the whole of the Sabbath pleas- 
antly in uninterrupted reading of the Bible or in continual 
prayer. 

''There is a wide difference between spiritual desertion 
and mental exhaustion. To avoid this mental exhaustion, 
and to keep the spirits animated and cheerful, much variety 
of pursuit is necessary. Who would be willing to go to 
church, and have the whole time occupied with a sermon, 
or a prayer, or a hymn.^ How few are there who can, 
with pleasure and profit, listen to a sermon of one hour's 
length! There must be a diversity of exercises to make 
public worship agreeable, and there must be diversity to 
give pleasure to private devotion. 

''Let the sacred hours of the Sabbath, then, be appro- 
priated to a variety of religious employments. Suppose 
the case of a young married man. He wishes to pass the 
Sabbath in a way acceptable to God, and to enjoy his reli- 
gious dutied. He rises in good season in the morning, 
and commences the day with a short, but fervent prayer, 
for the divine blessing ; he then passes the time till break- 
fast, in reading the Bible. Perhaps, for the sake of vari- 
ety, he spends a part of the time in reading the devotional 
portions, and a part in perusing its interesting history. At 
the breakfast-table, with cheerful countenance and heart, 
he leads the conversation to religious subjects ; after break- 
fast he passes an hour in reading some valuable religious 
book. Books are so numerous now, that the best practical 
works upon Christianity are easily obtained by all. Bun- 
yan's Pilgrim's Progress, Baxter's Saint's Rest, Law's 
Serious Call, Doddridge's Rise and Progress, Imitation of 
Christ, &c. are works of standar^l merit, and works wi^h 
which all Christians may, and should be acquainted. It 
is very desirable that the Christian should have, on hand 
some such book, which he will read in course, taking a 
moderate portion every day, until he has finished it. 



Ch. 9.3 THS SABBATB. 



Way of spending the Sabbath. . Various dntiet. 



'* At length the time arrives for the asi^embling of hn 
family for morning prayers. He carries his principle, for 
securing an interesting variety, here. Sometimes he will 
read religious intellig^nee from a periodical; sometimes 
he reads an interesting narrative from a tract; always 
taking care to select something which will excite attention. 
After finishing this, he opens the Bible and selects some 
appK>priate passage, and reads it, with occasional remarks, 
intended to deepen the impressioii upon his own miad, and 
upon the minds of those in the. circle arouinl him. H« 
then reads a hymn, and after singing a few verses, if the 
family are able to sing, bows at the family altar in prayer. 
The variety which he has thus introduced into the exercise 
has continued. to interest the feelings, and no occasion has 
been offered for lassitude or tedium. 

*' He now walks the^ room for exercise, and reviews the 
past week; he thinks of the opportunities to do good which 
he has peglected; examines his. feelings and his conduct, 
and in ejaculatory prayer, seeks fbtgiveness. When he 
enters the place of public worship his mind is ready for 
active' service there — ^he unites with his pastor in prayer. 
When a hymn is read, he attends to the sentiment, and 
makes melody in heart to God when singing his praises. 
He listens attentively to the sermon, feeling that the re- 
sponsibility of being interested in it comes upon him, and 
he prays that God will bless it to his own soul, and to the 
conversion of others^ 

''Perhaps, in the interval between forenoon and after- 
noon service, he has a class in the Sabbath school, or is 
himself a member of the Bible class: these duties he per- 
forms with a sincere desire to do good. . After the close 
of the afternoon services he retires for secret prayer. He 
appropriates a proper period to this duty, and presents hn 
own private and personal wants, and the spiritual interests 
of otherSj in minute detail to God; — he looks forward, too^ 
to the duties of the week ; he brings before his mind th« 
temptations to which he will be exposed, the opportuniticji 

23 



966 / YOmWI CHRLSTtAN. [Ch. 9. 

W«sr of oloaing the Sabbatlw Byttem In religious extfrciMB. 

Ibr exerting a Christian infltten^e, which he possesses, and 
ftirina his plans of Christian usefulness for the week; he 
thmks of dome good object which he will try to advance, 
of some individual whom he will try to lead to the Savior. 
He ibrms his resolutions, and pertiaps writes them down, 
that he may refer to them again the next Sabbath, in the 
review of the weeic. At the appointed hour he assembles 
his family for evening prayers. A brief reference to the 
religions exercises of the day, or some interesting narra- 
tive, followed by the Bible, singing and priayer, again give 
variety and animation to the exercise; and when all the 
Unties of the day are over, as he is retiring to rest, he 
passes the few moments which remain before slumber has 
wrapt his senses in fbrgetfblness, in reviewing the duties 
of the day. The Sabbath has been profitably and happily 
spent. It tias been to' him a rich season of improvement 
and of enjoyment. He has made a Sabbath day's journey 
toward heaven; he has obtained strength to meet the 
allurements and temptations of life. During the week he 
looks back upon the SJibbath with pleasure, and when the 
Kgbt of another holy morning dawns upon him, he can 
sincerely say, ' 

. " Wdcomey delightful morn, 
" ITloudfey of sacred rest ; 
'Miftot^ tby kind return*— 
*^ Latdf make these momentB blest." 

** In this way the Sabbath is a delight. It is a day of 
.rafr'Oshment, and the spirit of man longs eeigerly for its 
approach^ I have introduced the above example simply 
as an illustration of .what I mean by saying that there 
i^uld be variety in the exercises of the Sabbath. Proba- 
bly no one who reads these pages will find it expedient 
tn adopt precisely the same course. But all may proceed 
ugoH the same principle, and adapt their plans to their 
situation. 

2.. " System in the exercises of the Sabbaik. Much time, 
is often lost upon the Sabbath for want of a reguhr 



Waste of time prevented* Rest on the Sabbatb. 

plan. If a person reads half an hour in the Bible, and 
then stops to think what he shall take up next, his mind is 
perplexed. He says, * Shall I now retire for secret prayer, 
or shall I read a tract^ or shall I take up Baxter's. Saints' 
Rest? Several moments are lost in deciding. Perhaps 
he takes Baxter; but while reading, he stops to consider 
whether it would not have been better to have taken some- 
thing else; and then his mind is diverted from his book by 
thinking what he shall next read; thus mut^h time is lost, 
and the mind is perplexed. It is, therefore, wisdom to 
have a plan previously formed for the whole day. With a 
little reflection a plan may easily be formed, appropriating 
systematically the time of the Sabb^h to the several duties 
which ought to be performed. Many persons . constantly 
do this. In all cases there will be unavoidable interrup- 
tions. But, we may derive much assistance from rules, 
without making oiirselve^ slaves to them. If you have 
domestic duties Which must be performed upon the Sab- 
bath, have them performed, if possible, by a given hour, 
that they may not intrude upon all the hours of the sacred 
day. If you ,are constantly exposed to interruptions, if 
there is no time of the day which you can call your own, 
then let your plans be formed in accordance >vith this 
peculiarity in your situation. Three things all may guard 
against — indolence, a worldly spirit, and too long applica- 
tion of the mind to one subject. ' There are no lawful 
situations in life, in which we may not pass the day witli 
improvement to ourselves and acceptably to God." 

3. Rest on tlie Sabbath. We ought to remember that 
Grod has ordained the Sabbath as a day of rest from labor, 
as well as a day of spiritual improvement, and it ought to 
be made such. 

It is undoubtedly wrong to apply our minds so uninter- 
ruptedly to religiouj? duties during the day, as to feel worn 
out and exhausted at night. There are indeed some ex- 
ceptions; ministers and Sabbath-school teacliers must, in 
fact, often do a very hard day's work on the Sabbath; they 



▼^ 



t68 TOUIfO CBRISTIAK. ' [Ch. 9. 



Distinct duties to be perfMinetf. 



are laboring for the religous good of others, and must be 
often fatigued by their efforts. But Christians, generally, 
must not so fill up the hours with mental labor as to pre- 
vent the rest which God requires on his holy day. 

These three points, vorietyj ayatem, and rest, ought to be 
attended to in order to seeur^ the greatest possible moral 
progress on that day. A teacher of a school wouM be 
very unwise, were he to require his pupils to spend the 
whole of a day in actual study — much less >vould he keep 
them during all that time upon one single book or subject. 
Nor would he, on the >other hand, relinquish all system,, 
and do every hour whatever should happen to suggest it- 
self to his thoughts. He knows that his pupils will actu* 
ally advance more rapidly if he systematizes, and at the 
same time varies Iheir exercises, and allows intervals of 
rest and recreation, The Christian too, who watches the 
movements of his own mind — and every Christian ought 
to do this — will soon lear;i that he must adopt substantially 
the same plan, if he wishes to make rapid progress in 
jMCty. 

I will now proceed to 'mention, in, order to ^e specific, 
several duties which I think ought to be performed on the 
Sabbath; I adviise every one of my readers, immediately 
after perusing my account of these duties, to' set down and 
form a plan for himself, assigning to each one of them ^ an 
appropriate place, devoting an hour or half an hour to 
each, according to his age and his circumstances in other 
respects. This plan ought not, however, to occupy all the 
hours of the day; some should be left unappropriated, to 
allow opportunity for re^, and to perform such duties as 
may from time to time arise to view. Make your plan, 
and resolve to try it for^ one Sahbatk bnly. You can then 
consider whether to continue it, or to modify it, or to 
abandon it altogether. 

1. Self-examination. I do not mean by this^ the mere 
asking of yourself some general questions in regard fo 



Ch. 9.] THE S^BBAJH. 26^ 

Way to raafct) self examination interesting and useful. 

your heart, and the ^habitual feelings of it. I mean, a 
minute review of the various occurrences of the week^ to see 
what you have dope,, and what motives have actuated you. 
You can attend to this most successfully, by considering 
the subjeclf under several distinct heads. 
. (1.) Your ultimate object of pursuit. Think what has. 
chiefly ii;iterested and occupied you during the week, and 
what is the final, ultimate object you have in view in 
what you have been doing. Rpview all the labors that 
have b^en connected with that pursuit, whatever it may 
be, and find in what respects you have been pursuing your 
object with a wrong spirit. 

("i.) Duties^ to parents. Consider what has been your 
cbaduct toward your parents, if you are still connected 
With them. Have you had any difidt^ulty of any kind with 
them? Have theyv reproved you once during the week, or 
been dissatisfied with you in any respect ? Jf so, what was 
it for? Think over the whole occurrence, and see wherein 
you were to blame in it;, look at your habitual conduct 
toward your parents, or to those under whose care you are 
placed. Have you at any time disobeyed them, or neg- 
lected to obey them with alacrity? Have you had any 
dispute with them,, or been sullen or ill-humored on account 
of any of their measures? You mu^tlook also to the other 
side of the question, and consider what good you have 
done to your parents. Self-examination implies the inv^es- 
tigationof what is r^ght in t|ie character, as well as what 
is wrong. What good, then, have you done to your 
parents? In what aases did you comply with their wishes 
when you were tempted not to comply? When did you 
give them pleasure \>y your attention, or .by y^our faithfuj 
and ready obedience to their commands? You can spend 
lialf an hour most profitably, not in merely answering thes^ 
individud questions, but in a careful review of all your 
conduct toward yojur parents, going intO: minute detail. 

(3,) Companions. What has been your deportment 
toward your companions? How many have you made 

23* 



t70 YOUNG CHRISTlApr. [Ch. 9. 

Minuteness of aelf-examination. - v Prayer. 



happier during the past week ? Think of what good you 
have done, and of the way in which you did it. How 
many too have you made unhappy ? If you have had any 
contention, call to mind all the circumstances of it — the 
angry or reproachful, or ill-humored words which you 
have used, and the spirit of heart which you cherished. 
It will require a long time to review thoroughly all those 
events of a week which illustrate the spirit with which 
you have acted toward your companions. 

(4.) Fidelity in business. You have some employment 
in which you oqght to have been diligent and faithful dur- 
ing the week. Review minutely your conduct in this 
respect; begin with Monday morning and come down to 
Saturday night, and see, by a careful examination of the 
labors of the week, whether you have been ** diligent in 
business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord." 

(5.) Secret sins. This is a most important head of 
' self-examination. If you have committed secret sins, if 
you have indulged unholy thoughts and desires, if you 
have cherished malignant feelings towards others, if you 
have been tempted "to any improper gratification, if you 
have done in secret What you would blush to. find -exposed 
to public view, examine yoilrself and repent. Explore the 
whole ground thoroughly, that you may confess and for- 
sake auch sins. 

I might mention a number of similar points, but it is 
unnecessary, as my object is only to show that self-exam-c 
ination, to be eflTectuaV, must be mtnwfe, and must b^ 
brought to bear immediately and directly upon the actual 
conduct You will succeed much better, if you divide 
the ground in some such manner as above described. 

2. Prayer. This is the second duty whicix I shall men- 
tion, for which a place ought to be particularly assigned 
on the Sabbath. I have in several places in this book 
alluded to the subject of prayer, and I shall merely state 
here in wliat respects prayer on the Sabbath should be 
peculiar. More time should be allotted to the exercise. 



Ch. 9.] - THE SABBATH. 271 

Studying the Bible and convemation on the Sabbath. 

■ ■ ■ . I ■ ■ I ■ III 

uid it should also take a wider range. Consider your 
whole character, and look back upon the past, and for- 
ward to the future, so as to take a comprehensive view 
of your condition and prospects, and let your supplications 
be such as this extended survey will suggest. 

There is one thing however which I ought to say here, 
though I shall speak more distinctly of it in a subsequent 
chapter. It is thi^: Take a firm and an immovable stand 
in the duty of secret prayer ; let nothing tempt you to neg- 
lect, or postpone, or curtail it, or pass over the season 
of your communion with God in a hurried and formal 
manner. Neglect of the closet is the beginning of back- 
sliding, and the end of happiness and peace. 

3. Study of the Bible, In the chapter devoted expressly 
to this subject, I have mentioned a variety of methods by 
which the study of the Bible may be made more interest- 
ing ?ind profitable than it now ordinarily is. Every young. 
Christiati ought ^o allot a specific and regular time, every 
Sabbath day, to the systematic study of the Bible by some 
such methods as those. 

4. Conversation, The older and more intelligent mem-^ 
bers of a family may do much toward making th6 day pass 
pleasantly and profitably, by making some effort to prepare 
subjects for conversation. Suppose a family take such a 
course as this: — A daughter studying the Bible alone in 
her chamber, finds some difficult and yet interesting ques- 
tion arising from the passage she is investigating. ** I will 
ask about it at dinner," she says; **my brothers iand 
sisters will be interested in it and in father's answer; for 
perhaps he will be able to answer it." The mother is 
reading some Christian biography, and coming tp an inter- 
esting passage, she says to herself, **I will tell this story 
at dimier to-day, it will interest the children." The father 
inquires mentally, as the dinner hour approaches, "What 
shall we talk about to-day?" Perhaps he recollects some 
occurrence which has taken place during the week, which 
illustrates some religious truth, or is an example of reli- 



$7SJ YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Chi 9, 

__^ — . ■ ' ' ■ . . ■■ 

Couverantion on the Sabbath. Frtroloiw eoinveraation. 



gious duty. Thus each one comes to the table prepared 
to contribute something to the common stock of conver- 
sation. The dinner-hour, in such a case, will not pass 
heavily ; all will be interested and profited by the remarks 
which will be made on the various topics which will come 
up. If any family into which this book may come, will 
really try this experiment, they will find, in a very short 
time, that subjects for conversation will come up in far 
greater numbers, ^nd exciting much greater interest than 
they would at first have suppos'ipd^. There may be an 
agreement made at breakfast, that each" one of the family 
will endeavor to bring forward some fact or some question 
at dinner, and then the father may call upon all in turn. 

A great maijiy persons imagine that conversation is 
something that xnusjt be left -entirely to itself — ^that therq 
can be no preparation for it, and no arrangements made 
to secure interest and profijt from it. ^ But the truth is^ if 
there is any thiag which demands forethought and arrange- 
mextt, it is this very bwsinesa of conversation — especially 
religious conversation on the Sabbath. Without some 
such efforts as I have above described, the Christian 
family, when assembled at dinner or tea, must spend the 
time in silence or frivolous remarks, criticisms upon the 
preacher, or discussions on subjects which keep those 
who are coi;H9cientious constantly uneasy, because they 
doubt whethjer the subjects upon which they are speakipg 
lire suitable to the sacredness of the Lord's-day. 

Many persons have no idea of religious coijversationj 
excepting a forced and forma) exhortation from the master 
of the family, or from a Christian minister. They cannot 
understand how a whole family can be interested, from 
the aged grandparent down to the youngest chi)d, in a 
conversation ^exactly calculated to promote the objects of 
the Sabbath. But let such persons try the experiment I 
have mentioned above, and they wilj discover their mis- 
take. The ways by which a family may be interested by 
means of judicious and ingenious efibrts pn the part of a 



Ch. 9.] THE SABBATH. 273 

public worship. ResponsibilitMs of the bearers. 

parent or an older brother or sister, are very numerous. 
Sometimes a question may be proposed in regard to duty. 
A case may be imagined, or some real case which has 
actually occurred may be stated, and the question may be 
asked, what ought to be done in such a case? Or som^ 
question may be started for discussion, I do not mean for 
formal argument as in a parliamentary assembly, but for 
free interchange of opinion. 

5, Public Worship, It is perfectly astonishing what a 
tendency there is among mankind, and even among Chris- 
tians, to throw off the whole responsibility of public 
worship upon, the minister. The disposition is almost uni- 
versal. Come with me into this church and observe the 
congregation assembled. The minister reads a hymn, and 
while he is reading. it,how great a proportion of the hearers 
are entirely regardless of it^ contents! He rises to ofier a 
prayer, and if we could see the hearts of those present 
how many we should find who afe really making no 
effort at all to accompany him to the throne of grace! 
At last he names his text, and the eyes of almost all the 
assembly are turned toward him. As he looks over the 
congregation^ he sees an expression of interest upon the 
countenances of his hearers, and perhaps expects they 
are going^to listen to what he has to say. He begins 
the delivery of his message, endeavoring to explain to 
them the principles of duty, or to present the consideri^ 
tions which should .urge them to do it. Now let me ask, 
while this exercise is going forward, upon whom does the 
responsibility of it chiefly come? Is it the duty of a minis- 
ter to interest the people f or that of the people to be inter^ 
ested by their own efforts iii the message the minister 
brings.^ Are you, in receiving a message from above, to 
reject it, or listen to it carelessly and wkh an inattentive 
and listless air, because it is not presented in such a man- 
ner as to compel you, by the novelty of its illustrations or 
the beauty of its diction, to give it your regard ? 

A &rmer sends his boys into a field to spend the daj 



T 



974 TOUN€^ CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 9 



Tb« famer and bis boys. 



in work. He tells tbem .what to do for an hour, and 
says that aflerthot tiojie he shall send a man to explain 
to them how they are to proceed through the day. The 
boys go on wit.h their work, until at length the expected 
messenger appears. He begins to tell them how the land 
b to <be plo^g)iedj or. in what way the father wishes the 
seed to be put .into the ground. The boys listen to him a 
minute or two, until one, perceiving some oddity in the 
man's manner, bursts into a laugh; another sits down on 
a green bank under a tree, and gradually falls into a 
state of drowsy insensibility; a third looks away with 
vaeant countenance upon the hills and mountains around, 
utterly regardless of the message. The boys consequently 
do not learn what their father wishes them to do» and do. 
not do it; and wheu night comes, and they are called to 
account for the labors of the day, they try to justify thein^ 
selves with this preposterous excise: "Why," they say 
to their father, ''the man you sent us was not an inter- 
esting man, and so we did not pay any attention to his 
message. He had no talent at mcdcing his mode of ex- 
planation novel aad striking, and so we did not listen to 
it." ** I could not possibly fix my attention," says one, 
** He was a very sleepy talker," -says another; ** T could 
not keep ,awake." ** He was dressed so,'* says a third, 
"and he ^ad soch a tone that I could -not help laughing 
at him," _ . 

Such are the excuses which many persons give for not 
giving heed to religious instruction oh ihe Sabbath. They 
try to throw of all responsibility upon the minister; and if 
he does not awaken, by the power of bis genius, an interest 
in their minds, they consider themselves entirely excused 
from feeling any. They say in substance to. themselves^ 
** We know we have disobeyed Ood, and he is sending us 
messengers to communicate to us the offers of forgiveness 
for tbe past and direction for the fiittire; but unless b« 
sends us agreeable, and ingenious^ and eloquent men, we 
will pay no attention to any *of them. " 



Ch. 9.] IHE SABBATH. S7d 

Duty of the bearers to be Interested. * Sinister mitiivee at Ubnrcii; 



Who can stand in the judgment with Nsuch anexcuset 
And yet it is the actual filing of thousands. Bat, m^ 
mader, I do urg« jou to abandon altogether this plan of 
Growing off u[k>n the mini8t<er, whom Providence has sent 
t&you, the responsibility of the interest you take in public 
instruction. It'is^ duty to deliver his message {^ainl^ 
and intelligibly, but it is your duty, most unqvestionably, 
to be interested in it. Go to meeting, feeling that you have 
something- to do there. Tou must be interested in whali 
you hear, if it is a plain <)xhibition of religious truth; and 
you must apply it to your own conscience and heart by real 
active effort, or yoa must incur the guilt of rejecting the 
message' from heaven. The less interesting the preacher 
then is, the more active and the more arduous the duty of 
his hearers. They should look him steadily in the fiice-, 
and listen in silence and in deep attention to what he has 
to say ; and feel at all time?, that whild it is the minister's 
duty to be faithful in delivering his message, it is their 
most imperious duty tb t€^e heed hcht they hear.. 

There are a great many persons who are very constant 
in their attendance upon public worship, and who think 
their motive is respect, for i^ligion, and a desire to obey 
Grod's commands ;' when in fact they are controlled by other 
motives altogether. ' T do not mean by this that they attend 
public worship, and sustain by their influence the ordinan- 
ces of religion, through a distinct and deliberate design of 
merely promoting, in some way, their own WoHdly interest 
by it. Actual, intention]^ hypocrisy, is a* means which 
few men will knowingly adopt to accomplish their purposes. 
It is of so mean and base a quality, that even the honor^ 
able principles of this world are usually sufficient to pre- 
serve the breasts of men from its pollution. It is degrading 
and humiliating to admit it, knowingly and voluntarily, as 
a principle of action. ' The great danger is from a hypoc- 
risy, or something nearly allied to it, which comes in se- 
crecy or disguise, tt is not alwnys an easy thing for us to 
d^scide by what motives we are governed in the actions 



V 



ft76 YO0NO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 9^ 

Wfty Co detect theia. Sincere and hemrtlese worship. 

which we perform. We are often swayed by inducements, 
of which, without rigid and impartial scrutiny, we are en* 
tirely unconscious; for there maybe one motive of fair and 
honorable appearance, which stands out tathe view of the^ 
individual as the director of his actions; ,and there may be 
another of far different character, which' in reality guides 
him, but which is coiled up like a main-spring, in a secret 
place, and thus eludes his observation. The Bible, when 
it teaches us that the heart is deceitful above all things, 
tells us nothing which an unbiassed observation of human 
nature will not every where confirm. 

Now, if some sinister motive is for a time actuating a 
Christian in his religious course, he can very easily detect 
it by the manner in which the public duties of the Sabbath 
are performed. A man who is secretly influenced by some 
worldly consideration in what he does,, may be attentive 
and faithful in all the open and public services &€ religion. 
If we are thus influenced, however, as it is external apr 
pearance only which can bring us worldly advantage, we 
shall go no farther than to the out>vard s^>pearance. We 
may rise with God's people in his. house of prayer, and as- 
sume the posture of reverential supplication; but if appear- 
ances are all which we regard, we shall be satisfied with 
merely assuming tfU poatvre. We may join with our lips 
in the song of praise; and if to be seen of men is our 
object, the service of the lip is all that. is necessary for its 
accomplishment, and that will be all to which we shall ain^. 
And we may listen with apparent attention to the message 
which the preacher delivers, but the appearance of attention 
will be all, if our object is such that this appearance will 
attain it. 

On the other, hand, if an honest intention of worshipping 
God be the motive which calls a man to the weekly assem- 
bly, it will carry him farther than to a compliance with the 
external form. When, in the season of prayer, recogniz- 
iing the presence of the great God of heaven and earth, he 
rises to assume the attitude of respectful reverence^ his 



Ch. 9.] THE SABl^ATH. 271 

Our religioas duties cannot be thrown off upon our minister. 

heart will /tie/ the reverence which his action implies. His 
thoughts, instead of wandering to the ends of the earth, 
will ascend ^in devout aspirations to heaven. Contrition 
for the offences" which be has committed against that Being 
who has been kind to him as a father — resolutions to coa- 
form his conduct and character more completely to the di- 
vine will — ^longings for that assistance from above, without 
which, past experience and the word of God inform him 
that his efforts will be strength spent for naught — and 
ardent supplications for blessings upon his fellow men, 
dictated by a benevolence which comprises in its view the 
whole human family, and which looks forward in its good 
will to men to the enjoyments of eternity, as well as to the 
comforts and conveniences of time — ^tbese will be the emo- 
tions which will have control in the heart of the man of 
sincerity, while the affections of the man of form will be 
groveling upon the farm, the money, or the merchandise. 

The song of praise too, from the one who really worships 
God, will not be merely music on the tongue, it will be an 
expression of warm feeling from the heart. The voice of 
adoration and praise will arise from a soul which adores and 
praises, and which, as it lifts up that voice, will be itself 
elevated by the emotions of gratitude and love ; while the 
offerer of an external worship will be lost in vacancy during 
the singing of God's praises, or only interested in the mere 
music of the song. 

And in the listening to the sermon, the concientious wor- 
shipper will give earnest heed to the things which relate to 
his everlasting peace. Knowing that he has, in multiplied 
instances, transgressed a law which God has established 
and enforced by dreadful sanctions, he is convinced that it 
becomes him to attend in earnest to the means of averting 
the consequences of his guilt. With this view, his mind 
is fixed in attention to the way of reconciliation with Grod» 
and to the duties which devolve upon him who cherishes 
hopes of immortality; and all this time he who is contented 

24 



278 YOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 9. 

. I. I ■ — — — • — 

A ppe a r a n c e of erri. An example. 



with (hUioard conformity, is lost in a mental, and perhaps 
^in a bodily slumber. 

Let me urge my readers then to be careful how they 
perform the duties of public worship. The responsibUitj 
0C being interested in them, and profited by them, comes 
upon you alone. You cannot throw it off upon your min- 
ister. Examine yourself with reference to the spirit and 
feelings with which these duties are performed. They 
afford you a very fine opportunity for close and faithful 
self-examination; for the sinister motives which, in a 
greater or less degree, undoubtedly exist in your hearts, 
will show themselves here. 

There is one thing more that I ought to present to the 
consideration of my readers before closing the chapter on 
this subject. It is this: 

In keeping the Sabbath, avoid all appearance of evil. I 
have endeavored in this discussion to accomplish two ob- 
jects. First, to convince my readers that the mere form 
and manner in which the Sabbath is kept, except so far as 
it is a matter of express command, is not material; and 
secondly y to convey to the^mind a distinct idea of what I 
understand to be the spirit of the command, and to persuade 
all my readers to aim at producing, by the best means 
within their reach, upon their own hearts and lives the 
effect which God had intended in the establishment of thei 
institution. From these views of the subject, were I to 
stop here, it might seem that if we take such a course as 
shall really secure our own religious improvement on the 
Sabbath, we may do it in any way; for example, that we 
may walk, or ride, or visit, provided that we so regulate 
and control our thoughts and conversation as to make the 
spiritual improvement which it is the object of the day to 
secure. But no. We must avoid the appearance of evU, 
We must not seem to be breaking or disregarding God's 
commands. 

For example. A Christian living on the sea-shore, aflei 
having spent the day in the various duties which have pre- 



Gh. 9.] THE SABBATH. 27^ 

■ ' — "■"" '""^ 

Tbe sammer evening. A walk. Walking, rfdinp, sailing. 

■^ii ■ - ■--■- ,- 

sented themselves to his attention, stands at the door of his 
house and looks out upon the glassy surface of the baj 
which stretches before him. It is a sunimer evening. 
The sun is just setting, throwing his bright beams over the 
water, and gilding every object upon which it ^hines. The 
Christian looks over this scene of beauty, and its expres- 
sion of calmness and peace is transferred to his own soul. 
He feeh the presence of God -in it all, and rejoipes in the 
power and goodness of the great Being who reigns in every 
scene of beauty or of grandeur whi<;h nature exhibits. 

With his heart filled with such thoughts, he walks down 
upon the beach to indulge in the contemplation of God's 
goodness to mankind and to him.' Now he is, it must be 
admitted, while doing this, accomplishing the object of the 
Sabbath by meditation on the character of God. He may 
say perhaps that his views of divine goodness and power 
are more distinct and vivid while he is walking out among 
the beauties of nature, if his heart is in a right state, than 
they wouljpl be if he were shut up in his study. Why theii 
may he not walk out at evening? 

And why may he not step into the little boat which floats 
in the cove, and unloosen its chain and push himself off 
from tlie shore, that while rocked by^ the gentle, dying 
swell of the sea, he may lose himself more completely in 
the absorbing feeling of God's presehce, and muse more 
uninterruptedly upon his Creator's power? Shall he go? 

' No; stop, Christian, stop. Before you spend your half- 
hour in a boat upon the w'ater, or even in your- evening 
walk, consider what will be the influence of the example 
you are going to set to others. Shall you appear, while 
you are doing this, to be remembering the Sabbath day to 
keep it holy ? Is it best, on the whole, that riding, walk- 
ing, and sailing should be among the occupations of holy 
time ? Will God be honored and his Sabbath kept if all 
spend the Sabbath evening as you are about to spend it? 

These questions must be answered on a principle which 
will apply to multitudes of other cases. Take a course 



S0O TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 10. 

Trial and diicipHne. The ■team-boat on trial. 

'—- — • ^ I ■ . — - 

which, were it universMy imUaUd^ would prootiote the great- 
eat good; otherwise you may be doing thai which, though 
■afe for .yourself, will be of incalculahle injury, through 
the influence of your ^ample,, ujKm others. 




TRIAL'*Aili DI^CII»LIJ^E. *' " *" 
** Stnuigert aiK^ilanoM on tl^ ^4>*'\ • 

. The Bible every where conveys the idea that this life is 
not our home, but a state of probation, that is, of trial and 
discipline, which is intended to prepare us for another. In 
order that all, even the youngest of my readers, may un- 
derstand what is meant by this, I shall illustrate it, by some 
familiar examples drawn from the actual business of life. 

When a large steam-boat is built with the intention of 
having lier employed upon the waters of a great river, she 
must be proved before put to service. Before trial, it is 
somewhat doubtful whether she will succeed. In th^ first 
place, it is not absolutely certain whether her machinery 
will work at all. There may be some flaw in the iron, or 
an imperfection in sojne part of the workmanship, which 
will prevent the motion of her wheels. Or if this is not the 
case, the ppwer of the machinery may not be suflicient to 
propel her through the water with such force as to over- 
come the current; or she may, when brought to encounter 
the rapids at some narrow passage in the stream, not be 
able to force her way against their resistance. 

The engineer therefore resolves to try her in all these 
respects, thi^t her security and her power may be properly 
proved before she is intrusted with her valuable cargo of 
human lives. He cautiously builds a flre under her boiler; 
he watches with eager interest the rising of the steam- 
gage, and scrutinizes ^very part of the machinery as it 



Gh. 10.] TRIAL AND DISCirLINE. ^1 

■ I ■ r ■ I i« ■ I I m 

BSbrla of the engineer. ImprovemenU. 

gradually comes under the control of the treiDeadou9 power 
which he is cautiously applying. With what interest does 
. he observe the first stroke of the ponderous piston!'— ^aaid 
when at length the fastenings o£ the boat are let go, and 
the motion is communicated to the wheels, and the mightjr 
mass slowly moves away from the wharf, how deep and 
eager an interest does he feel in all hep movements ajid m, 
every indication he can discover of lier future success! 

The engine, however, works imperfectly, as every one 
must on its first trial; and the dbject in this expenment is 
not to gratify idle euriosity by seeing thai she will move, 
but to discover and remedy every little imperfection, and 
to remove every obstacle which prevents more entire suc- 
cess. For this purpose you will see our engineer examiih* 
ing, most minutely and most attentively, ^very part of her 
complicated machipery. Tl^ft crowd on the wharf may bA 
simply gazing on her mi^estio progress as she moves off 
from the shore, but the engineer is within looking with 
faithful examination into all the minutias of the motion. 
He scrutinizes the action of every lever and the friction 
of every joint; here he oils a bearing, there he tightens a 
nut ; one part of the machinery has too my ch play, and he 
confines it — another too much friction, and he loosens it; 
now he stops the engine, now reverses her nu>tion, and 
again sends the boat forward in her course. He discovers, 
perhaps, some great improvement of which she is suscep- 
tible, and when he returns to the wharf and has extin^ 
guished her fire, he orders from the machiae-shop th« 
BMNsess^ry alteration. 

The next day he puts his boat io the trial again, and slui 
glides over the water more smoothly and swifUy thait 
before. The jar which he had noticed is gone, and ikm 
friction reduced ; the beams play more smoothly , and the 
alteration which he has made produces a more equabl« 
motion in the shaft, or gives greater effect to the strcdce of 
the paddles upon the water. 

When at length her motion is such as to satisfy \nat, 

24* 



TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 10. 



fiMl ffMolli. Her power. 



upon the smooth surface of the liver^ he turns her course, 
we will imagine, toward the rapids, to see how she will 
MMtain a greater trial. As he increases her steam, to give 
lier power to overcome the new force with which she has 
to contend, he watches, with eager interest, her boiler, 
inspects the gage and the safety-valves, a^d ,firom her 
movements under the increased pressure of her steam he 
receives suggestions for further improvements, or for pre- 
cautions which will insure greater safety. These he exe- 
cutes, and thus he perhaps goes on for many days, or even 
weeks, trying and examining, for the purpose of improve- 
ment, every working of that mighty power, to which he 
knows hundreds of Hves are soon to be entrusted. This 
now is probation — trial for the sake of improvement. And 
what are its results? Why, after this course has been 
thoroughly and faithfully pursued, this floating palace 
receives upon her broad deck, and in her carpeted and 
curtained cabins, her four or five hundred passengers, who 
pour in, in one long procession of happy groups, over the 
bridge of planks; — father and son — ^mother and children — 
young husband and wife — all with implicit confidence trust- 
ing themselves and their dearest interest to her power. 
See her as she sails away — ^how beautiful and yet ,how 
powerful are all her motions! That beam glides up and 
down gently and smoothly in its grooves, and yet gentle as 
it seems, hundreds of horses could not hold it still; there 
is no apparent violence, but every movement is made with 
almost irresistible power. How graceful is her form, and 
yet how mighty is the momentum with which she presses 
on her way. Loaded with life, and herself the very sym- 
bol of life and power, she seems something ethereal — _ 
unreal, which, ere we look again, will have vanished away. 
And though she has within her bosom a furnace glowing 
with furious fires, and a reservoir of death — the elements 
of most dreadful ruin and conflagration— of destruction 
the most complete, and v agony the most unutterable; and 
though her strength is equal to the united energy of two 



Ch. 10.] TRIAL AND DISCIFEmK. 283 

- < , i 

Bare and successful, action. Lire a time of trial. 



thousand men, she restrains it all. She was constructed 
by genius, and has been tried and improved by fklelitj and 
skill; and one man governs and controls her, stops her and 
sets her in motion-, turns her this way and that, as easily 
and certainly as the child guides the gentle lamb. She 
walks over the hundred and sixty miles of her route witl\^ 
out rest and without fatigue; and the passengers, who 
have slept in safety in their berths, with destruction by 
water without, and by fire^ within, defended only by a plank 
from the one, and by a sheet of copper^ from the other, 
land at the appointed time in safety. 

My reader, you have within you suceptibilities and 
powers of which you have little present conception, ener- . 
gies which are hereafter to operate in producing either 
fulness of enjoyment, or honrors of suffering of which you 
now but little conceive. You are tiow on irioL Grod 
wishes you to prepare yourself for safe and happy action. 
He wishes you to look within, to examine the complicated 
movements of your heart, to detect what is Wr.ong, to 
modify what needs change, and rectify every irregular 
motion. You go out to try your moral powers upon the 
stream of active life, and thjsn return to retirement, to im- 
prove what is right and remedy what is wrong. Renewed 
opportunities of moral practice are given you, that you may 
go on from strength to strength until every part of that 
Complicated moral machinery of which the human heart 
consists, will work as it ought to work, uid is prepared to 
accomplish the mighty purposes for which your pow^jrs are 
designed. You are on YnaZ — on probation now. You will 
enter upon active service in another world. 

In order however that tlie reader may understand fully 
the views to be presented in this chapter, I wish to |)oint 
out particularly the difference between the condition of 
the boat I have described^ when she was on trial, and 
when she was aflerward in actual service. While she was 
on trial she sailed this way and that, merely for the purpose 
of ascertaining her pow-ers and her deficiencies, in order 



S84 TOU^O CHRIfiTUIT. [Cb. 10. 



Trials of childhood. 



tiiftltlie farmer migbt be iacreq»ed, and the latter remedied. 
The engiaeer steered her to the rapids, we supposed; but 
il was not because he particularly wished to pass the 
rapids, but only to try the power of the boat upon thew. 
Perhaps with the same design be o%ht run along a 
eurved or indented 4wre, penetrating deep ipto creeks, 
or sweeping swiftly round projecting head^lands; and this, 
not because be wiohes to ^xamiqip 4hat shore, but only to 
see how his boat will obey hor h^Un. Thus he goes on 
placing her again §md again in situations of difficulty, for 
the purpose simply of proving her powers, and enabling 
him to perfect the operati(W of her machinery. Afterward, 
when she co«nes iinto aotual service^ when she has received 
her load, and is transporting it to its place of destination, 
the object ie eigytij^ly changed; servi&e, not improvement, 
is then the aim.. Her time of trial is ended. 

The Bible every where cpu^ders this world as one of 
trial and diacipHne, introductory to a^iether world of actual 
service. A child, as he comes j[brward into life, is sur- 
rounded with difficulties which might easily have been 
avoided if the Ruler over all had wished to avoid them. 
But he did nai. That child i^ on trial — moral trial; and 
just exactly as the helmsman of the steam*boat steered 
her to the vapids for the purpose of bringing her into diffi- 
culty, so does God arrange in sqch a manner the circum- 
stances of ehildhovod and youth as to bring the individual 
into various difficulties which will try his moral powers, 
and which, if the child does his duty, will be the mean9 
of improving them. He may learn contentment and sub- 
mission by the thousand disappointments which occur, 
patience and fortitude by his various sufiarings, and perse- 
verance by encountering the various obstacles ~ which 
oppose his pirogress. These difficulties, and aufieringa^ 
and obstacles might all have easily been avoided. God 
might have so formed the human mind* and so arrange 
the circumstances of li£b, that every thing should haT^ 
gone smoothly with us.' Qut he wiahes for these ^things a9 



Ch. 10.1 TRIAL AND DISCIPLINE. $85 

The child and the forbidden book. Goiiimand. Pain. 

iriah — trials for the sake of our improvement; an<l he has 
filled life with them, from the cradle to the grave. 

To obtcdn a vivid idea of this, let us look at this little 
child. She is just able to walk about the floor of her 
mother's parlor, and though her life is full of sources of 
happiness, it is full likewise of sources of disappointment 
and suflfering.. A moment since she was delighted with a 
plaything which her mother had given her, but now sh^ 
has laid it aside, and is advancing toward a valuable 
book which lies upon the chair. She is just reaching out 
her little arm to take it, when she^ is arrested by her 
mother's well known voice: 

"Mary! Mary! must not touch the book." 

A child as young as this will understand language though 
she cannot use it, and she will obey commands. She looks 
steadily at her mother a moment with an inquiring gbze, 
as if uncertain whether she heard aright. The command 
is repeated: 

" No, Mary must not touch the book." 

The child, I will suppose, has been taught to obey, but 
in such a case as this it is a hard duty. Her little vCyes 
fill with tears, which perhaps she makes an effort to drive 
away, and soon seeks amusement elsewhere. Now, if 
such a child has been managed right, she will be improved 
by such a trial. The principle of obedience and submis- 
sion will have been strengthened ; it will be easier for her 
to yield to parental command on the next occasion. 

But see, as^she totters along back to her mother, she 
trips over her little cricket and falls to the floor. The 
terror, and pain, though we should only smile • at it, are 
suflicient to overwhelm her entirely. Her mother gently 
raises her, tries to soothe her, and soon you can distinctly 
perceive that the child is struggling tb repress her emo- 
tions. Her ^obs &re gradually restrained^ the tears flow 
less freely, and soon the sunshine of a smile breaks over 
her face, and she jumps down again to play. This now has 



Totnre osftisriAN. [Ch. 10. 



Adiwntage of Irlal in cbiMliood. 



' teen a useful trial; pain and frigbt have once been con- 
quered, and they will have less power over her in future. 

But though there is a real and most important benefit 
to be derived from these trials of infancy, the child herself 
canaol understand it. No child can become prepared for 
the fijiure duties of \t£s without them, and yet no child,' 
of such an age, can understand why they are necessary. 
The mother might say to her, in attempting to ej^plain it, 
as follows: 

''Mary, I might save you from all -these difficulties and 
trojubl^s if I chose. I mighl put you in a room where 
every thing was cushioned so that you could not hurt your* 
self, and I might keep carefully out of your sight every 
article which you ought not to have. Thus yon might be 
saved from all yoar pains and disappointments. But I 
choose not to do this. I want you to become useful and 
happy hereafter, and so you must , leara submission, and 
patience, and fortitude now. So I leave the book in the 
chair, where you <;an see it, and tell you you must not 
touch it; and I leave you to fall a little now and then, fbr 
the pain only lasts a moment. But if you try to conquer 
your fears and bear the pain patiently, if will do you lasting 
good; your character will acquire firmness and vigor, and. 
you will thus be prepared for the duties of fiiture lif^.'' 

The child now would not understand all this, but it 
would be true, whether she should understand it or not, 
and the judicious mother, who knows what is the design of 
education and the manner in which children are to be 
trained up to future duty, will not be sorry to hav6 her 
children, repeatedly tried. These repeated trials are the 
very means of forming their characters, and were it possi- 
ble to avoid them entirely, instead of meeting and con- 
- quering them, the child, exposed* to such a course of treats 
ment, would be ruined. Sometimes parents seem to make 
efforts to avoid them, and in going into such a family you 
will find the shovel and tongs, perhaps, placed upon tha 
mantelpiece, so that the children cannot touch them, and 



Cb. 10.} TRIAL ASTD JMSOIPLIlfE. 287 

-III... ■ ■ I « I r , , m 

Putting playthings out of reftch. C«oT8r8Rtion with a mother. 

the mother will not dare to bring a plate of cake into the 
room lor fear that thej should ay for it. lastead-of ao 
cttstoroing them to trials of this kind^ aa.d teaching them 
obedience and submission^ she makes a vain effort to re« 
move all ocdauos for the exercise of selMenial^ If» per» 
chance, these remarks are read hj any mother who feek 
that she is pursuing the course Which they condemn, I 
would stop a moment to say to hei* as follows: 

Do you expect that you can govern ycHir children iat 
fifteen years to come in this way? Caa you put every 
thing, which, during all this period, they shall want, 
which they ought not to have, upon the mantelpiece as 
you do the shovel and toiigs? 

**No,'* you reply smiling, ^*I do not expect to do k. 
My child will soon become older, clad then I can teach 
him obedience more easily/' 

You never afterwards can teach him obedience so easily 
as when he, is first abk ta ft/dentand a nmpk arnmand, 
and tl^at is long, before he is able to walk* And there is no 
way by which obedience and sftbmissioii can he so efl^tu- 
ally taught to child or to man as by actual trial. That is 
the way in which God teaches it to you^ and that is the 
way. you ought to teach it to your child. God never puts 
sm away out of oor reach ; he leaves it all a^ofind us, and 
teaches us by actoal trial to resist its cidls. 

<< I know thiss is right," you reply; "but sometimes I 
am busy — I am engaged in important duiies, and do not 
wish to be nqtenrupted; and on such occasions I remove 
improper playthings out of the reach of. my child ^ be- 
cause, just then, I have not time to teach him a lesson of 
obedience.'* 

But what important business is that which you put into 
competition with the whole character and happtness o# 
your child? If your sons 'or your daughters grow up in 
habits of disobedience to your commands, they will imhit* 
ter your life, and bring down your gray hairs with sorrow 
to the grave>^ You never afterwards can gain an ascett* 






S88* TOUiro CBRISTIAN. [Ch. 10 



Trial! not to be ihuDned. 



dency over them so easily as in infancy — and you cannot 
in any other way so effectually undermine your power, and 
prevent yourself from ever obtaining an ascendancy over 
them, as by accustoming them in childhood to understand 
that, in your endeavors to keep them from doing what is 
wrong, you do not aim at strengthening their own moral 
principle, and accustoming them to meet and to resist the 
ordinary temptations of life, but that you depend upon a 
vadn efibrt to remove them entirely away from trial; so 
that if you could succeed, you render it equally impossible 
for them to do right or wrong. 

Yes; trial is essential in childhood; and God has so 
arranged the circumstances of early life, that parents can- 
not evade it. It must come. It may be removed in a 
very few cases, but that only brings additional difficulty 
upon those that remain ; and it is far better not to attempt 
to evade it at all. Come up then, parents, boldly to the 
work of accustoming your children to trial. If you see a 
child going toward an open door, do not run to shut it 
so that he cannot go out ; command him not to go, and 
enforce obedience ; if you do any thing to the door at all, 
throw it wide open, and say mihlly, ''I will see whether 
you will disobey." Do not put the book or the paper 
which you wish him not to touch high upon a shelf, away 
from his reach; if you change its place at all, lay it upon 
the floor, and tell him not to touch it. Remember that 
youth is a season of probation and trial, and unless you 
avail yourself of the opportunities of probation and trial 
which it presents, you lose half the advantages which the.» 
Creator had in view in arranging the circumstances of 
childhood as they are. 

Now the whole of life is, equally with the years of 
childhood, a time of probation and trial — it is filled up 
with difficulties and obstacles, and sources of slight dis- 
appointment and suffering, for the very purpose of trying* 
and increasing our moral strength. And all these things 
are, or may be, sources of enjoyment. They will be 



Ch. 10.] TRIAL AND DISCII^LINE. 989 

InatnicUon and practice. The merchaot** plan for his soa. 

. . * 

•ources of enjoymeot if we take the right view of then^ 
as I shall explain more fi^y hereafter. God has 90 
«i!ranged k^ that we have» in passing tkroughi liS», a sped- 
aiea of almost every sort of moral difficulty; and every 
noral powjer of th^ heart 9iay be broughl into active 
ezerdise, and cherished and strengthened by the trial, if 
the opportunity is rightly improved. / 

God has therefore made a double prevision for the 
moral growth of men. First, Jie has given us instnucHom 
in our duty in the BtUe; and secondly, he has given ua 
9pporttmUy to practice' in the various difficulties and duties 
of life. The . Bible is full and complete r as a book of 
dir^ctiouG^. liuman life is fuU. and c(«iplete asu field for 
praclica. The best parade ground for drilling and dise»> 
pliniiig iui army would not be a smooth and^ level plain, 
but an irregular region/ diver(»fied with hills and plains^ 
where, the inexperienced army might practice every evolu^ 
tion — no^w pas«ng. a. defile, now ascending an acclivity, 
now constructing and crossing a bridge. So human 1^, 
to answer the pi|rposes inteaided as a field for moral exer- 
cise, must have a variety ofdifficukiefl, to enatkle us to 
practice every virtue, and to iMing into active requisition 
every right principle of heart. ^ - . 

A wealthy maa,^ I will suppose, engaged in commercial 
pursuits in a great city, fished to prepare hts son to maor 
age bis business when he should be old enough to take 
cbiM'ge of it. He accordingly gave him a thorough, coni- 
mercial edu^cation ia school; but before^ he received him 
- into his partnership, he thought it would be necessary to 
give him some practical knowledge of hid fiiture duties. 

** My son," says he^to himself, **is nowtheoreticaljy 
acquainted with; all that is necessary, but her wants th« 
readiness, and the firmness, and the confidence of practice; 
To comfdete his education, I will give him a thorough 
trial. I will fit ou| a small vessel, and let him take charge 
of her cargo. I will so plan the voyage, that it shall etm- 
brace an unusual share of difficuhy and trial;, for my retf 

25 



S90 YOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 10. 

■ ^IBIIII III l _ ' " ~" [IBll 

A voyage of diiAcalty. Its design. 

design is to give him practical knowledge and skill, wliich 
come only throagh such a trial;'* 

He accordingly fits out his ship. He thinks very little 
of the success of the voyage in a pecuniary ]>oint of view, 
because that is not his object. He rejects one port of 
destination, bccauitie it is too near; another, because the 
passage to it is short and direct ; and another, because the 
disposal of a cargo there is attended with no difficulty. 
He at last thinks of a voyage which will answer his design. 
The* passage lies through a stormy sea. Rocks and quick- 
sands, and perhaps |>irates, fill it with dangers. The port 
at which he will arrive is one distinguished by the intricacy 
of its government-regulations. His son is a' stranger to 
the language -of the country, and a great discretionary 
power will be necessiiry in th6 selection of< a return cargo. 
This, says* the merchant, is exactly th^ place. This 
voyage will comprehend more difficulties, and dangers, 

I 

and trials than any other, and will, accordingly, be exactly 
the thing for my son. 

Perhaps you may say a father would not form such a 
design as this — he would not expose hi|9 son to so maijy 
difficOilties and dangers. I know he might not go ^o far 
as I have represented, but the reason why he would not, 
would be because he might be afraid' that some of these 
dangers would overpower the young man entirely. He 
would, not send him among rocks and whirlpools, ibr in^ 
stance j for the sake of getting him into dlinger, because 
he would fear that that dai^er might result in death. If^ 
however, he could be sure of ultimate Safety — ^if, for ex- 
ample, he could, as our great Father in heaven can, go 
along with his boy, and, though unseen lind unheard, keep 
constantly at his side in every danger, with power to bring 
effiectual protection — if earthly fathers had such power as 
this, there would be a thousand who would take the course 
I have described. They would see that there could be 
nothing so weU calculated to give maturity and efficiency 
to the character, and to prepare the young matf for perse- 



Ch. 10.] TRIAL AND DlSClPUNK. 291 



Its eifecta. 



vering fidelity and emineiit success m his future business, 
as such a discipiine as this. 

The young man at lengtii sets sail. He understands the 
object of his father in planning the voyage, and he goes 
with. a cordial desire of making it the means of promoting 
his impr-ovement as far as po9sibl6. Instead of being sorry 
that a plan embracing so many difficulties and. trials had 
been chosen for him, he rejoices in It. He certainly 
would rejoice in it^ if he had confidence in his father's 
protection. ^When he comes into-the stormy oceau through 
which he has to pass, instead of murmuring, at the agitated 
sea and gloomy sfty, he stands upon the deck, riding from 
billow to billow, thinking of his father's presence and 
confiding in his projtection^ and growing in moral strength 
and fi5rtitude every hour. The gale increases, and the 
fury of the storm tries his nerv^ to ^he utmo9t; but he 
does not regret its. violence, or wish to quiet a single surge* 
He knows that it is his trials and he rejoices in it, and 
when through his increasing moral strength he has tri- 
umphed over its power, he stands contemplating its fury 
with a spirit qui^t and uj[idistui;bed. At length the wind 
lulls;, the clouds break away, and the bright rays of the 
setting sun beam upon the dripping sails and rigging. 
The waves subside— ra steady breeze carries th^ ship 
forward smoothly on her course; and he who has been 
enduring the discipline of the scene feels that he has made 
progres&r-^that he has taken one step toward the accom- 
plishment of the object of his voyage. 

Christian! God has planned just such a voyage for you. 
He has filled it with diffioultles and trials, that you may, 
by mean9 of them, discipline tmd perfect all your moral 
power9. When therefore, the dark, gloomy storm rises 
upon yot^,, and night shuts in,, and danger presses, and 
your heart feels itself burdened with a load which it can 
scarcely sustain, never repine at it. Think how near is 
jom protector, Confide in him, and remember that jour 
present voyage is one of trial. 



f92 Touiro cHRirriAir. [Ch. lO. 

- — ^ ■ - 

The UMt of trial. Self-knowledge. 

II. THE USES OF TRUL. 

I think it mast be very evident to all who have read 
what I •have already written upon this subject, that it ia 
of immense advantage to moral beings, who are to be 
trained up to virtue, and to firmness of principle and of 
character, that they should not only receive iiistruction in 
duty, but that they should be thus put upon trial, to acquire 
by actual experience a firm and steady habit of correct' 
moral action. This can, however, be made more clebr, 
if I analyze more particularly the effects ^of such trial upon 
the heart. 

1 . R enables V9 to know awmelves. People never know 
their own characters till they are tried. We very often 
condemn very severely other persons for doing what, ff 
we had been placed in their circumstances, we should 
have done ourselves. '* Ye know not what spirit ye are 
of,** said the Savior. Very few persons know what spirit 
they are of, until an hour of temptation brings forth the 
latent propensities of the heart into action. How will a 
revengeful spirit slumber in a man's bosom, and his faca 
be covered with smiles till some slight insult or indignity 
calls it forth, and makes him at once the victim of iin- 
governable passion! Yes; trial reveals to us our true 
character. 

It brings to light the traits of Christian character winch 
would not be understood at all without it. I have a case 
in mind, which I will describe, which is a very common 
case, precisely as I describe it here; so common, that 
very probably a great itiany of my readers may consider it 
as their own; 

A Christian mother had an only child whom she ar- 
dently loved. The mother was an influential member of 
the church, and was ardently interested in maintaining a 
high Christian character, and in studying, faithfully and 
perse veringly, religious truth. She became much inter- 
ested in the view which the Bible presents of lihe - Divine 



Ch. 10.] tHial and discipline. 293- 



Tlie deceived iiiiiitier. 



Sovereignty ; she used to 4well with delight upon the coa- 
templation of God's universal power over all; she used to 
rejoice^ as she thought, in his entire authority over her; 
she took pleasure in reflecting that she was completely in 
his hands, soul and body, for time and for eternity, and she 
wondered that any person could find any source of difficulty 
or embarrassment in the Scripture representations on tbi» 
siibject. 

But she did not know her heart. Her beloved child 
was sick— ^and she stood anxious and agitated over ker 
pillow, very far from' showing a cordial willingness that 
God should rule. She was afraid, very much afraid, that 
her child would die; Instead of having that practical be- 
lief iu the divine sovereignty, and that cordial confidence 
in God, which would have given, her in this trying hour a, 
calm and happy acquiescence in the divine will, she was 
restless and uneasy— r her soul had no peace, morning or 
night. Her daughter sunk*, by a progress which was slow, 
but irresistible, to the grave, and for weeks that mother 
was in utter misery because she could not jfind. it in her' 
heart to submit to the divine will. She had believed in 
the universal power pf Grod as a theoretical truth; she had 
seen its abstract beauty ; she thought she rejoiced in God^s 
superintending power, but it was only while all went well 
with her; as soon as God began to exercise that power 
which she had so cordially acknowledged and rejoiced in, 
in a way, which wajs painful to her, her heart rose against 
it in a moment, and would not submit. The trial brought 
out to her view her true feelings in regard to the absolute 
and unbounded authority of God. Now, there is a great 
deal of such acquiescence in God's dominion as this in the 
world, and a great tleal of it is exposed by trial every 
day. 

The case of ther steam-engine; which I supposed at the 
coipmencement of. this chapter, illustrates this part of my 
subject exactly. The engineer tried the boat for the pur- 
pose of learning fully the character and. operation of her 

25* 



S94 TOUNG CHRISTIAIf. [Ch. 10, 

The engineer wu wttuhful. The ChrMtian boy going to school. 



machinery. Though he had actually himself superintended 
the construction of every part of the work, he could not 
fully understand the character and the power of the ma- 
chine until he had tried it. While the experiment was 
making,, he was watching every movement with a most 
scrutinizing eye; he discovered faults, or deficiences, or 
imperfections, which nothing hut actual trial could have 
revealed. 

It is on exactly the same principle that discipline and 
trial are useful, to enable us fully to understand our char- 
acters; and in order to avail ourselves of this advantage, 
we should watch ourselves most carefully, when placed in 
•«ny new or untried situation, to see how our moral powers 
are affected by it. We must notice every imperfec- 
tion and every deficiency which the trial brings to our 
view. 

2. Discipline and trial are the means of improvement. 
Besides giving us an insight into our characters, 'they will, 
if properly improved, enable us to advance in the attain- 
ment of every excellence; I ought however, perhaps, to 
say they may be mctde the means of improvement, rather 
than that they actually will be so. The steam-boat was in 
a better condition after the first day's trial than before; but 
it was because the engineer was attentive and watchful, 
doing his utmost to avail himself of every opportunity to 
increase the smoothness and the power of her motion. So 
with human trials. • " 

See yonder child going to school. His slate is under 
his arm, and he is going this day to make an attempt to 
understand long division; He is young, aiid the lesson, 
though it may seem simple to. us, is difficult to him. He 
knows what difficulty and perplexity are before him, and 
he would, perhap^, Under ordinary -circumstances, shrink 
from the }iard task. But he is a Christian. He has asked 
forgiveness for his past sins in the name of Jesus Christ, 
and is endeavoring to H^e in such a manner as to please 
— his Father above. He knows that God might easily have 



Ch. 10.] TRIAL AND DISOlFLIlfK. 295 



The nM^ral-Aod mrUbmetical qaestioa. 



formed his mind so that mathematical truths and processes 
might be plain to him at once, And that he has not done so, 
for the very purpose of giving him a useful discipline bj 
the trial which the effort to learn necessarily brings. 

He says therefore to himself as he walks along to his 
school-room, ** My lesson to-day is not only to do this sum, 
but to learn to be patient and faithful in duty, and I must 
learn the arithmetical and the morale lesson together. I 
will try to do it. I will begin my work, looking to God for 
help, and I will go on through it, if I^can, with a calm and 
quiet spirit, so as to learn not only to divide a number, but 
to persevere In dtUy.'* With this spirit he sits down to his. 
work, and watches 4iimself narrowly, that he may check 
every rising of impatience, and obtain, by means of the 
very difficulties that now try him, a greater self-command 
than he ever before, possessed. In fact he takes a strong 
interest In the very difficulty, because he is interested in 
the moral experiment which it enables him to make. ^ 

Now, when such a spirit as this is cherished, and the 
mind is under its influence in all the difficulties and trials 
of life, how rapidly must the heart advance in every excel- 
lence! There certainly can foe no other way by which a 
young person can so effectually acquire a patient and per* 
severing spirit, ad by meeting real difficulties with such a 
state of mind as I have described. They who have been 
trained in the hard school of difficulty and trial, almost al- 
ways possess a firmness of character which it is vain to 
look for elsewhere. There must, however, be effort on the 
part of the individual to improve the trial, or he will groW 
worse instead of better by it. The learning of simple di- 
vision in sehojc^ is, perhaps, as oAen a means of promoting 
an impatient and fretful spirit as the contrary. It is the 
disposition on the part of the iqdividual, that. determines 
which efiect is to be the result. Some men, by the misfor- 
tunes and crosses of life, are made misanthropes ; others, 
by the same disappointments and sufferings, are made 
humble and happy Christians, with feelings kindly dispos- 



296 TOUKG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 10. 



Practical directiono. 



ed toward theii" fellow men, and calmly submissive toward 
God. 

The object, then, which the Creator had in view in 
arranging the circumstances of probation- and discipline in 
which we are placed, is two-fold: That we may under" 
stand, and that we may. mptove our characters. We are 
to learn different lessons from the different circumstanced 
and situations in which we are placed, but w;e are to' learn 
some lesson from all. God might easily have so formed 
the earth, and so arranged our connection with it, as to 
save us from all the vicissitudes, and trials, and changes 
which we now experience. But he has made this world 
a state of discipline and trial for us, that we may have 
constant opportunities to call into active exercise every 
Christian grace.' The future world is the home for which 
we are intended, and we are placed on trial here, that we 
may prepare for it; and the suffering and sorrow which we 
experience on the way are small evils, compared to the 
glorious results which we may hope for there. But I must 
come to the practical diirections which I intended; to pre- 
sent. 

1 . Consider every thing that befalls you as coming in 
the providence of Gfod, and intended as a part of the sys- 
tem of discipline and trial through which you are to pass. 
This will help you to bear every thing patiently, An irre- 
ligious man is on a journey requiring special haste, and 
finds himsej^f delayed by bad travelling or stormy weather, 
until a steamboat, which he had intended to have taken^ 
has sailed, and lefl him behind. He spends the tweqty- 
four hours during which he has to watt for the next boat, 
in fretting and worrying himself over his disappointmetit-p-* 
in useless complaints against the driver . for not having 
brought him on more rapidly— r-in wishing that the weather 
or the travelling had been better— or in thinking how much 
his business must suffer by the delay. The Christian, on 
tiie other hand, hears the intelligence^ that the boat has 
left him, with a quiet spirit; and even if he was hastening 



Oh. 10.] TRIAL AXP DIsaPLINfi. S9V 

God's providence universal. Losses of every kind rrom God. 

tp the bedside of a dying child, be would spend the inter- 
vening day in composure and peace, saying, ** The Lord 
has ordered this. Jt is to try me« Heavenly Father, give 
me grace to stand the trial.'' 

I say, the Christian would feel thus; I should, perhaps^ 
have said, he ought to feel thus. Christians are very 
qiuch accustomed to consider all the great trials and su^ 
ferings of life as coming from God, and as intended to try 
thetn, but they fret .and. vex themselves unceasingly, in 
regard to the Utile difficulties which, in the ordinary walk 
of hfe, they have to encounter— especially in what is con- 
nected with the misconduct of others. You lend a Valua- 
ble book, and it is returned to you spoiled: the prints are 
soiled ai^d.worn; the leaves ar^ turhed doim in some 
places^ and loosened in others; the binding is defaced, and 
the back is broken. Now ypu ought not to stand looking 
at your spoiled volume, lamenting- again and^ agaii^ . the 
mislbi-tune, and making yourself n^iserable for hours by 
ycViir frietfiilness and displeastire against the individual who 
was its cause. He was indeed to blame, but if you did 
your duty in lending the.book^ as without doubt you did^, 
you are in ne sense responsible, and you do wrong to make 
yourself miserable about it. The occurrence comes to you 
in the providence of God, and is intended as a trial. He " 
watches you to see how.you bear it. If you meet it with 
a proper spirit, and learn the lesson of patience and ^r- 
bearance which it brings, that spoiled book will do > you 
more good than any splendid volume crowded with prints, 
adorned with gilded binding, and preserved in a locke,d 
cabinet for you for twenty years. 

So with loss of every kind, whether it comes in the 
Ibrm of a broken piece of china,, or a counterfeit ten-^doUar 
bill found in the pocket-book, or the loss of your whole 
property by the misfortunes of a partner or the pressure of 
the times. No matter what is the magnitude or the small- 
ness of the loss — ^no matter whether it comes from the cul- 
pable negligence or fraud of another, or more direbtly froia 



398 Y6UNO CMRIftTIAX. [Ch. 10. 



The careless engineer. 



God, through the medium of flood or fire, or the iightuhig 
of heaven; so far as k ig a loss affecting you, it comes in 
the providence of Grod, and is intended as a trial. If you 
are really interested in what ought to be the great business 
of life, your growth in grace, you will find that such trials 
will help you to understand your own ^art, and to train 
it up to a proper actioii under the government of God^ 
more than any thing beside* 

2. Make it your aim to be continually learning the \e»» 
sons which God by these various trials is ej;ideBvoring to 
teach you. Every day is a day of discipline and trial. 
Ask yourself every night then, "What progress have 1 
made to-day? " Suppose the engineer^ in the case of the 
steamboat on trial, to which I have several tigies alluded, 
had neglected altogether the operation of the machinery 
when his boat was first put to the test'. Suppose that in- 
stead of examining minutely and carefully the structure 
and the action of the parts, with a view to removing diffi- 
culties, I'ectifying defects, and supplying deficiences, he. 
had been seated quietly upon the deck enjoying the sail. 
He might have been gazing at the scenery of the shore, or 
in vanity and self-complaceacy^ enjoying, the admiration 
which he imagined those who stood upon the wharf were 
feeKng for the degree of success which he had already 
attained. While he is thus neglecting his duty, evils with- 
out number, and fraught jvith incalculable consequences^ 
are working below. The defects in his machinery are not 
discovered and not remedied; its weaknesses remain un-> 
observed and unrepaired; and if at last there should be 
intrusted to his care valuable property, nothing can reason- 
ably be expected but its destruction. 

Multitudes of men, and even great numbers of those who 
call themselves Christians, act the part of this inft^tuated 
engineer. God tfslli^ them that their moral powers are now 
on trial. He commands them . to consider it their business 
here not to be engrossed in the objects of interest which 
surroiind them as tbey pass on through life, nor to be sat-* 



\ 

Ch. 10.] TRIAL AND DISCIFLIlfE. S99 

I^eglectofduty. ConclvdlDg remarki. 

iflfied with present attainments of any kind, but to consider 
themselves as saiHng now in troubled waters for the pur- 
pose of trial and improvement ; to watch themselves with 
constant self-examination, and with honest efforts to rectify ^ 
what is wrong and to supply what is deficient. He re- 
quires them to consider all the circumstances and occur- 
rences of life as coming from, him, and as arranged with 
express reference to the attainment of these objects. Not- 
withstanding all this, however, they neglect the duty alto- 
gether. They do not watch themselves. They do not 
habitually and practically regard the events of life as means 
to enable them to understand their hearts, to strengthen, 
by constant exercise, moral principle, and to grow in grace. 
Instead of this, they are engaged in simply endeavoring to 
secure as mpch present good in this world as they can, and 
can see no good in any trial and get no good from it. 
When they are sick, they spend the time in longing to get 
well. When they are disappointed, they make themselves 
miserable by useless lamentations. Losses bring endless 
regrets; and injuries, impatience and an^er; and thus half 
of life is spent in struggles which are really the vain and 
hopeless struggles of a w«ak man to get fVee from the 
authority andgovemment of God. 

I have now completed what i intended to present on 'the 
subject of probation ; and I think that all my readers will 
-easily see, that by^ taking such a view of life as this subject 
presents to us, the whole aspect of our residence in this 
world is at once changed. If you really* feel what I have 
been endeavoring to explaiiv, you will regard yourselves 
1^ stirangers and pilgrims here, looking continually forward 
to another country as your home. The thousand trials and 
troubles of life .will lose half their weight by your regarding 
of them in their tcue light, that is, as means df moral dis- 
cipline and improvement. Yon must^ however, make a 
constant effort to do this. Make it a part of your daily 
sel^examination not only to ascertain what is the esltate of 
your heart at the time of retirement, but to review the in- 



800 Totrifa christian. [Ch. II. 



Oeneral improvemont a Christian duty. 



cideiitB of the day, and to see how they hare operated 
Upon you as means of moral discipline. See what traits 
of character those incidents have brought to your view, 
and what efiect they have had in makings you worse or 
better than you were in the morning. The little events 
and circumstances of every day must have a. very important 
influence of the one kind or of the other. If you neglect 
this influence, it will all go wrong. If you attend to it, it 
may go well and happily with you wherever you may be. 



CHAPTER XI. 

PEftSONAL IMPftOVEMENT. 



The p^lh of the just i« aa the shiniogf light, which ahio^ more and more 

unto the perfect day.** 



The chapters which the reader has just perused are. on 
subjects connected with the improvement of the characters 
i e. they are upon the means by which thb improvemenf 
is to be promoted. This studying of the Bible, thd keeping 
of the Sabbath, and exposure to discipline, are all intended 
to be means for the promotion of a moral progress. There 
are some things, however, which I wish to say in regard 
to the character itself as it goes on in the process of im- 
provement. Reader! do you wish ta avail yourself of the 
opportunities and means I have described ? Do you wi^ 
to Ftudy the Bible, to remember the Sabbath, and to im-- 
prove all the occurrences of life, as the means of promoting 
your progress in all that is good ? If so, look now with me 
a little while into your character itself, that you may «ee 
in what respect it needs your attention, and in what way 
you can so employ the means 1 have described, as to gain 
the fullest benefit from them. As I think that every young 
Christian . ought most assiduously to cultivate his morale 
and also hiis intellectuaL powers, I shall discuss ia oider 
both these points. 



Ol. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. 901 

Moral improvement. Faults. The vaiii bof; 

I. MORAL IMPROVEMENT. 

• • • 
Every young Christian will find, however sincerely and 

ardently he may have given up his heart to God and 

commenced a life of piety, that a vast number of fauk$ 

remain to be corrected — faults which he acquired while he 

lived in sin, and which the force of habit have fixed upon 

him. Now you know what these faults are, or you may 

very easily learn, and your first effort is to co/*rect them. 

In order now to make clear the course which I think ' 
ought to be taken to correct such faults, I will suppose a 
case, and bring into it the various methods which may be 
adopted for this purpose; and I shall write the account 
with a double aspect— one towards parents, with the design 
of showing them what sort of efforts they ought to make to 
correct the faults of their children, aiid the other towards 
the young, to show what measures they should adopt to 
improve themselves, 

Firdt, however, I will mention a very common, but a 
very ineffectual mode of attempting to correct faults. A 
father sees in his son some exhibition of childish vanity, 
and he says to him instantly, at the' very time of tl^a occur- 
rence, " You are acting in a very foolish manner. — You 
show a great deal of vanity and self-conceit by such con- 
duct; and in fact I have observed that you are growing 
very vain for some months past; I don't know what we 
shall do to correct it. " 

The poor boy hangs his head and looks ashamed, and . 
his father, talking about it a few minuter longer in a half 
irritated tone, dismisses and forgets the subject. The boy 
refrains, perhaps, from that particular exhibition of vanity 
for a little while, and that is probably all the good which 
results from the reproof. 

Another wiser parent sees with regret the rising spirit 
of self-conceit in his son; and instead of rushing on to 
attack it without plan or design at the first momentary 
impulse, he resorts to a very different course. He notices 

26 



SOB tOONO OHltlSTIAN. [Ch. ll. 

Way to refbnn blm. Conversation with bia flither. 

_ ^ • _^ 

several cases — remembers them — reflects that the evil, 
which has been forming perhaps for years, cannot be cor- 
rected by a single abrupt reproof — and accordingly forma 
a plan for a protracted moral discipline in the case, and 
then seeks a favorable opportunity to execute it. 

One day, after the father has been granting some unusual 
indulgence, and they have spent the day happily together 
in some plan of enjoyment, and are riding home slowly 
in a pleasant summer evenings he thus addresses his son: 

"Well, Samuel, you have been a good boy, and we 
have had a pleasant time. Now I am going to give you 
something to do, which, if you do it right, will wind up 
the day very pleasantly." 

* * What is it i^' sayB Samuel. 

'' I am not certain that it will please you, but you may 
do as you choose about undertaking it. It will not be 
pleasant at first; the enjoyment will come aflerward." 

Samuel, '^ But what is it^ father? I think I shall like to 
doit." 

Father. " Do you think you have any faults, Samuel?" 

S, '* Yes, sir, I know I have a great many." 

F, *' Ves, you have; and all boys have. Some wish to 
correct them, and others do not Now I have supposed 
that you do wish to ccurrect them, and I had thought oi 
describing to you one of your faults, and then telling you 
of a particular thing which you can do which will help you 
to correct it. But then it will not be very pleasant for 
you to sit here €md have me find fault with you, and men- 
tion a number of instances in which you have done wrongs 
mid particularize all the little circumstances which in- 
creased the guilt; this, I say, will not be very pleasan^t^ 
even though you know that my design is not to blame you, 
but to help you improve. But then if you undertake it, 
and after a little while find that you are really improving^ 
then you will feel happier for the effort. Now I wish you 
to consider both, and tell me whether you wish me to give 
you a fault to correct or not«" 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROTKJMXNT. 309 



InslaDCM of vanity. 



If the boy now has been under a kind, and gentle, bat 
efficient government, he will almosit certainly . desire to 
have the fault, and the way by which he is to correct it, 
pointed out. If so, the father may proceed as follows: 

" The fault I am going to mention now, is vaniiy. Now 
it is right for you to^ desire my approbation. It is right 
for you not only to do your duty, but to wish that others 
should know that you do it. I think too, it is right for you 
to take pleasure in reflecting on your in^rovement, as you 
go on improving from year to year. But when you fancy 
your improvement to be greater than it is, or imagine that 
you have excellences, which you possess in a very slight 
degree, or when you obtrude some trifling honor upon the 
notice of strangers for the sake of getting their admiration, 
you exhibit canity » Now, did you know that you have this 
fault?" 

S, '* I do not know that I have thought of it particularly. 
I suppose, though, that I have it." 

F. *^ That you have the fault now is of very little conse- 
quence, if you only take hold of it in earnest and correct 
it. It has grown up with you insensibly; in fact, almost 
all children fall into it. I presume that I had it as much 
as you have, when I was as young. Do you think now 
that you can recollect any cases in whidh you have shown 
vanity?" 

S, 1 don't know; perhaps I could if I should have a 
little time." 

F, "Well, I will give you time to think, and if you 
really wish to correct yourself of the fiiult, you may think 
of all the cases you can, and tell me of them. If you pre- 
fer it, you may write the list and show it to me." 

Now, if the subject is taken up in this spirit, most boys, 
who had beeo treated on these principles before, would 
receive the communication with pleasure, and would 
^Bg&gG ^Hh interest in the work of exploring the heart. 
And such a hoy will succeed. He will bring a list of 
instances, not perhaps fully detailed, but alluded to dis- 



904 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Cb. 1 F. 



T 



The boy *■ liit. Effect of thta coafenioa. 



tinctiy enough to recall them to mind. His list might be 
perhaps something as follows: 

'* Dear Father, — ** I have made ont a list of the times 
in which I was vain, and I now send it to you. 

*M. I brought out mj writing-book a few erenings ago, 
when some company was here, in hopes the folks wduld 
ask to see it. 

*' 2. I said yesterday at table^ that there was something 
in the lesson which none of the boys could recite until it 
came to me, and I recited it. 

''3. I pretended to talk Latin* with George when walk- 
ing, thinking that you and the other gentleman would^ 
overhear it. 

'* I suppose I could think of many other cases if i had 
time. I am glad you told me of the fault, for I think it ft 
very fooHsh one, and I wish to correct if. 

"Your dutiful son. ." 

Now, let me ask every one of my readers who has any 
knowledge of human nature, whether, if the effort of the 
father to correct this fault should stop here, a most pow- 
erful blow would not have been struck. Do you think 
that a boy can make such a self-examinatron, and con^ 
less freely his faults in this manner, without making a 
real progress in forsaking them ? Can he as easily, afler 
this, attempt to display his accomplishments, or talk of his 
exploits? 

The process ought not to stop here, but this ts the first 
step; confession — full, free, and particuliir confession. In 
the first chapter I described the power of confession to re-- 
store peace ofmind^ after it is lost by sin; and in alluding to 
the subject of confession agam here, it will be seen that I 
look to another aspect of it, viz. Us iendencrf to promote 
reformation. It is in this tatter respect only that I consider 
it now. 

llie first step then which any of you are to take in order 



Gh. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVElffENT, 305 

Secret confestlon to be minute. Secret prayer often too.general. 

to break the chains of any sinful habit which you have 
formed, is io cor^eiss it fully and freely. That single act 
will do nvore. to give your foult its death blow, than almost 
aay thing else you can do. If you are a child, you caq 
derive great assistance from confessing to your parents. 
If you shrink from talking with them face to face about 
your follies -and faults, you can write. Or confess, and 
express your determination to amend, to some confidential 
friend of your own age ; but above all, be sure to confess 
to God; lay the. whole case before him in full detail. I 
cannot press upon you too fully the necessity of being 
dUtinct and definite^ and going into full detailj in these con- 
fessions. ' 

There is one very erroneous impression which young 
persons receive firom hearing public prayer. It is always, 
as it ought to be, general in its language, both of confession 
and request. Take for instance the following language 
of the prayer book of the Protestant Episcopal Church, so 
admirably adapted to its purpose: 

" We have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost 
sheep. We have followed too much the devices and de- 
sires of our own hearts. We have offended against thy 
holy laws. We have left undone those things which we 
ought to have dohe; and we have done those things which 
we ought not to have done; and there is no health in us." 

How general is this language. It is 90 with our Savior's 
model of prayer! ''Forgive us our debts, as we forgive 
tbyose who are indebted to us. " Public prayer ought to he 
somewhat general in its expressions, for it is the united 
voice often of thousands, and should express acknowledg- 
ments and petitions which are common to them all. 

But the mistake that multitudes fall into, is, that when 
tl^y begin to pray themselves, they take public prayer ^ 
th^ model for secret supplication; and they spend their 
season of retirement in repeating the same general supplica- 
ivms which they hear from the pulpit in the hour of public 
worship. But this is a very great error. The very object 

26* 



506 TOUNG CHRisTiAir. [Cft. tr* 

Way to make prayer interesting. Formal confession. 

of secret prayer is to afibrd the soul aa opportunity of going: 

minutely into its own particular and private case. There 

is no magic in solitude, no mysterious inffuence in the 

closet itself, to purify and stoctify the heart. It is the 

opportunity which the closet affords of bringing forward the 

individual case in all its particularity and detaU, which gives 

to secret devotion its immense mora) power. The genera? 

and comprehensive language which is adopted in public 

prayer^ is thus adopted because it is the object of public 

prayer to express only those wants, and to confess those 

sins, i^hich are common to all who join in it. The htn- 

guage must necessarily there^re be geners^. But it is 

always the intention of those who use it, that minute detaif 

should be given in private supplications. In the prayer 

of the Episcopal Church, for e!xample, the evening prayer 

iyr families is printed* thus: 

*' We come before thee in an humble 

* ** Here let him sense of our unworthiness, acknowledg- 

who reads make a j^g our manifold transgressions of th^ 

or pause, a jig]jteous laws.* But O, gracious Fa- 
every one may cow- ® V. »« i_ /. 

fese the tine and t^^t, who desirest not the death of a 

failings of thqf sinner, look upon us, we beseech thee, 
day." in mercy, and forgive us all our trans- 

gressions." 

Here you will observe that on the margin ft is suggested 
that this entering into detail should be done even in the 
family worship. How tnuch more when the individual has 
retired alone, for the very purpose of bringing forward the 
peculiar circumstances of his own casef 

This is the only way to make secret prayer interesting, 
as well as profitable. A child, just before retiring to rest, 
attempts to pray. He uses substantially the expressions 
which he has heard in the pulpit: " I acknowledge that I 
am a great sinner. I have done this day many things 
which are wrong; I have neglected niany duties, and 
broken many of thy commands." Now how easy is it for 



^■ii .■.'««»i<iii 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. SOT 

■ I ll II ■ I ■ I I.I ■ w 

' Excuses. Way to make seeret prayer Jnterestiag. 

a person to say all this with apparent fervor, and yat have 
present to his mind while saying it, no one act in which he 
really feels that he has done wrong, and consequently no 
distinct mental feeling that he i» guilty ! Our confessions, 
half of the time, amount to nothing more than a general 
acknowledgment of the doctrine of human depravity. "I 
humhly confess that I have been a great sinner this day,*^* 
says a Christian at his evening prayer, and while he says 
it, the real state of his mind is, '^ I suppose I must have 
been so. All men are sinners, and I know I am." As to 
any distinct a{id definite deling of personal guilt, it is oflen 
the farthest from the mind while using such language. 

It is astonishing how easily and how soon we become 
habituated to the general language of confession, so as to 
use it most freely without any sense of personal guilt. A 
parent will reprove a boy for a &ult, and the boy will, as 
the father goes over the details, defend and ejccuse himself 
at every step. Here he will lay off the blame upon hie 
brother — there he will say he did not know what else to do 
— and in another respect be will say that he tried to do ae 
well as he could. And yet, afler he has finished all this, 
he will say gravely, ** But I do not pretend to excuse my- 
self. I know I have done wrong." I have had such cases 
occur continually in the management of the young. 

But do not forget what is the subject of this chapter. 
It is the meana o€ correcting faults ; and, as the first means^ 
I am describing full and particular confession of the sins 
you wish to avoid in future. Before I go on, however, I 
wish to say one thing in regard to the effect of going into 
minute detail in prayer. It is the only way to ma^e prayer 
interesting. When you come at night, with a mind wea- 
ried and exhausted with the labors of the day, to your 
hour of retirement, you find your thoughts wandering in 
prayer. No complaint is tnore common than this. There 
is scarcely any question which is asked more frequently of 
a pastor than this: "How shall I avoid the sin of wander- 
ing thoughts in prayer? " It would be asked, too, much 



908 ro47943 caAisTiAK. [Ch. 11. 

Pnv«l# pniyM. ExamplM of minute confession. 



aAeaer than it m, were it not XhH Chri9tiaii8 shrink from 
■cknoirledgtng to their reli^iou8 teachef^ a fauk which 
seeiBs to imfdj their want of interest in spiritual things. 
Now the reined/ in nine cuaes out of tea is, comieg to 
perticidars in your prayers. Have iio long formal exor- 
diums. Abandon the common phrases §£ general con- 
fession and request, va4 come at once to the parti<;ular 
circumstances and min^e wants and triads of the day. 
Describe not only particular^ faults, but all the minute 
attending circumstances. Feel that you are alone; that 
the restraints of puiiHeity are removed from you ; that you 
may safely ahandon tbe phraseology and the fbrm which a 
proper respect for the coetoms of men retaias in the pulpit 
and at the family altar, and come and converse with your 
great Protector, ae h man converses with his friend ; aiid 
remember that if you ftieten upon ^one word which you have 
spoken with an impP6qf>er spirit, and confess your guilt in 
that one sin, mentioning all the circumstances which gave 
it its true character, and exposing 'tbe wicked emotions 
which dictated it, yeu make more truly a confession than 
by repeating solemnly the best expivession of the doctrine 
of human depravity tiiat creed, or catechism, or system oi 
theology ever gav«. 

But to return to the laodes of correcting faults. If your 
fault is one which long habit has liveted very closely 
upon you, I would recommend that you ooniess it in writ- 
ing ; it is mere diatinot, and what you put upon paper you 
impress very strongly upon your mind. Suppose when 
evening comes, in reflecting iipon. the e^enyls of the day, 
you remember an act of unkindness to a younger bcother. 
Now, sit down and write a full descript(ioA of it, and mali# 
it appear in its true light. Do ncA exaggerate it, nor ex*- 
tenuate it, but paint it in its true colors. Express your 
sorrow, if you feel any, and express just as, much as you 
feel. Be honest. Use no cant phrase of acknowledgment, 
but just put upon paper your actual feelings in regard to 
the transaction. Now, afler yoii have done this, you may^ 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMFROVEMSNT. S09 



The Father's letter. 



if you please, just fold up the paper and put it into the fire; 
but you cannot put into the fire the vivid impression of 
your guilt which this mode of confession will produee. 
Or you may, if you prefer it, preserve it tor a time, that 
you may read it again, and renew the^ impression before 
you destroy it. But it will be better to destroy it at last. 
It is not in human nature to write its thoughts in such a 
case, with the intention of preserving the record, without 
being secretly influenced by the probability that the des- 
cription will sooner or later be seen. 

But I must pass to the second step in the progress of 
removing a fault. It is watchfulness. Suppose that the 
father, in the case which I have imagined, in order to 
illustrate this subject, should say to his son, or which 
would be better. still, should write to him as follows: 

**My dear Son, — I received your account of the instances 
in which you have shown vanity. I am very glad yau are 
disposed to correct yourself of this fault, and will now t^ll 
you what you are to do next. 

** You would without doubt, if you had had time, 
have thought of many more instances, but 'you would not 
have thought of all; a great many would have escaped 
your notice. You show vanity many times when you do 
not hiow it yourself. When we are habituated to doing any 
thing that is wrong, we become blinded by the habit; so 
that the vainest people in the world scarcely know that 
they are vain at all. Now, the next step you are to take vs 
to regain moral sensibility on this subject, so as to know 
clearly what vanity is, and always to notice when you are 
guilty of it. The way to do this, is, for you to watch 
yourself. Notice your conduct for two days, and when- 
ever you detect yourself displaying vanity on any occa- 
sion, go and make a memorandum of it. You need not 
write a full description of it, for yoii would frequently not 
have time ; but write enough to remind you of it, and then 
at the end of the two days send the list to me. In the 



310 TOUNQ CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 11. 

Oliifect of this llltt«tratk>ii. Faults to be corrected. 

meantime I will observe you» and if I see any instances of 
this fault I will remenber them, and see if I recollect anj 
which you have not marked down. 

'' It will not be very pleasant, ray son, to watch yourself 
thus for faults, but it is the most effectual ipeans of re- 
Having them. You may, however, do just a^ you please 
about adopting this plan. If you adopt it, send your cata- 
logue to me ; if you do not, you need not say any thing 
about it. ' 

"Your affectionate parent, ." 

Now I wish my young readers to understand, that 
though I have described fully this case, partly with a de- 
sign to show to parents a good way to lead their children 
to virtue, yet my main design is to explain to the young a 
course which they may take themselves immediately to 
correct their faults. I am in hopes that many a one who 
reads this chapter will say to himself, " I have some faults 
which I should like to correct, and I will try this experi- 
ment." I wish you would try the experiment; you all 
know what your faults are. One can remember that 
he is very often undutiful or disrespectful to, his parents. 
Another is aware that she is not always kind to her sister. 
Another is irritable — often gets into a passion. Another is 
forward and talkative ; h^r friends have often reproved her, 
but she has never made any real systematic effort to re- 
form. Another is indolent — often neglecting known dutie3 
and wasting time. Thus all young persons are the victims 
of some moral disease or other, from ivhich, though they 
may be Chrbtians, they are not fully freed. Now just try 
my prescription. Take the two steps which I have des- 
cribed; confess fully and minutely the particular fault 
which you wish first to correct — for it is best to attack one 
enemy at a time — and then with careful watchfulness keep 
a record of your subsequent transgressions. You cannot 
do this with a proper spirit of dependence on God and 
accountability to him, without breaking the chains of any 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IBTPROVEMSNT. Sit 



TouDg and old peraom. 



ftiult or any habit whicb may now b^ domineenng ovef 
you. The efficacy of such moral treatment in these mor id 
diseases is far more certain and |ioweriuI than that of any 
45ordial in restoring the fainting powers. I hope therefore 
that every young person who reads this will not merely 
express a cool approbation of these ^ plans, but will reso-» 
krtely set to work in examining his character, and in trying 
these methods of altering or improving it. ' 

"Every young person P-^And why not those who ar^ 
not young? " says some one. "Why cannot the old c6t* 
rect their faults in this way? " They can, but they will 
not. I recommend it exclusively to the young, not because 
it is less efficactoua with others, but bectiuse others will 
not cordially try it. The difficulty which prevents middle- 
aged persons from going on as rapidly as the young in 
improvement of every kind, is, that they are not so easily 
induced to make' the effhrt. It is a sMStake to suppose that 
it is easier for a child to reform his character than for a 
man, if thte same efforts were made. A child is told of his 
faults^; the politeness of society forbids as to mention them 
wilh the same freedom to a man. A child is encouraged 
and urged forward in efforts to improve ; the man is solitary 
in his r<}aolutions and unaided in his efforts. A child ib 
willing to do any thing. Confossion is not, so humiliat- 
ing to him; keeping a catalogue of his sins is not so 
shrunk from. If the man of fifty is willing to do what the 
boy of fifteen does, he may improve twice as fast. Some 
of the most remarkable cases of rapid alteration and im- 
provement of character which I have ever known have 
been in the decline of age. 

Let me say therefore respectfully to those who may 
chance to read this book, but who are beyond the age for 
which it is specially intended, that we all have faults which 
we ought to discover and attempt to mend. They affect 
our happiness. They bring us down lower than we should 
otherwise stand in the estimation of others. Thus , they 



912 fbUNO CHRISTIAlf. [Ch. Ih 

, CoDvertation between the boy and his Triend. 

impede our inflaence and usefulness. If we would now 
explore and correct these, taking some such thorough- 
going course as I have described, how rapidly we should 
at once rise in usefulness and happiness! Instead of that, 
however, we listen to moral and religious instruction from 
the pulpit, to admire the form of its expression, or perhaps 
to fix the general principles in our hearts ; but the business 
of exploring thoroughly our own characters to ascertain 
their real condition, and of going earnestly to work upon 
all the detail of actual and minute repair — pulling down in 
this place, building up in that, and altering in the other — 
ahl this is a business with which we'^have but little to do. 

But I must go on with my account of the means of cor- 
recting faults, for I have one more expedient to describe. 
I have been digressing a little to urge you to apply prac- 
tically what I say to yourselves, and resolve to try the 
experiment. This one more expedient relates to your 
exposure to temptation. In regard to temptation you have 
I think two duties. First, to avoid all great temptations; 
and secondly, to encounter the small ones with a determin- 
ation, by God's blessing, to conquer them. 

A boy knows, I will imagine, that he has an irritable 
spirit ; he wishes to cure himself of it. I will suppose that 
he has taken the two steps I have already described, and 
now as the morning comes, and he is about to go forth to 
the exposures of the day, we may suppose him to hold the 
following conversation with his father, or some other 
friend. 

Boy, " I have made a great many resolutions, and I 
am really desirous of not becoming angry and impatient 
to-day. Biit I always do, and I am afraid I always shall." 

Friend. **Do you always? Do you get angry every 
day!" 

Boy, *^* I do almost always; whenever any thing happens 
to vex me." 

Friend, " What are the most common things thcit hap- 
pen to vex you? " 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVBHIfeNT. 31S 



Grtat aud small temptations. 



> ** Why I almost always get aogrj playing marbles. 
Greorge does not play fair, and I get angry with him^ and 
he. gets angry with me." 

'*Do you always get angry playing marbles? ** 

"We do very often." • ^ 

" Then I advise you to <avoid' playing marbles altogether. 
I know you like to play, but, if you find it affords too great 
a temptation for you to resist, you must abandon it, of yon 
will not cure yourself of your fault. What other tempta- 
tions do you me^twith? " 

** Why i get put out^wkh my sunis at school." 

** Gret pot out with your sums^ — ^What do you mean by 
Ojat?" 

'* Why I get impatient and vexed because I cannot do 
them, and then I get angry with them/' 

'^ What, with the suma! " 

** Yes; with the sums, and the book, and the slate, and 
every thing else; I know it In very foolish and wicked." 

** Weil; now I advise you to take your slate .^nd pencil 
to-day, and find some difficult sum, such a one as you have 
oflen been angry with, and sit down calmly to work, and 
see if yon cannot go through it, and fail of doing tf, and 
yet not -feel vexed and angry. Think before you begin, 
how sad it is for you to be under the control of wicked 
passions, and ask God to help you, and then go on expect- 
ing to find difficulty and endeavoring to meet it with a 
calm and patient spirit. If yon succeed in this, you will 
really improve while you do it. By gaining one victory 
over youVself you will make another niore easy. 

** Which do you think is the greatest temptation for you, 
to play marbles or to do sums ? *' 

"Why, I think that to play marbles is; because the 
boys don't play fair." 

""Well; now I \^ish you to practise the easiest lesson 
first. Conquer yourself in your arithmetical temptation 
first, and then perhaps you can encounter the other. And 

I wish you would watch yourself * to-day, and observe what 

27 



914 TOVNO CHRUTIAH. [Ck. 11. 

OrMt and amall tampUUioM. Growing in grace. 



VH the trials which pmb too |rre«i for. jrauito bear, and avoid 
iban9i wi^il you hav# acquired mof o moral itrength. Byl 
do not flee from any temptation which you think yoo caa 
resbt. By meetiug and resifllutg il» you will advance in 
your course." 

Mow this ia the caae in iha eofxectioa of all guilts. ITie 
lemptationa which you think you wiH not be succeMlul in 
fOfia&ing, you ought to avoid, no matter at what sacrifice; 
and. tift^ugh you ought not to seek the trial of your strength, 
yet where Providence gives you trial, go forward to the 
effort which it requires, with confidence in his help, and 
with resolution to do your duty. If you have the, right 
spirit^ he will help you ; and virtuous principle will grow . 
by any exposure which does npt oves-power it. 

I have however spoken more fiilly on this subject in4he 
chapter of discipline and trial, where the general effect of 
auch dj#pipUae aa we baive here to pa«a through was point- 
ed out. I have hej[?e only alluded to it agaia,. to show how 
important ajpi auxiliary if ia in the correction of particular 
&uKis. ' . 

l^ut I must pasa to the consideration of another part of 
my suJ^jeet, fox the correctioi^ of absolute faults of charao 
ter U by np meaoa the only, or ^ven the^ most important 
object of attention in Christian progr-ess. The spirit of 
pietjr, which is tbiB mainspring of all these efforts in the 
improyei^eBt of the character, ia to be directly cultivated. 
The como^j^nd ''grow in grace," seems to refer to thia 
progress in the 9pirit of piety itself. , The oorrectioU of ex- 
ttsrnal faults, and the iipprovement of the character in aU 
tl^pse aapects in which intercourse between man and man 
is concerned, will result from it. Sut it is it^lf something 
dijEerent from th^ae ea^ternal chapges. Togrow in grace, 
is to have the heart itself so changed that sin shall become^ 
more aad more hateful, the promotion of the geqeral 
happiness an increasing object of interest and desire, thor 
apul more and mpre closely united to God».so aa to receive 
i|ll its happiness from him. 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMPEOVEMENT. , 315 

UiMirftilInf eflbrtfl. The mother. 

This now is a change in the afifections of the heart. Im^ 
provement in conduct will result from it, but it is in itself 
essentially different from right conduct. It is the foanUun^ 
from which good actions are the streams. I wish there- 
fore- that every one of my readers would now turn his 
attention to this subject, uid inquire with me, by what 
means he may grow most rapidly in attachment to the 
Savior, and in hatred of siti. A very unwisie and inefTectual 
kind of effort is very oflen^ made, which I shall first de^ 
scribe, and th^n proceed to describe the means which may 
be successful in drawing the heart closer and closer to 
Jehovah. 

To illustrate the unavailing efforts which are sometimes 
made^o awaken in the heart a deeper and deeper interest 
in piety, I will suppose a case, and it is a case which is ex- 
ceedingly common. A professing Christian — and, to make 
the case more definite, I will suppose the individual^ to be 
the mother of a family — feels that she does not love God 
as she ought, and she is consequently unhappy. She is 
aware that her affections are placed too strongly, perhaps, 
upon her family — her children. . She knows that she is a 
wanderer from her Savior, and feels at all times, when 
she thinks of religious duty, a settled uneasiness which 
mars many of her enjoyments, and often saddens her heart. 
Now, what does she do to remedy this. difficulty? Why^ 
when the week is past, and her hoi^r of prayer on the Sab-' 
bath has arrived, i^he thinks a little of her cold and way- 
ward condition, and tries, by direct sffoHy to arouse in her 
heart feelings of ^nitence and love. But she tries in vain. 
I acknowledge that she is very guilty in being in such a 
state, but if she is so, her direct effortf io feel will be vain. 
She will have, forr an hour, a weary and melancholy strug- 
gle — the Sabbath will pass away, rendered gloomy by ker 
condition and ' her reflections — and Monday morning will 
come, with its worldly cares and enjoyments, to drift her 
still further away from God and from happiness. 

A man of business, engrossed in the management of 



316 Yovffa cHRisTiAir. [Ch. IT, 

The man of bniinon. Tbe dejected Obrirtiui. 

■ 

bis prosperous affairs, knows that he is not liring to Grod. 
And yet he is a member of a Christian church ;-^he has 
solemnly consecrated himself to the Savior; and when he 
thinks of it, he really wishes that his heart was in a dif- 
ferent state. The world however holds him from day to 
day, and the only thing which he does to save himself 
from wandering to a returnless distance firom God, is ta 
strive a little , morning and evening, at his sh6rt. period 
of secret devotion, to feel hi$ sm$. He makes direct effort 
to urge his heart to gratitude. He perhaps kneels before 
the throne of God, and knoMring how little love for God 
he really feels, he exerts every nerve to. bring his heart 
to exercise more. He is trying to control his affections 
by direct effort — and he probably' feite. He i& striving 
in vain. He soon* becomes discouraged, and^ yields him- 
self again to the current which is bearing him aWay fron^ 
holiness and peace. 

^I once knew a young man-^and while I describe his 
ease, it is possible that there may be many of the readers 
of this chapter who will say his case is like theirs — who 
had a faint hope t^at he was a Christian ; bnt his peni- 
tence was in his opinion so feeble and heartless, hi^ love 
to God was so cold, and his spark of grace, if there was 
any in his heart, was so faint and languishing, that he 
scarcely dared to hope. He did not therefore take the 
stand, or perform thfe duties of a Christian. He thought 
he must make more progress himself in piety before he 
endeavored to do any good to others; he was accordingly 
attempting to make this progress ; he struggled with his 
own heart, to awaken stronger love and deeper penitence 
there ; but it was a sad and almost fruitless struggle; he 
became dejected and desponding; he thought his heart 
wfis still cold and hardened in sin, and that religipus feel- 
ing would not come at his bidding; and he continued for 
a long time unhappy himself and useless to others. 

The principle which I have beeki designing to illustrate 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMpROTEMENT. 317 



Direct effarm. 



by these cases is, that the best way ta improve or .alter 
the affections 4>f the heart, is mt by direct efforts upon the 
heart kself. The degree of po^er which man has directly 
over the afiections of the heart is very limited. A mere 
theorist will say he, must have e^f^tire control over them, or 
they caADot be blan(iewoi[th^ or praiseworthy. But no one 
but the mere theorist will say this. A benevolent man, 
during an inclement seasoli, sends fuel to a tlestitute and 
suffering family, and perhaps goes himself te visit and to 
cheer the sick one there. Does not be take a great 
pleasure in thus relieving misery^ and is net this benevolent 
feeling {Praiseworthy ? And yet it is not under his direct 
control, he cannot possibly help taking pleasure in reliev- 
ing suffering. Suppose I were to say to bim, " Sir, just 
to try a philosophical experiment, will you no^ alter your 
heart, so i^s to be glaj to^know that people are suffering. 
I will tell you the facts about a child which perished with 
the cold.; and while I do it, will you so alter your heart 
(which must l^ entirely under, your control, or else its 
emotions cannot hfi praiseworthy or blameworthy) . as to 
delight in that cruel suffering?'* {low absurd would this 
be ! The mim must be pained to hear of sirfierings which 
he cannot help, and yet sympathy with the sorrows of 
others is praiseworthy.^ 

Again,- sister and sister have become alienated from 
each other. The feeling whieh was at first coldness has 
become dislike ; and now they are satisfied that they whom 
God has placed so near togethef, should remain sundered 
iii beast. Suppose the parent were to say to them, ''I 
know you can love each other, and you ought to lo^e 
eadi cNElier, and I coinmand you immediately to do it" 
They may fear piyental displeasure; they m^y know, that 
they'^M>u]d be hapf^ler if they were united in heart; but 
will affection come at once at their. call? 

The entire free agency of man, by which is meant big 
freedom from all external restraint in his conduct, cannot 
be asserted too frequently, or kept too distinctly in the 

27* 



3f8 rotmo christiait. [Cfr. If. 

■■ M" ■ ■ Mi i^ I i^i ■ ■ -I ■ I— ^ ■ ■■ ^ ■■— .11 ., l^ - 1. ■ ■ ■ ■ ■■■■■■ 1^ ■■! ■ ^aa ■■■■ 

Freedom of feeling and fteedom of action. 

View of every humftn being. There is however a possi- 
bilitj of preseDting this subject in such a light as to lead 
the mind to the erroneous idea that ail the affections of 
tb^ heart are in the same sense onder the eontrol of the 
will as the motions of the body are. I do not mean that 
any respectable writer or preaah^r will advocate such a 
view, but only that in expressing his iielief in humaa 
freedom, in sweeping «id unqualified terms, he may unin* 
tentionally convey the impression. There is unquestion- 
ably a very essential difference between a man's freedom 
ef feeling and has freedom of acHng, A man may be 
induced to ad by a great variety of means: a motive of 
any kind, if strong enough determines the >vill; Suppose, 
for instance, a sea-captain wishes to induce a ntan to leap 
off from the deck of his ship into the sea; he may attempt 
in a great many ways to obtain his object. He may 
command bun to. do it, and threaten punishment if he 
disobeys; he may try to hire him to do it; be may show 
the sailor that his little son has fallen overboard, and thus 
induce the parent to risk his life that he may save that of 
hrs child. He may thus in various ways appeal to very 
different feelings of the human heart — love of money, fear, 
or parental affection — and if by any of these, the^voiUion, 
as metaphysician^ term it, i. e. the determination, can be 
formed, the man goes overboard in^ a moment. He can 
do any thing which, from^any inotive whatever, he resolves 
to do. 

In regard ho weter to the feelingf of the heart, it is far 
different. Though man is equally a free agent in regard 
to these, it is in quite a different v/ay; that is, the feelings 
of the heart are not to be managed .and controlled by 
simple determination; as this external conduct may be. 
Suppose, for instance, the captain wished that sailor to be 
grateful for some favor he had received, and of which he 
had been entirely regardless; and suppose he should 
command him to be grateful, and threaten him with some 
punishment if he should i^efuse; or suppose he should 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. 319 



Illustration. 



endeavor to hire him to be grateful, or should try to per- 
suade him to be thankful for past favora in order to get 
more. It would be absurd. Gratitude, like any other 
feeling of the heart, though it is- of a moral nature, and 
though man is perfectly free in exercising it, will not 
always come whenever the man determines to bring it. 
The external conduct is thus controlled by the determina- 
tion of the mind, on whatever motives those determinations 
may be founded, but the feelings and affections of the 
heart are under no such direct coi^tro). 

There is certainly, for all practical pufposes,^ a great 
distinction between the heart and the conduct — ^between 
the inorcU condUion of the soul ^nd those specific acts which 
arise from 'it. Two . children, a dutiful and a disobedient 
one, are walking together in a beautiful garden, and 
Suddenly the gardener tells them that their father did not 
wish them to walk there. Now, how different will be the 
effeot which this annunciation will make upon themf The 
one will immediately obey, leaving with alacrity the place 
which his father did not wish him to pass. The other will 
linger and make excuses, or perhaps altogether disobey. 
Just before they received the communication they were 
perhaps not thinking of their father at all; but though 
their minds were acting on other subjects, they possessed 
distinct and opposite characters as sons, characters which 
rendered it probable that one would comply with his 
father's wishes as soon as those wishes should be known, 
and that the other would liot. So in all other cases; a 
dishonest man is dishonest in c&arac^er when he is not 
actually stealing, and an humble and devoted Christian 
will have his heart in a right state even when he is entirely 
Engrossed in some intellectual pursuit, or involved in the 
perplexities of business. 

I am aware that, among' metaphysical philosophers, 
there is a controversy on the question whether all that 
is of a moral nature, i. q. all that is blameworthy or praise- 
worthy, may not be shown to be specific, voluntary acts 



SM TQVN6 CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 11* 

MiUiphyncal cootroveray. Siory of the duke of Gloucd^Kr.- 



of tbe moral b^ing. Into this question I do not intend to 
ter here; — ibr if what kcommoiilj called charctcter, in coa- 
tradistinclion from conAusiy may be resolved into voluntary 
actsv it is e^rtaialj to be done only by a nice metaphysical 
attalysiiy which common Christians cannot be expected to 
foUo#. 

To illu^rate the fiatur^ of this subject, i. e. the distinc- 
tion, /or all pmciteal fmrp0$e$j between character and con- 
duct, I must give the following narrative, which I take 
from Hume, with some alterations of form to make it more 
intellig^le in this coafiection. 

In aearly periods of the English history, Richard, duke 
of Gloucester, an intrigiung and ambitious mm, formed 
the design of usuafping the tbrone. The former king had 
left several children, who w^re the proper heirs to the 
crown. They were however y^oung, and Richard gained 
'possession of the goven|ttieni, ostensibly thai he might 
manage it uatil they were of age, when he. was to surren- 
der it to them agaii^^-but regally with the design of putting 
them and all their infla^iiticd friends to death, and thus 
usurping the Uiirone. 

One of the moot powerful and faithful friends of the 
young princes was Lord Hastings, and the fbilowing is 
the account which Httme gives o€ the manner in which he 
was murdered by Richard. 

''The ^fee.of GU^d^ester knowing the imj^rtance of 
gaining Lord Hastings, sounded at a distance his senti- 
ments by means of a ktwyer who H^ed i» great inti«a<^ 
with that nobleman; but found bimi impre^MUe in bis 
allegiance and fidelity to^the children of Edwai^d, wi^ 
had ever honored him with Itts friendship. He saw thero- 
fore, that there were no longer any measwres to be kept 
with him; and he detennined to ruin* utterly the man 
whom he despaired of engaging in concur i» his usurpan 
tion. Accordingly, at ^ certain day, he sunimoned a eoun* v 
oil in the Tower, whither Lord Hastings, sus^ctii^ no 



Ch. 11.} PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. 921 

Ricbard'8 artrul plan. Violent measurea. 

design against him, repaired without hesitation. The 
duke of Gloucester was capable of committing the most 
bloody and treacherous murders with the utmost coolness 
and indifference. • On taking his place at the, council 
table, he appeared in the easiest and most jovial humor 
imaginable; he seemed to indulge himself in familiar oon- 
versation with the counsellors before they should enter on 
business; and having paid some compliments to one of 
them, on the good and early strawberries which ^e jraised 
in his garden, he begged the favor of having a.dishbf them. 
A servEmt was immediately despatched to bring them to 
him. Richard then ^ft the council, as if called away by 
some other business: but soon afler returning, with an 
angry and inflamed countenance he asked them,* * What 
punishment do those deserve that have plotted against my 
life, who am so nearly related to the king, and am entrus- 
ted with the administration of government?' Hastings re^ 
plied that tijjey merited the punishment of traitors. ' Th^se 
traitors, '.then cried the protector, * are the sorceress, my 
brother's wife, and Jane Shore, his mistress, with others 
their associates: see to what a condition they have re- 
duced me by their incantations and witchrafl.' As he said 
this, he laid't)Ckre bis arm, all shrivelled and decayed; but 
the counsellors, Who knew that this infirmity had attended 
him from his, birth, looked on each other with amazement ; 
Lord Hastings be^n to be alarmed : 

** 'Certainly, my lord,' said he, * if t\tey be guilty of 
these crimes they deserve the severest punishment.' 

** * And do you reply to me,' exclaimed Richard, ' wfth 
your ifs and your ands"^ You are the chief abettor of that 
witch Sho^e! You are yourself a traitor: and 1by St. Paul 
I will not dine before your head be brought me.', 

"He struck the table with his hand: armed men rushed 
in at the signal: the counsellors were thrown into the 
utmost consternation: and one of the guards, as if by ac- 
cident or a mistake, aimed a blow with a ppll-ax at one 
of the lords, named Stanley, who, aware of the danger. 



TOU!fO CHRIST! All^. [Cfl. 11. 



Murder of the boys. 



rimik UDder the table ; and though he saved h» life, 
oeited a severe wound in the head in Richard's presence. 
Hastings was seized, was hurried away, and instantljr be» 
headed on a timber log which lay in the court of the Tow-* 
er. Two hours after, a proclamation, so well penned and 
fairlj written that it must have been prepared before, waa 
read to the citizens of London, enumerating his ofiences, 
and apologizing to them, from the suddenness of the di»* 
covery, for the sudden execution of that nobleman, who 
was very popi]dar among them. 

After this act of violence Richard went forward with his 
plans until he attained complete, ultimate success. He 
caused the unhappy young princes whose claims were be- 
tween him and the throne, to be confined in the Tower, a 
famous castle and prison on the banks of the Thames, in 
the lower part of London. He then sent orders to the 
constable of the Tower to put his innocent and helpless 
victims to death. The officer declined performing so infa- 
mous an act. He then ordered the constable to give up, 
for one night, the command of the Tower to another man. 
He did so, and the duke sent Sir Jame^ Tyrrel, who 
promised to see that his cruel orders were executed. But 
even Tyrrel was not savage enough to execute them with 
his own hand; he had not the hardihood even to look 
on while it was done. He accordingly employed three 
ruffians, whose names were Slater, Lighten, and Forrest, 
who came in the night time to the door of the chamber in 
the Tower where the poor boys were confined. . The mur- 
derers found them sleeping quietly in their bed. They 
killed them by suffocating them with the bolster and pil- 
lows, and then showed the dead bodies (o Tyrrel, that he 
might assure Richard that they were no more. The ambi- 
tious and cruel Suke became, by these means, Richard III. .^ 
king of England. 

Now, in reviewing this story, and a hundred others 
might easily have been found which would have answered 



(%. 11,] PERSONAL IMPROVBMBNT. 

Analyito of the itory. AiclMnPb wicked cbaracter. 



the purposes of this illustration jiigt a» well, we see that tlie 
gaik which it discloses may be easily aoaiyzed into three 
distinct portions. I mean thdy are distinct i^ all popular 
and practical purposes. A nice meitaphy^al investigation 
aaay or may not, I shall not here consider which, reduce 
them again to the same. 

1. The extert^ acti.^ I mean the rusbti^-in of armed 
men at the table — the wounding of Lord Stanley — the 
beheading of Lord Hastings — the reading of the false pro- 
clamation — and the murder of the ohiMren ki their bed. 
These deeds were not performed by Richard himself; he 
hired ^others to perpetrate these crimes, and he had not 
himself, directly, any thing to do with them. It may be 
difficult to find, in the whole story, any one external ad 
which Richard did which was wrong. 

2. The intemai acts or defermmations ef mind. That Is, 
^e plans which Richard formed and Ihe wicked resoluiionB 
which he came to. Ke must, for ex-ampie, aJ; one time 
have hesitated whether he should have Hastings murdered 
or not. He weighed the difficulties and dangers on the 
one aide, and the advantages^ to his cause on the other, 
and at last he resolved to do it. This was a mental ad. 
In the same manner the determination to have the princes 
BHirdere;d was an act o£ his mind. It wae savage and 
abominable in the extreme, but wba^ I' wish the reader 
particularly to notice in it is, that it was a voluntary ad. 
Me deliberated about it, and then he wkmtarUy resolved 
upon it. His whole conduct throughout ^is business is a 
series of most wicked mental acts, which he dehberateljf 
performed, and for which he was guilty, though he contriT- 
ed to put off the external deeds of violence to t^ hands of 
others. 

5. The ambitious cmd cruel heart u^iich instigakd thsse 
ads. Washington would not have done su^ thinge^ 
King Alfred would not have done them. No. Richard 
had, by a distincticm which, for all the practical- purposes 
of life, will always be made, a savage and an unprincifrfed' 
thara^ter, without which he would not have done sucb 



S34 TOUNQ CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 11. 



8eiiM in which character is voluntary. 



things. Another man, when hesitating whether to murder 
two innocent boys, in order to prepare a- way for himself 
to a throne^ would have found principle^ of compassion and 
of justice coming up, he knows not how or whither, but 
still coming up to arrest his hand. Richard had nothing 
of this sort. He was ambitious, and sanguinary,, and un- 
relenting in character as well as in conduct Before he 
performed any of these mental acts, i. e. came to the wicked 
determinations named under the second head, he had a 
heart which fitted him exactly for them. 

It is evident too^ (and this is a point of the greatest im- 
portance,) that this cruel and. ambitious disposition, which 
was the origin of all his wicked plans, was not voluntary in 
the same sense in whi9h the plans themselves were so. 
In regard to his positive determination to have the children 
murdered, for example, he deUberated, jind- then volun- 
tarily decided upon it. . But who supposes that he ever 
deliberated, while he was carrying forward his schemes, 
whether he would be a cruel or a merciful man, and decid- 
ed upon the former? When he awoke each morning, he 
undoubtedly^ thought about the coming day, and formed 
his designs. He said to himself, '' I will do this, or I will 
stop that. I will have this man killed to-day, or I will 
banish that man." But who imagines that, every morning, 
he considered and decided whether he should be virtuous 
or vicious that day in heart ? Who can suppose that he 
formed such resolutions as these: *' I will be a cruel man 
to-day; I will have no principle and no compassion for 
others, but will delight only in my qwn ambition?'^ No. 
He was cruel, and ambitious, and ^sanguinary, without 
deiemUning io be so; Tor the question, what general char- 
acter he should cherish, probably never came up. All 
that he deliberated and decided upon unquestionably /v^ras, 
by wh9t specific plans he should gratify the impulses of hia 
wicked heart. He determined upon these .pHans, but he 
did not determine upon the impulses, H« would sometimes 
resolve to plan the destruction of an enemy, or to take 
certain steps which should lead him to the throne; but he 



dl. 11.'] PERSONAL IWnPRDVEMiENT, 525 

DiflUnction between character and conduct. Moral obligation. 

never said to himself, " Now I will awaken in myself an 
Impulse of cruelly; now I will call up into my heart ungov- 
ernable ambition and love of power." No. These feelings 
Teigned in his heart from day lo day, without any direct 
Bflbrt on his part to keep them there. How they came, 
and why they remained, it is not my present purpose to 
inquire. AH I mean here to insist upon is, that they were 
not, like the plans of iniquity he formed, the result of direct 
choice and determination, and consequently not voluntary. 
In the vame senBe in which these plans themselves were the 
result of direct tolition. 

It may be said that this wicked state of heart was the 
result of previous bad conduct, which had formed a habit 
of sin ; and perhaps it was. I am not trying to account for 
it, but only to bring it to view. I am simply endeavoring 
to show that there is, independently of the conduct, whether 
external or internal acts are meant hy that term, u state of 
heart from which that conduct flows. 

Such considerations as these, and matiy others which 
might be introduced if necessary, plainly show that man's 
moral feelings are far less under his direct control than his 
mtelledual or his hodily powers. He may try to lift a 
weight — he may try to run, to think, or to understand — 
and he will probably succeed] but it is hard to love or to 
hate by merely trying to do so. But after stating thus and 
illustrating this principle, there is one sentence which I 
ought to write in capitals, and express with the strongest 
emphasis in my power. The heart ts not independent of our 
control to such a degree as to free ns from moral obligation 
and accountability. We are most unquestionably free in 
the exercise Of ^ery good and of every evil feeling of the 
heart, and we are plainly accfuntable for them most fully, 
though we may not have exerted a direct determination or 
volition to bring them into being. 

But is there any practical advantage, it may be asked, 
in drawing this distinction between the heart and the con- 
duct? There is a great practical advantage, otherwise I 

28 . 



926 rOUNG CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 11 

Moral obli^rton. Importance of It. 

should by no meaps have taken so BAUch pains to exhibit 
it; for although the intellectut^ effort which is necessary 
on the part of the reader in going into such a discussion is 
of great advantage, I should not have eivt^red upon it wiUi 
thftt object alope. I design to introduce, nothing into this 
book but what will be of practical utility.. 

It is then practically important that we should all under- 
stand, not only that our conduct — by which I mean ouir 
ac/«, whether interna] or external — is wrong; but also that 
we have within us an evil hearty inclining us to go astray; 
and that this evil heart itself is distinct ^om the goingr 
astray which results froin it. A clear conception of this is 
the only safeguard against that self-suQiciency which is 
destructive of all religious progress. "The heart," say 
this Scriptures, '' is deceitful above all things, and despe- 
rately wicked!" The power whiph cres^ted it, alone can 
change its ten^e^ci^s, so as to make it 913 easy and as nat- 
ural for us to do right as il is. now to do wrong. To this 
power we ^lust look. W^ must look to. God too with a 
fueling of distrust of ourselves, al^d » ^paviction that help 
cap com^ only from him. " O wretched man that I am, 
who shall deliver me from th^ body of this death?" Yes, 
free as ms^ is, s^nd fully i^d entirely accountable as he is 
fo;* all hi,s condu.cti tlvere is a sen^e in which be is a mise- 
ifable slave to, ^%n^ in wretched bondage to a tyrant, from 
whose chains, i^p, struggles of hia own will ever set him free. 
When he re^Jiz^es this, and feels humbled and powerless, 
and utterly dependent upon divine gyace, then God is ready 
to come into his s6ul to purify and to save him. 

In thus discussing this-su,bject here, it has not been my 
inl^pntion to go metaphysically into the subject of the nature 
of moral agency. My desiop has only been to show to 
C!hristians, that the feelings of penitence for sin and ardent 
love to the Savior, are not feelings which they are to bring 
t<^ their hearts by struggling diret^tly to introduce them. 
You cannot be penitent by simply tryittg to be penitent. 
lfo,u cannot hate sin or loye God more sincerely than you 



Gh. n.] FERSOKAL IM^ltOVEME^T. 3^ 

--■'''' .... 

Waya of inflaencing the clmracter. ESbcts of Christian knowledge. 

do, by simplj trying to feel thuis. Tho heart is to be 
moulded and guided in other ways^ 

Some of these ways by Which the heart is to be led 
more and more to God, I shall deseribei 

1. By acquiring true knowledge. If you are a ChristiaA 
at all, your piety will be increased and strengthened hf 
bringing often before your mind those truths which show 
the necessity of piety. Instead of struggling directly to 
bring penitence to your heart by an efibrt of the will, spend 
a part of your little season of retirement in reflecting on 
the consequencoB of sin. Look around you and see how 
many families it has made miserable, how many hearts it 
has desolated! Think of the power it has had in ruining 
the world in which we live, and how dreadful would be its 
ravages if God should permit it to haTC its way among all 
his creatures. Reflect how it has destroyed your own 
peace of mind, injured your usefulness, brought a stain 
upon the Christian name. Reflect upon such subjects as 
these, so as to increase the viTidness of your knowledge — 
and though you make no eflbrt to feel penitence, even if 
yon do not think of penitence at all, it will rise in your 
heart if there is any grace there. 'You cannot look upon 
the consequences of sin without repenting that you have 
ever assisted to procure them. Peter did not repent of his 
treachery by trying to feel sorry. The Lord turned and 
looked upon Peter; that look brought with it recollections. 
He saw clearly his relation to his Savior, and the ingrati- 
tude of his denial. 

It is so with all the other emotions of piety. You will 
not succeed in loving God supremely by simply making 
the eflbrt to do m. Look at his goodness and mercy to 
you; see it in the thousand f<yms in which it shines upon 
you. Do not dwell upon it in generals, but come to mi- 
nute particulars, and whether old or young, and whatever 
may be the circumstances of your lives, reflect carefully 
Upon God's kind dealings with yott. Are you a mother P 
— as you hold your infant upon your knee, or observe its 
playful brothers and sisters iti health and happiness around 



XS TOtTTTG eHRISTI^ir. [Cfr. If^ 

The mother. The child. Gmtitude. Christian action.. 

3WU, consider a moment by whose goodness they were 
. given to you, and by whose mercy they are daily spared* 
Are you a child? — look upon the comforts, and privileges, 
and the sources of happiness which God has given you — 
and while you view them, remember that every week there 
are multitudes of children around you suffering from cold,, 
from hunger, from neglecl,. or who are summoned to an 
early grave. I have stood at the bedside of a child who 
was, a fortnight before, m her class at the Sabbath school, 
— and seen her sink from day to day under the gras]> 
of sickness and pain, until her reason* failed and her 
strength wa» gone, and at last she slumbered in death, 
A few days afterward she was deposited, in Ihe depth of 
winter, m her cold grave. Bkistertng storms and wintry 
tempests do not indeed disturb the repose of the tomb, but 
when you are sitting m health and happiness ai your owit 
cheerful fireside, and hear the howling winds which sweep 
around you — or in a more genial season feel the warm 
breath of spring upon your healthful cheek — can you 
think of the thousand cases like the one I have alluded to, 
and not feef grateful to your kind Protectoi^ If your- 
• heart is not entirely unrenewed, (and I am speaking now- 
to Christians,) these affections will be warmly awakened 
while you reflect upon God's goodness, and thus leant 
how much you are indebted to him. 

It is thus with other feeHngs, they are to come to the 
heart, not by the direct effort to bring them there, but by 
bringing to view the truths which b,w culculated to awaken 
them. If your heart is right toward Grod in a«y degree, 
the presentation of these'truths will awaken penitence and 
love; and the more knowledge you acquire in regard to 
your relations^ to your Maker, and his dealings with you, 
the more rapid will be your growth in grace. 

2. The second means of growing in grace is Chrisiian 
action. Faith will not only show itself by works, but 
works will increase faith. Let a man make an effort to 
refieve a sufferer, and he becomes more and more inter- 
ested for hkn. He first sends him a little food, or a little 



CK. ll.j PERSONAL IMPtlOVEMENT. S2i 

i ^-» 

Why Howard becnme interested for prisoners. Pitul. 

fttel, when he is sick, and he finds that this does good; k 
relieves the pressure, and brings cheering and encourage 
merit to the family, before just readj to despair. Th* 
benefactor then, becoming more interested in the case, 
sends a physician; and when the patient is cured, M 
procures business for him; and goes on from step to step, 
until perhaps at last he feels a greater interest ih that one 
case than in all the suflTering poor of the town beside. It 
all began by the simple act of sending a littli^ wood, which 
was, perhaps, almost accidental, or at least prompted by a 
very slight benevolent feeling. This feeling haft, however, 
increased to a strong and steady principle; and to what is 
its increase owing ? — simply to his bene'eoUtU effort, 

I have already once or twice alluded to the benevolent 
Howard, who went through Europe, visiting the prisons, 
that he might learn the condition of th^ir unhappy tenants 
and relieve their sufferings. And how was it that he be- 
came so much interested in prisoners? It devolved upon 
him, in the discharge of some public duty in his own county 
in England, to do something for the relief of prisoners 
there — and the moment he began to do something for the 
prisoners, that moment he began to love them; — and the 
more he did for them, the more strongly he was attached 
to their cause. 

The Apostle Paul is one of the most striking examples 
of the power of Christian effort to promote Christian loVe. 
He" gave himself wholly to his work, and the consequence 
was, he became completely identified with it. He loved 
it better than he did life, and the strongest expressions of 
attachment to the Savior that the Bible contains, are to 
be foutid in the language he used when he was drawing 
towards the close of his labors upon earth. 

If We then would grow in attachment to our Savior, we 
must do something for him. But notice — it is not the mere 
external act which will promote your growth in piety; the 
act must be performed, in some degree at least, from Chris- 
tian principle. You can all put this method immediately 

28* 



SQO TOnimCF CHRISTIAN. [Oil. II 

Dependence upon the Holy Spirit. An evil heart. 



to the test. Thiak of something which you can do by whicb 
you will be co-operating with. God. The design of Grod i» 
to relieve suffering and promote happiness whereyer there 
is opportunity; and as sin is the greatest obstacle in the 
way, he directs his first and chief efforts to the removal of 
sin. Now endeavor to find something which you can do, 
by which sin caa be removed or suffering alleviated, and 
go forth to the work feeling that you are co-operating with 
your Savior in his great and benevolent plans. Perhaps 
you- will find an. opportunity in your own family — or per- 
haps in your neighborhood; but wherever it is done, if you 
go fi>rth to the duty under the influence of attachment to 
the Savior and love to men, these feelings will certainly 
be increased by the effort. You will feel, while you do it, 
that you are a co-worker with God< — ^that you are as it wc re- 
making common cause with him, and the bonds by which 
you were before only loosely bound to him a*'e strengthened. 

Go forward then efficiently in doing good; set your hearts 
upon it. If you feel that you have but little love to God, 
bring that little into exerciaCy and it will grow. 

3. The last of the means of irrowing in grace which I 
shall now mention, is an humble sense of dependence on 
the influences of the Holy Spirit, and sincere prayer for 
those influences. I freely acknowledge the difficulty which 
this subj,ect presents. If we attempt to form any theory by 
which we can clearly comprehend how accountability caiik 
rest upon a sonl which is still dependent upon a higher 
power for all that is good, we shall only plunge ourselves 
into endless perplexity. We know that we are accounta- 
ble for all our feelii^s, as well as for our words and deeds,, 
and at the same time we know that those feelings withia 
us which reason and conscience condemn, will come, un- 
less the Holy Spirit saves us from being their prey. How 
emphatically does the lauguage of Paul describe this our 
melancholy subjection to this law of sin! 

"For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh) dwelletb 
no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to 
perform that which is good, I find not. For thpe good that 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. 331 

An evil heart. Divine influence neeesrary. 

I would, I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I 
do. Now if I do that I would not, it is no more I that da 
it, but sin that dwelleth in me. I find then a law, that 
when I would do good, evil is present with me. For I 
delight in the law of God, after the inward man. But I 
see another law in my members warring against the law of 
my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin 
which is in my members. O wretched man that I am ! who 
shai] deliver me from the body of this death?" 

The conclusion to which he comes in the next verse is 
the right one, that God will deliver us through Jesus 
Christ our Lord. We must feel, then, humbly dependent 
on an influence from above. Let us come daily to our 
Father in heaven, praying him to draw us to the Savior ; 
we shall not come unless he draw us. Let us feel depend- 
ent every day for a fresh supply of divine grace to keep 
these hearts in a proper frame. It is not enough to express 
this feeling in our morning prayer; we must carry it with 
us into all the circumstances of the day. When we are 
going into temptation we must say,-" Lord, hold thou me 
up and then I shall be safe," and we must say it with a 
feeling of entire moral dependence on God, 

Nor need we fear that this sense of dependence on God 
will impair our sense ofpernmal gvUt, when we wilfully sin 
against him. I do not attempt to present any theory by 
which the two may be shown to be compatible with each 
other. We cannot easily understand the theory, but we 
feel and 'know that both are true. We all know that we 
are guilty for living in sin ; and we feel and know that our 
hearts do not change, simply by our determining that they 
shall. Since then the two truths are clear, let us cordially 
admit them both. Let us in the spirit of humility, and en- 
tire trust in God's word, believe our Maker when he says, 
that he has mercy on whom he will have mercy, and whom 
he will he hardeneth. Let us believe this cordially, how- 
ever difficult it may be to understand what can, in such a 
case, be the guilt of the hardened one : — and applying the 
declaration to our own case, let us come before him pray- 



999 TOVKO OHRISTIAIfi [Ch. 11. 



liHailectual impruvement. 



ilig that he Will tut'n our hearts to hdliness — and at the 
swae time let us see and feel our gUilt m Neglecting duty 
and disobeying God as We do. 

This feeling of etitire dependence on tli# Hb\y Spirit for 
ifioral progress is the safest and hap{]^iest ^ling whioh th^ 
Christian elm cherish. Such weakness And helplessness 
as ours loves protection, and if we can ftAif make up our 
minds that there is a difficulty in this subject beyond our 
present powers to surmooAt, we cAn feel fully our own 
moral respoftsibility, and at the saitie time know that our 
dearest moral interests itr^ \it God's care. This feeling is 
c<:»mmitting our souls fo out Savior's keeping and care. 
Were our hearts entirely under our oi^n direct control, 
independent of Gt>d, we, and we orily^ could be their keep^ 
ers; but if We hdve given our heatta to him, Grod has prom- 
ised to keep us by hib powdr. He is ahk to keep us. He 
has control^ after all, in oUr hearts; and if we are willing 
to put our trust in him, he wUl keep us from falling, and 
present us at last faultless before the throne of his glory 
with exceeding joy. 

II. INTELLECTUAL IMPROVEMENT. 

It may perhaps^ seem strange that I should discuss the 
subject of intellectual progress' in a book devoted to an 
explana^jtion and enforcement of the principles of piety. I 
should not do this were I not firmly persuaded that a regu- 
lar and uninterrupted intellectual progress is a duty which 
is peculiarly binding upon the Christian. Let the reader 
reflect a moment, that those intellectual powers which God 
has given him are intended to exist for ever^ and that if he 
shall be prepared at death to enter the world of happiness, 
they will go on expanding for ever, adding not only to his 
means, but to his capacities of enjoyment. 

The great mass of mankind consider the intellectual 
powers as susceptible of a certain degree of development 
in childhood, to prepare the individual for the active duties 
of life. This degree of progress they suppose to be made 
before the age of twenty is attained, and hence they talk 



Ch. 11. J PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. 339 

A finished education. Direct of education. 

of an education being finished! Now, if a parent wishes 
to convey the idea that bis daughter has closed her studies 
at school, or that his son has finished bis preparatory pro- 
fessional course, and is ready to commence practice, there 
is perhaps no strong objection to bis using of the common 
phrase, that the education is finished; but in any general 
or proper use of language, there is no such thing as a fin- 
ished education. The most successful student that ever 
lefl a school, or took his degree at college, never arrived 
at a good place to stop, in his intellectual course. In fact, 
the farther he goes the more desirous will he feel to go on; 
and if you wish to find an instance of the greatest eager- 
ness and interest with which the pursuit of knowledge is 
prosecuted, you will find it undoubtedly in the case of the 
most accomplished and thorough scholar that the country 
can furnish, one who has spent a long life in study, and 
who finds that the farther he goes the more and more wide- 
ly does the boundless field of intelligence open before him. 

Give up then, at once, all idea of finishing your educa- 
tion. The sole object of the course of discipline at any 
literary institution in our land is not to finish, but just to 
show you how to begin; — to give you an impulse and a di- 
rection upon that course which you ought to pursue with 
unabated and uninterrupted ardor as long as you have being. 

It is unquestionably true, that every person, whatever 
are his circumstances or condition in life, ought at all 
times to be making some steady efforts to enlarge his stock 
of knowledge, to increase his mental powers, and thus to 
expand the field of his intellectual vision. I suppose most 
of my readers are convinced of this, and are desirous, if 
the way can only be distinctly pointed out, of making such 
efforts. In fact, no inquiry is more frequently made by 
intelligent young persons than this: — **What course of 
reading shall I pursue? What books shall I select, and 
what plan in reading them shall I adopt?" These inquiries 
I now propose to answer. 

The objects of study are of several kinds; some of the 
most important I shall enumerate. 



SS4 TOUffO (CHRUTIAN. [Ch. II. 

• . . 

Ik To Mrengthen the powera. Robinaon Crusoe and Friday. 

1. To increane our intellectual powetB, Every one knoWB 
th«,l there is a differeDce of ability in difibrent minds, but it 
18 not BO distinctly understood that etefy one's abiiitied 
may be increased or strengthened by a kind of cuUura 
adapted expressly to this purpose; — I mean a culture 
which is intended not to add to the stock of knowledge, hit 
only to increoie imtelkctual power. Suppose, for example, 
that when Robinson Crusoe on his desolate island had first 
found Friday the savage, he had said to himself as follows: 

''This man looks wild and barbarous enough; he is to 
stay with me and help me in my various plans, but he 
could help me much more effectually if he were more of 
an intellectual being and less of a mere animal. Now I 
can increase his intellectual power by culture, and I will. 
But what shall I teach him?'* 

On reflecting a little fatther upon the subject, he would 
say to himself as follows: 

''1 must not always teach him things necessary for him 
to know in order to assist me in my work, but t must try to 
teach him to think for himself. Then he will be far more 
valuable as a servant, than if he has to depend upon me 
for every thing he does.'* 

Accordingly some evening when the two, master and 
man, have finished the labors of the day, tlobinson is 
Walking upon the sandy beach, with the wild savage by his 
side, and he concludes to give him his first lesson in math- 
ematics. He picks up a slender and pointed shelly and 
with it draws cafefuUy a circle upon the sand. 

"What is that?" says Friday. 

"It is what we call a circle, says Robinson." **I 
want 3?ou now to come and stand here, and attentively con* 
sider what I am going to tell you about it." 

Now Friday has, we will suppose, never given his s^ 
rious attention to any thing, or rather he has never made 
a serious mental effort upon any subject for five minutes 
at a time in his life. The simplest mathematical principle 
is a coAiplete labyrinth of perplexity to him; He comes 
up and looks at the smooth and beautiful durve which his 



Ch, 11.] PERSONAL <l«FRqVWBNT. 39ft 

RobiBson Crusoe's auppoaed experiment with Friday. 



master has drawn ii^ thfl si^cl wit)) a gaz^ of stupid wsii^f!<- 

<< Now liatem pareAillj to what; I si^," ai^rs RobmaoQ^ 
** and see if you can understand it. Do you ^ee t,bi&i liUl^ 
point I make in the middle of the cirote?" 

Fridiiy says he does, and wonders what ift to CQmQ from 
the magic character which he sees before him« 

<^Thi8," continues Robinson, '^ is a circle, and tha,t 
point is the centre. Now, if I drew linc^ froqi the cenUo 
in any direction to tbe outaide, the^e lines will all b« equiU*" 

So saying, he draws several ]iu0^ He sets Friday to 
measuring them. . Friday se^s tbllt tbcy are equal, and is 
pleased, from two distinct causes; one, that he has suc- 
cessfully exercised his thinking powerfs, and the qther, that 
he has learned aomething which he nev^ knew before. 

I wish now thai the reader would understand that Robin- 
son does not take thk course with Friday because he 
wishes him to understand the nattire of the circle. Sup- 
pose we were to say to him, '^ Why did y<]|U choose such 
a lesson as that for your savage ? You can teach him much 
mare useful things than the properties ctf tbe circle. What 
good will it do him to know how to make circles? Do you 
expect him to draw geometrical diagrams lor you, or to 
calculate and project eclipses?" 

*' No," Robinson would reply ^ '' I do not care to make 
Friday understand the properties of the circle. But I 
would have him to be a thinking beings and if I can induce 
him to think half an hour steadily and carefully, it is of no 
consequence upon what subject his thoughts are employed. 
I chose the circle because that seemed easy and distinct — » 
suitable for the first lesson. I do not know that be will 
ever have occasion to make use of the fact, that the radii 
of a circle are equal, as long as he shall live — but he wil) 
have occasion for the power ofpaiitiU Al/en/iofi ani thought 
which he acquired while attempting to understand that 
subject." 

This would unquestionably be sound philosophy, and a 
savage who should study such a lesson on the be<(ch of 



996 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. II. 

Coaie flceUoM. Difficult acudiM. 

his own wild island, would for ever after be less of a savage 
than before. The effect upon his mental powers, of one 
single effort like that, would last; and a series of such 
efforts would transform him from a fierce and ungovern- 
able, but stupid animal, to a cultivated and intellectual man. 

Thus it is with all education. One great object is to 
increa$e the pawert, and this is entirely distinct from the 
acqtdntion 4^ ktioioUdge, Scholars verj often ask, when 
pursuing some difficult studj, '' What good will it do me 
to know thisP' But that is not the question. They ought 
to ask, << What good will it do me to ham it? What eSect 
upon my habits of thinking, and upon my intellectual 
powers, will be produced by the efforts to examine and to 
conquer these difficulties?" 

A very fine example of this is the study of conic sections^^ 
a difficult branch of the course of mathematics pursued in 
college ; a study which, from its difficulty and its apparent 
uselessness, is often very unpopular in the class pursuing 
it. The question is very often asked, ** What good will it 
ever do us in after-life to understand ail these mysteries 
of the parabola, and the hyperbola, and the ordinates, and 
abscissas, and asymtotes?" The answer is, that the knotV" 
hdge ofthefactSy which you acquire, will probably do you 
no good whatever. That is not the object, and every col- 
lege officer knows full well that the mathematical princi- 
ples which this science demonstrates, are not brought into 
use in after-life by one scholar in ten. But every college 
officer, and every intelligent student who will watch the 
operations of his own mind and the influences which such 
exercises exert upon it, knows equally well that the study 
of the higher mathematics' produces an effect in enlarging 
and disciplining the inklleetual pmoers, which the whole of 
life will not obliterate. 

Do not shrink then from difficult work in your efforts at 
intellectual improvement. You ought, if you wish to 
secure the greatest advantage, to have some difficult work, 
that you may acquire habits of patient research, and in- 
crease and strengthen your intellectual powers. 



Cfh. 11.] PEB80KAI. IMPROVEMENT, 397 

Acquiiition of knowlcdfe. Skill. 

% The mcqvdsiiwn cf knowledge^ This is another objeet 
of intellectual effort ; and a moment^s reflection will con- 
vince any (Mie, that the acquintioa of knowledge is the 
^ty of all. Sometimes it has been said by an individual 
under the influenGe of a misguided interest in religious 
truth, that he wiH have nothing to do with human learning; 
he will study nothing but the Bible, and <all his leisure 
hours he will give to meditation nnd prayer — and thus he 
will devote his whole time and strength to the promotion 
of his progress in piety. But if there is any thing clearly 
manifest of Grod'^s intentions in regard to employment for 
man, it is that he should spend a very considerable portion 
<»f his time upon earth in iusquiring knowledge — knowledge, 
in all the extent and variety in which it is offered to human 
powers. The whole economy of nature is such as to allure 
man to the investigation of it, «nd the whole structure of 
his mind is so framed as to qualify him exactly for the 
work. If now a person begins in early life, and even as 
late as twenty, and makes it a part of his constant aim to 
acquire knowledge-endeaToring every day to learn some- 
thing which he did not know before, or to fix something in 
the mind which was before not familiar, he will make an 
almost insensible, but very rapid and important progress. 
The field of his intellectual vision will widen and extend 
every year. His powers of raind as well as his attainments 
win be increased; and as he can see more extensively, 
so he can act more effectually every month than he could 
in the preceding. He thus goes on through life, growing 
in knowledge and in intellectual and moral power; and if 
his spiritual progress keeps pace, as it ought to, with his 
intellectual advancement, he is, with the divine assistance 
and blessing, exalting himself higher and higher in the 
scale of being, and preparing himself for alofVier and wider 
field of service in the world to come. 

3. The acquUifion of skill is a third object of intellectual 
etfort. I point out clearly and separately the distinct ob- 
jects which intellectual effort ought to have in view, that 

29 



S38 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 1 1. 



Three ezperimentt with Friday. 



my readers may ascertain whether they are doing some- 
thing to accomplish them all, and that in all the particular 
plans which they may adopt, they may have constantly 
in mind the purpose which is m view in each, in order 
the more effectually to secure it. I wish therefore that 
my readers would notice particularly this third head, for 
it is one which, though in some respects quite as im- 
portant as either of the others, is not oflen very clearly 
pointed out. 

To recur to my illustration of Robinson Crusoe and his 
man Friday. The conversation which I supposed to be 
held witli him on the subject of the circle, was not merely 
designed to give him information or skill, but to discipline 
and improve his intellectual powers by the exercise. Let 
us suppose now, that the next day Robinson had concluded 
to tell him the story of his own past adventures, and set- 
ting down upon a green bank by the side of their hut, had 
given him an outline of his early life in England — of his 
first coming to sea — of his wanderings and adventures on 
the great ocean, and of his final shipwreck on the island. 
He describes, as well as he can, the form and appearance 
of the great ship in which be had sailed, its spacious decks 
and numerous company, and makes him acquainted with 
his hope that, ere long, a similar ship, coming from that 
same native land, will appear in the horizon and come, 
attracted by their signals, to the island, and bear him away 
to his home. 

Now such a conversation as this is intended to give infor- 
mation. It may indeed be a useful discipline to Friday's 
powers to listen to it, but that is not its main design. Ro- 
binson's chief design is, to make his savage companion 
acquainted with fads, which it is on many accounts impor- 
tant that he should know. 

Now let us take a third case. My readers are all doubt- 
less aware that savages can usually count only as far as 
they have fingers to illustrate their arithmetic. Some 
tribes can use both hands, counting as far as ten, and when 
they get beyond that they hold up both hands, shake their 



\ 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. 339 

Teacblng him to coant. Study of niatliematics. 

heads as if in perplexity, and say "great many — great 
many.'^ Other tribes can go no farther than one hand, and 
have no means for numbering beyond five. 

Now suppose Robinson were to undertake to teach Fri- 
day to count. He might say to himself that it would ofleu 
be a great convenience to him if Friday were able to count, 
so that he might ascertain and describe to him numbers 
higher than those which he could express by his fingers. 
He accordingly commences the task, and perseveres day 
after day in the lesson. I say day afler day, for, easy as it 
may seem to us, it is a matter of no small difficulty to 
teach a savage to count. Now, although there is unques- 
tionably an important mental discipline secured by such an 
efibrt on the part of the savage, and although the learning 
to count is in one sense the acquisition of knowledge — it 
is, in a much more important sense, the acquisition q£ skilL 
By making the process of counting familiar, Friday is not so 
properly acquiring a knowledge of facts y as learning some-' 
thing to do. It is of the nature of skill which he is to use 
in future times for the benefit of himself and of Robinson. 

If you call to mind the various studies which are urged 
upon the attention of the young, you will find that skill, 
that is, ability to do something , is very oflen the object in 
view. It is so with arithmetic. In studying the fundamen- 
tal rules, the main design is not to bring in information to 
your minds, but to teach you to do something. When you 
read history, you are acquiring knowledge — when you study 
rhetoric or write composition for practice, you are acquir- 
ing skill. Now all these three objects in a good scheme 
of education are to be kept constantly in view, and to be 
regularly provided for. A young man at college, for 
instance, will study his demonstration in mathematics in 
the morning, for the purpose of improving and strengthen" 
ing his powers ; he will listen to a philosophical or chemical 
lecture, or study botany in the fields in the afternoon, to 
obtain Jenoidedge, and in the evening he will practice in his 
debating society, to acquire skilL These three things are 
distinct and independent, but all equally important in the 



340 rausG christtait. [Ch. II. 

Imperfect education. Neglect of impottaiit duties. 

business of life. If one is cultivated and the others neg-^ 
lected, the man is very poorljr qualified for usefulness; and 
yet nothing is more common than such half-educated men. 

I have oflen known persons in whom the firtt of these 
objects alone was secured. You will recognise one who m 
in danger of such a result in his education, by his Strong 
interest, (if he is in college, for example,) iil^ those pur- 
suits of his class, which require greater but temporary- 
mental effort ; and by his neglect of the equally iitiponnnt 
p»rts of his course, which would ^ore his mind with facts. 
He attracts the admiration of bis class by his fluent famili- 
aritv with all the mazes of the most intricate theorem or 
problem; and he excites an equal surprise by bis apparent 
dulness at the recitation in history, making, as he docs,, 
the most ludicrous blunders, and showing the most la- 
mentable ignorance of every thing wiiich is beyond the 
pale of demonstration. When at last he comes out into- 
the world, his mind is acute and powerful, but he h an 
entire stranger to the scene in which he is to move; he 
can do no good, because be does not know where his^ 
efforts are to be applied; he makes the same blunders iir 
real lite that he did in coUege in its history, and is soor> 
neglected and forgotten. He had cultivated simple pottfer^ 
but was without ix^oiniMium or $kiU; his power was. conse- 
quently almost useless. 

On the other hand, a young man may spend his whole 
strength in simply ohtaming, knowUdge — neglecting the 
cuhivation of mental power, or the acquisition of skilL 
He neglects his severer studies, and his various opportu* 
nities for practice. ** Spherics! *^ says he, ** and trigono- 
metrical fffl'mula! what good will they ever do me^ I am 
not going to be an^ ahnanack-midcep, or biv gain my hveli- 
hood by calculating eclipses." So be reads history, and 
voyages, and travels, and devours every species of peri- 
odical literature which finds its way within college walls. 
He very probably neglects those duties which, if faithfully 
performed, would cuhivate the powers of conversation^ 
and writing, and public speaking;, and he comes out inta 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. 341 



Intellectual progress of a mother. 



the world equally celebrated among all who knew him, on 
the one hand, for the variety and extent of his general 
knowledge, and on the other, for the slenderness of his 
original mental power, and his utter want of any skill in 
bringing his multifarious acquisitions to bear upon the 
objects, of life. 

In the same manner I might illustrate the excessive pur- 
suit of the last of the objects I have named, viz. the acqui" 
siHon of shillf but I think it is unnecessary. My readers 
will, I think, all clearly see that these objects are distinct, 
and that all are of the iirst importance to every one. To 
be most extensively useful, you must have original mental 
power, and knowledge of facts, and skill to apply that 
knowledge in the most effectual manner. 

The illustrations which I have employed, have referred 
more directly to the cases of young men in a course of 
public education, but I have not intended that these princi- 
ples should be exclusively applied to them. Nor are they 
to be confined in their application to the preparatory stages 
of education. Take for example a young mother of a 
family. She ought at all times to be making daily intellec- 
tual .progress, and this intellectual progress ought to be 
such as to secure a proportional attention to all the three 
objects I have named. She ought to investigate something 
which shall task her powers to the utmost, so as to secure 
discipline and improvement of those powers. She ought also 
to make regular and systematic efforts to acquire informa- 
tion — by reading and by conversation, enlarging as much 
as possible the field of her vision, so that she can the more 
fully understand the circumstances in which she is placed, 
and the means of influence and usefulness within her reach. 
She ought also to adopt systematic plans for increasing her 
skill — by learning, for example, system in all her affairs — 
by studying improvements in the manner in which all her 
duties are performed — endeavoring to become more faith- 
ful, and systematic, and regular in all her employments. 
By this means she may acquire dexterity in every pursuit, 

29* 



S^ youNGT cHRtsTiAjr. [C!h If^ 

-^ — II - — — — ^ . -- -- ,, 

Reading. System. 

an important influence over other minds, and especially a 
higher skill in interesting, and instructing, and governing 
her children. 

But I must noC go more into detail in this part of my 
subject. The best means of intellectual improvement 
demand a volume instead of a chapter, though a chapter is> 
all which can be properly appropriated to it in such a work 
as this. What I have already said in regard to the three 
separate and distinct objects in view in education, ha» 
been* chiefly designed to persuade my young readers ta 
engage cheerfully and cordially m eAl the ptir^ts which 
those who are older and wiser than they, have prescribed 
in the various literary institutions with which; they are con- 
nected. I shall, with these remarks, leave the subject of 
the pursuit of study in literary seminaries, and close the 
chapter with a few directions in regard to such' mean& of 
improvement as may be privately resorted to by iadivid" 
uals^ in their eflbrts to improve. 

I. Reiading. There are several detached direction* 
which will be of great service to you in your private read- 
ing, if they are faithfully followed. 

Read systetnaticaily, I mean by this, do not tabe up 
and read ant/ books because they merely chance to full in 
your way. You see on your neighbor's table a book whicb 
looks as if it were interesting, as you say, and you think 
you should like to read it. You borrow it — carry it home 
— and at some convenient time you begin. Soon ho we very 
either from taking it up at a time when you were interested 
in something else, or from being frequently interrupted, or 
perhaps from the character of the book, you find it rather 
dull, and afler wasting a few hours upon the first fifly 
pages, you tumble over the remainder of the leaves, and 
then send the book home. Afler a few days more, you 
find some other book by a similar accident, and pursue the 
same course. Such a method of attempting to acquire 
knowledge from books, will only dissipate the mind, destroy 
all habits of accurate thinking,, and unfit you for any intel- 
lectual progress. 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAT. IMPROVEMENT. M8 

■I . ■ ' ■ . , .. I 

Variety. Thorough reading. 

But you must not go into the opposite extreme of draw- 
ing up for yourself a set of rules and a system of reading 
full enough to occupy you for years, and then begin upon 
that with the determination of confining yourself, at all 
hazards, rigidly to it. What I mean by systematic read- 
ing is this. 

Reflect upon your circumstances and condition in life, 
and consider what sort of knowledge will most increase 
your usefulness and happiness. Then inquire of some 
judicious friend for proper books. If accident throws some 
book in your way, consider whether the subject upon which 
it treats, is one which comes within your plan. Inquire 
about it, if you cannot form an opinion yourself, and if you 
conclude to read it, persevere and finish it. 

Systematic reading requires too, that you should secure 
Variety in your books. Look over the departments of hu- 
man knowledge, and see that your plan is so formed that 
it vtWl give you some knowledge of them all. In regard to 
the precise time and manner in which you shall fill up the 
details, it is undoubtedly best not to form - any ^cact plan. 
It is better to leave such to be decided by circumstances^ 
and even by your inclinations, from time to time. You 
will enter with more spirit and success into the prosecution 
of any inquiry, if you engage in it at a time when it seems 
alluring and interesting to you. 

Read thoroughly. Avoid getting into the habit of going 
over the page in a listless and mechanical manner. Make 
an effort to penetrate to the full meiming of your author, 
and think patiently of every difficult passage until you 
understand it; or if it baffles your unassisted efifbrts, have 
it explained. Thorough reading requires also that you 
should make yourself acquainted with all those aiiendant 
circumsiances which enable you the more fully to under^ 
stand the author's meaning. Examine carefiiUy the title^ 
page and preface of every book you read, that you tnay 
learn who wrote it, where it was written, and what it was 
written for. Have at hand, if possible, such helpsas inaps, 
and a gazetteer, and a biografi^cal dictionary. Be oareful 



344 TOUNO GHAISTIAN. [Ch. II. 



Short works. 



then to find upon the map every place mentioned, and learn 
from the gazetteer what sort of place it is. If an allusion 
is made to any circumstances in the life of an eminent man 
or in public history, investigate by books or by inquiry the 
allusion, so as fully to understand it. If possible, find 
other accounts of the transactions which your author is 
describing, and compare one with another — reflect upon 
the difierences in the statements, and endeavor to ascertain 
the truth. Such a mode of reading as this is a very slow 
way of getting over the pages of a book, but it is a very 
rapid way of acquiring knowledge. 

Do not undertcJce to read extensive works, A young per- 
son will sometimes commence Hume's England, or Gib- 
bon's Decline and Fall, or Hallam's Middle Ages, or some 
other extensive work, beginning it with no calculation of 
the time which will be required to complete it, and in fact 
with no definite plan whatever. Such an undertaking is 
almost always a failure. Any mind under twenty years of 
age will get wearied out again and again in going through 
a dozen octavo volumes on any subject whatever. There 
is no objection to reading such works, but let it be in de* 
tached portions tU a time. Select, for instance, from Hume's 
most interesting narrative, the reign of some one monarch, 
Elizabeth or Alfred; or make choice of such a subject as 
the crusades, or the life of Mary Queen of Scots, and mark 
off such a portion of the whole work as shall relate to the 
topic thus chosen. This you can readily do, and with no 
greater difficulty on account of being compelled to begin 
in the middle of the history, than must always be felt in 
reading works of that nature. If you begin at the begin- 
ning of a work, and go regularly through to the end, you 
will find a thousand cases in which the narrative you read 
is connected with other histories in such a way as to de- 
mand the same effort to understand the connection, that 
will be necessary in the course I have proposed. 

Form then, for your reading, short and definite plans. 
When you commence a work, calculate how long it will 
take you to finish it, and endeavor to adhere to the plan 



Ch. n.] PERSONAL IMPROVEVBNT. 34& 

OonTenatlon . Diffienlty of cmMvmtiag It. 

you shall form in regard to the degree of rapidity with 
which you will proceed. This habit, if once formed, wiU 
be the means of promoting regularity and efficacy in all 
your plans. 

II. Conversation. This topic desenres a volume, in-* 
stead of the very brief notice which is all that is consistent 
with the plan of this book. It is known and admitted to 
be one of the most important of all attainments, and perhaps 
nothing is more desired by all intelligent young persons 
who reflect at all upon their means of influence and im- 
provement, than conversational power. But, notwithstand- 
ing this general impression m its favor, there is nothing 
of half its importance, which is so entirely neglected in 
education. And there is, it must be acknowledged, a very 
great difficulty in the subject. It cannot be taught in 
schools and by classes, like the other branches t:^ know« 
ledge or skill.* Some few successful experiments have 
indeed been made, but almost every effi>rt to make it a 
distinct object of attention in a literar j seminary has either 
failed entirely, or resulted in {^educing a stifl* and formal 
manner, whieh is very far from being pleasing. The ac- 
quisition of skill in conversation therefore must, in most 
cases, be lefl to individual efibrt ; and even here, if the 
acquisition of skill is made the direct object, the individual 
will notice his manner so much^ and take so much pains 
with that, as to be in peculiar danger of aflTectation or 
formality. To acquire the art of conversation then, I 
would recommend that you should practice conversation 
systematically and constantly, but that you should have 
some other objects than improvement in your manner of 
expressing yourself, mainly in view. You will become 
interested in these objects, and consequently interested in 
the conversation which you make use of as a means of 
promoting them; and by not having your own manner 
directly in view, the danger of that stiflhess, precision, or 
afllectation, which is so common a result of eflbrts to im- 
prove in such an art as this, will be escaped. I will men-^ 
tion what these objects may be. 



346 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 11. 

Means of cuUivating it. EKperiments proposed. 

Make conversation a means of acquiring knowledge. Eve- 
ry person with whom you are thrown into casual connec- 
tion, has undoubtedly some knowledge which would be 
useful or valuable to you. You are riding in the stage, 
I will suppose, and the rough-looking man who sits by 
your side appears so unattractive that you do not imagine 
that he has any thing to say which can interest you. But 
speak to him— draw him into conversation, and you will 
find that he. is a sea-captain who has visited a hundred 
ports, and can tell you many interesting stories about 
every clime. He will like to talk, if he finds you are 
interested to hear, and you may make, by his assistance, 
a more important progress in really useful knowledge, 
during that day's ride, than by the study of the best lesson 
from a book, that was ever learned. Avail yourselves, in 
this way, of every opportunity which Providence may 
place within your reach. 

You may do much to anticipate and to prepare for con- 
versation. You expect, I will suppose, to be thrown into 
the company of a gentleman residing in a distant city. 
Now, before you meet him, go to such sources of informa- 
tion as are within your reach, and learn all you can about 
that city. You will get some hints in regard to its public 
institutions, its situation, its business, and its objects of 
interest of every kind. Now you cannot read the brief 
notices of this sort which common books can furnish, 
without having your curiosity excited in regard to some 
points at least, and you will go into the company of the 
stranger, not dreading his presence and shrinking from 
the necessity of conversation, but eager to avail yourself 
of the opportunity of gratifying your curiosity, and learn- 
ing something fiiU and satisfactory from an eyewitness of 
the scenes whidh the book had so briefly described. By 
this means, too, the knowledge of books and of conversa- 
tion — of study and of real life — will be brought together; 
and this is a most important object for you to secure. 
It will give vividness and an air of reality to written 
description, if you can frequently, after reading the dea- 



Ch. 11. J PERSONAL IMPHOTEMfcNT. 34^ 

Plans and experimentt. Digesting knowledge. 

scription, have an opportunity to converse with one who 
has seen the object or the scene described. 

You may make a more general preparation for the 
opportunities for conversation which you will enjoy. Con- 
sider what places and what scenes those with whom yoo 
may be casually thrown into connection, will most fre- 
quently have visited, and make yourself as much acquaint- 
ed with theni as possible^ you can then converse about 
them. Ascertain, too, what are the common topics of 
conversation in the place in which y#u reside, and learn 
by reading or by inquiry all you can about them ; so that 
you can be prepared to understand fuUy what you hear, 
and make your own inquiries advantageously, and thug 
be prepared to engage intelligently and with good effect, in 
the conversation in which you may have opportunity to join. 

On the same principle it will be well for you, when you 
meet with any difficulty in your reading or in your studies, 
or when in private meditations any inquiries arise in your 
minds which you cannot yourselves satisfactorily answer, 
not to dismiss them from your thoughts as difficulties which 
must remain because you cannot yourselves remove them. 
Consider who of your acquaintances will be most pro- 
bably able to assist you in regard to each. One may be 
a philosophical question, another a point of general litera- 
ture, and a third may be a question of Christian duty. 
By a moment's reflection you will easily determine to whom 
each ought to be referred ; and when the next opportunity oc- 
curs you can refer them, and give yourself and your friend 
equal pleasure by the conversation you will thus introduce. 
. Make conversation a means of digesting your knowledge. 
I am obliged to use the term digest, because there is no 
other. The food that is received into the system is, by a 
peculiar set of vessels, dissolved, and so incorporated with 
the very system itself as to become actually a part of it; 
it is assimilated completely, and then, and only then, does 
it promote its grovirth and strength. Now, it is just so 
with the reception of knowledge. It must not only be 
received by the mind, but it must be analyzed and incorpo- 



94$ TOUNO CBRISTIAN. [Ch. IK 



Necessity of digesting what Is read* 



fmkd vnth U, so as to form a part of the very mind itself; 
and then, cuid not till then, ccui the knowledge be properljp 
said to be rniUy p9$$4$Hd. If a scholar reads a passage 
in an author, simply receiving it into the mind as a mass it 
will do Um Y^ty little good. Take for example these very 
remarks on conversation: a reader may peruse the pages 
thoronghly, wsA fully understand all that I say, and yet 
the whole that I present may lie in the mind an undigested 
mass, which otever can nourish or sustain the intellect. 
On the other hand,4t may be npt merely received into the 
mind, but iffunAe a subject of thought and reflection there; 
it may be analyzed; the principles it explains may be 
applied to the circumstances of the reader; the hints may 
be carried out, and resolutions formed for acting in accord* 
ance with the views presented. By these and similar 
means the reader becomes poB$e$s4d^ really and fully, of 
new ideas on the subject of conversatipn* His thoughts 
and notions in regard to it are permanently changed. His 
knowledge, in a word, is digested— assimilated to his own 
mind, so as to become as it were a part of it, and so inti- 
mately united with it as not to be separated again. 

Now, conversation affords one of the most important 
means of digesting what is read and heard. In fact, you 
cannot talk about what you learn, without digesting it. 
Sometimes two persons read together, aloud by turns; 
each one freely remarking upon what is heard, making 
inquiries, or bringing forward additional facts or illustra-* 
tions connected with the subject. . Sometimes two persons 
reading separately, come aflerward together for a walk^ and 
each one describes his own book, and relates the substance 
of what it contains as far as he has read, bringing down 
at each successive meeting the narrative of the descrip^ 
don as far as the reader has gone. By this means each 
acquires the power of language and expression, digests and 
fixes what he has read, and also gives information to his 
companion. If any two of my readers will try this e^peri* 
ment, they will find much pleasure and improvement from it 

III. Writing. The third and periiaps the most im^- 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IKTROVSMKNT. 341^ 

»• ■■■-'■ ■ -- - - — — — __ — — I — 1 1 - ,.i. »i 

DittincHou between character and ooodttct. Form aod manner. 

portant of the means- of ioteUectual improvefflent is the 
use of the pen. The powers of the pen, as an instrument 
fyr accomplishing all the objects of intellectual effort^ 
discipline, knowledge, and akill, axe almost altogether un- 
known among the young. I am satisfied, however, tha^ 
any general remarks which I might make would be less 
likely to interest my jeaders in this subject, than a particu' 
lar description of the manner in which they can best use 
the pen to accomplish the objects in view. I shall accord- 
ingly come at once to minute detail. 

1. Persaiuil Journals, Every young person old enough 
to write, may take a great deal of pleasure in keeping a 
journsd of his own personal history. After a very little 
practice the work itself will be pleasant, and the improve- 
ment which it will promote is far greater than one who has 
not actually experienced it would expect. The style should 
be a simple narrative of facts,-— chiefly descriptions of 
acenes through which you have passed, and memoranda 
in regard to important points of your history. £very thipg 
relating to your progress in knowledge, your plans for 
your own improvement, the books you read, and the degree 
of interest which they excited, should be noted down. 
You ought not to resolve to write every day, because 
sometimes it will b% impossible, and then when your reso- ' 
lution has once yielded to necessity, it will afterward more 
easily be broken by negligence. Resolve simply to write 
when you can, only be careful to watch yourself, and see 
that yjou persevere in your plan, whatever interruptions 
may for a time suspend it. At the close of the week, think 
how you have been employed during the week, and make 
a record — a short one at least you certainly can-— of what 
has interested you. When, from forgetfulness, or loss <^ 
interest in it, or pressure of other duties, you have for a 
long time neglected your journal, do not throw it aside and 
take up a new book and begin formally once more-^but 
begin where you left o^^^filling up with a few paragraphs 
the interval of the history, and thus persevere. 

30 



950 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 11* 

^— ^i^— — «»P— «— I— "— — ^— ^^^^-^ I I I P l» -- I I HI 111 

BWHilBK tttlM. Family Joornal. By brothers aad ^itten. 



There should be in a journal, and in all the other sets 
of books which I shall describe, a dofAle running title, like 
that over the pages of this book, with two lines ruled as 
above, so that the general title maj be above the upper 
one, and the particular subjects of each individual page 
above the under one. This double running title would bo 
in the following form: 

1832. r£RS0NAL JOURNAL. 61 

, ■■! - ■--■-■--■■ — 

Ride into the country. Bei»in Botany: My sister't aicknesa. 

— - --.I. .- - ■' — • ' "~ • 

The reader will understand that the numbier 61 repre- 
sents the page. Corresponding with 1832 on the \e(i hand 
page, should be written the name of the place in which the 
writer resides, and the word private may be used instead 
of personal, if it is preferred. The book should be of such 
a form as can easily be written in, and of moderate or 
small size. You can begin a second volume when you 
have finished the first, and the volumes will in a few years 
begin to be numerous. Some persons adopt the plan of 
writing in little books, stitched together, made of ten half 
sheets of letter-paper; folded once, with a plain marble* 
paper cover. These little pamphlets are more easily writ- 
ten in than bound volumes, and after a dozen of them are 
filled, they may be bound up by a book-binder into a 
volume of the size of this book. I have seen very many 
manuscript volumes made in this way. 

A journal, now, kept in this systematic manner, will bo 
interesting and valuable, if you describe in it the things 
that most interested you at the age in which you kept it; and 
if it is carried on regularly through life, even with such 
interruptions as I have alluded to, it will be a most valuable 
and most interesting document. You will tead its pages 
again and again with profit and pleasure. 

2, Family Joumoi. Let three or four of the older 
brothers and sisters of a family agree to write a history of 
the family. Any father would procure a book for this 
purpose, and if the writers are young, the articles intended 



4yh. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. 351 

Its advantages. Subjects: 

for insertion in it might be written first, on separate paper, 
and then corrected and transcribed. The subjects suitable 
to be recorded in such a book will suggest themselves to 
every one; a description of the place of residence at the. 
time of commencing the book, with similar descriptions of 
other places from time to time, in case of removals — the 
journeys or absences of the head of the family or its mem* 
hers — ^the sad scenes of sickness or death which may be 
witnessed, and the joyous ones of weddings, or festivities, 
or holidays — ^the manner in which the members are from 
time to time employed-^— and pictures of the scenes which 
the fireside group exhibits in the long winter evening— or 
the conversation which is heard and the plans formed at 
the supper-table, or in the morning walk. 

If a family, when first established, should commence 
such a record of their own efforts and plans, and the various 
dealings of Providence toward them, the father and the 
mother carrying it on jointly until the children are old 
enough to take the pen, they would find the work a source 
of great improvement and pleasure. It would tend to keep 
distinctly in view the great object for which they ought to 
live, and repeatedly recognising, as they doubtless would 
do, the ha^d of God, they would fe^l more sensibly and 
more constantly their dependence upon him. 

The form and manner in which such a journal should be 
written might properly be the same with that described 
under the last head — ^the word family being substituted for 
personal in the general title. It ought also to be written 
in such a style and upon such subjects as shall render it 
proper for the perusal of children. On this account, it 
will be well to avoid such particulars, in regard to any 
ehild, as may bci flattering to his vanity when he shall be- 
come old enough to read them, and to refrain from making 
a record of faults which will remain a standing source of 
sulTering. an(l disgrace, when perhaps they ought soon to 
be forgotten. It is true, that one of the most iraportmit 
portions of such a journal would consist of the description 
of the various plans adopted for co'rrecting faults, and, for 



NoCM and Abatracts. True design of taking note*. 

promoting improveraent — Cbe peculiar moral and intellect* 
«al treatment which each chUd received — the sttccess of 
the Yarious experiments in education whidk iatelligent 
parents will always he disposed to try — and anecdotes of 
children, illustrating the language, or the sentiments, or 
the difficulties of childhood. With a little dexterity, how* 
ever, on the part of the writer, a faithful record of all these 
things can be kept, and yet, H>y an omission c^ names, or 
of some important circumstances^ the evik I have 1^6 ve 
alluded to may be avoided. 

3. JVoie9 and M9tract0, It is sometimes the case, that 
young persons, when they meet any thing remarkable ia 
the course of their reading, troMcribe it, with the expecta* 
tion of referring to their copy afterward to refresh their 
memories; and thus, after awhile, they get their desks very- 
full of knowledge, while very little remains m the ht?ad» 
Now it ought to be remembered that knowledge is of no^ 
value, or at least of scarcely any^ unless it is fairly lodged 
in the mind, and so digested, (as i have before shown,) as 
(o become a permanent possession. Now, if the transcrib- 
ing or writing of notes and abstracts of what you read is 
made the means of fixing thus firmly in the mind ycur 
various acquisitions, it is of immense value; if made the 
$ub8litute for it, it is worse than useless^ It may be a most 
powerful means, as any one may prove to himself by tho 
following experiment. 

Read some history in the ordinary way, without the use 
of the pen, with the exception that you select some chaptei 
in the middle of the work, with which you may try the ex-^ 
periment of an abstract. After having read it attentively^ 
shut the book and write the substance of the narrative it 
contains. The more you deviate in style and language 
from your author the better, because, by such a deviation 
you employ more your. own original resources, you reduce 
the knowledge you have gained to a form adapted to your 
own habits of thought, and you consequently make it more 
fully your own, and fix it more indelibly in the mind. After 
finishing the abstract of that chapter^ go on with the re- 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. S5S 

Foriii or books. Flan. Variety. 

mainder of the book in the usual way, by simply reading it 
attentively. You will find now, if you carefully try this 
experiment, that the chapter ^hich you have thus treated 
will, for many years, stand out most conspicuous among 
all the rest in- your recollections of the work. The facts 
which it has stated, will retain possession of your minds 
when all the rest are forgotten, and they will come up, 
when wanted for use, with a readiness which wiU show how 
entirely you made them your own. 

It is on this principle, and with such aview, that notes and 
abstracts are to be written. Some very brief practical direc- 
tions lyill be of service to those who wish to adopt the plan. 

Do not resolve to write copious abstracts of all that you 
read, the labor would be too great. Never read, however, 
without your abstract book at hand, and record whatever 
strikes you as desirable to be remembered. Sometimes,- 
when reading a book of great importance, and full of infor- 
mation which is new and valuable, you may write a full 
abstract of the whole. Gibbon, the celebra.ted historian, 
attributed, it is said, much of the success of his writing to 
the influence of a very copious abstract which he had made 
of Blackstone's Commentaries, a most interesting book, 
and one which no young man of education can read with 
out profit and pleasure. 

Let the form of your books be like the journals above 
described; with ruled lines at the top for a double running 
title, to facilitate reference. These lines should be ruled 
on through the book at first, at least they should be kept 
ruled far in advance of the writing, or the writer will inad- 
vertently omit to leave a space for them; I have known 
many books commenced on this plan, but never one, I 
believe, without having this accident occur to vex and 
discourage the writer. 

Let your abstracts be of every variety of form and man- 
ner. Sometimes long and sometimes short, sometimes 
fully written in a finished style, and sometimes merely a 

table of contents of your book. There may be a blank 

30* 



S64 TOtiNO CHKI9TIAK. [Cb. 1 1, 

Specimeoa. Reynolds. Humboldt. 



line left between the separate articles, and the title of each 
should be written before it, and doubly underscored, that 
is, distinguished by a double line drawn under it. This 
is represented in printing by small capitals. When this is 
the title of the book read, and. is prefixed to a long ab- 
stract, it may properly be placed aver the article. Some- 
times the writer will merely copy a remarkable expression, 
or a single interesting fact; at other times a vakiable moral 
sentiment, or a happy illustration. He will often insert 
only a single paragraph from a long book, and at other 
times make a full abstract of its contents. But I must give 
specimens, as by this means I can much more readily give 
my readers an idea of my meaning. These specimens are 
not imaginary ones. They are, with one. or two excep- 
tions, all taken from three or four abstract books of dilFer- 
ent young persons, who lent them to me for this purpose 
The titles in capitals represent the underscored words de- 
scribed above. The running title at the top should be 
like the specimen already given, with the exception that 
the words notes and abstracts should be substituted for 

PERSONAL JOURNAL. 

Friendship. A man should keep his friendship in constant repair. 
-Johnson. 

Reynolds. Sir Joshua Reynolds, a celebrated portrait painter, a 
contemporary and friend of Johnson, Goldsmith, <&c. one of the found- 
ers of the Royal Academy, and for many years its President. He was 
born near Plymouth, but resided in London dnrinff most of his life, oc- 
casionally making tours to the continent. He oied at an advanced 
a^e, of a disease of the liver. — Kortkcotea' Life of Sir Joshua Reynolds. 

Florencb. The academy of Fine Arts in Florence is the most 
celebrated school of painting in the world. 

Humboldt's New Spain. Introduction gives an account of his own 
geometrical and astronomical observations in attempting to determine 
nie position of several points, and likewise the other sources of infor- 
mation which he had. There are nine points at each of which a com- 
munication has been proposed to be made between the Atlantic and 
Pacific — Vera Cruz the eastern, and Acapulco the western port of Mex- 
ico. Gold and silver, he says, travel from west to east ', the ocean, the 
atmosphere, and civilization in a contrary direction. 

The Andes in Peru are more broken and rough than in Mexico ; the 

f>lains, though elevated, are comparatively small, and hemmed in by 
ofty mountains, or separated by deep precipitous valleys. 

In Mexico the chain of mountains spreads itself out into immense 
olains, with few sudden declivities or precipices. Fruits of every cli- 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMFfiOVKMSNT. 355 

Chronology. English Empire in India. Synagc^ueB. 



mate may be cultivated on these elevations at tbe Tarious heights, bat 
not with BO much success, on account of the rarefaction of the atmos- 
phere, as they can in northern latitudes. At certain seasons of the 
year both coasts of Mexico are inaccessible on account of storms. The 
navigation on the east side is impeded by sand banks washed in by the 
westerly currents of the ocean. 

Chronologt. Difference between the chronology of the Hebrew 
and Septuagint manuscripts. 
Mt. Ararat probably in the north of India, in Shuckfbrd's opinion. 

English Empire is Iitdia.. The English and French had, about the 
middle of the last centurv, several factories on various parts of the 
coasts of Hindostan. In their quarrels with each other they endeavor- 
ed to secure to themselves the co-operation of the natives, and in this 
way the Europeans and the Hindoos became involved in the wars of 
each other. The English were generally successful, and in this way 
gradually extended their influence and their power. 

Raja Dowlah, sovereign of Bengal, a wealthy, extensive, and popu- 
lous country, became a little alarmed at the progress which the English 
made in their contentions with the French concerning their respective 
settlements in that country. He endeavored to oppose them, and in 
consequence the English fomented a conspiracy against his govern- 
ment, enticed his prime minister to treason, and then, after fighting a 
single battle, placed him in command. Col. Clive was the instrument 
of this revolution. The province of Bengal thus came into the hands 
of the East India company. 

A short time afterward the French were conquered at Coromandel, 
and the natives brought under the power of the English. 

Synagogues. It is generally suppooed that the Jewish synagogues 
originated during the captivity, and were continued afler their return. 
—^Kimpton. 

T should suppose, from the appearance of these articles, 
which were the first few pages of a large book of this kind, 
that they were all the notes taken of the reading of some 
weeks, as several books of considerable size are quoted as 
authority. It is not best that the writer should resolve 
upon any particular quantity ^ach day, or for each book, 
and, as I remarked in regard to the journal, when you find 
that you have for some time neglected your pen, do not be 
discouraged and give up the plan, but calmly begin where 
you left off, and renew your work and your resolution 
together. 

Sometimes the abstracts may be in a more abridged 
style, like a table of contents. They can be more rapidly 
written in this form, but the benefit derived fi'om the exer- 
cise is less. The following is an example from another 
book, by another writer. You will perceive that the style 



356 rovno christia.n. fCh. 11. 

HMoO' of Uie Bible. Sir Hiimpbrey Davy. 



i^ SO condensed that the. notes can merely serve as memo- 
randa for the writer's own use. They are scarcely intelli- 
gible to another person. 

History or the Bible. 

Old and Jfew TestamenU. ^ebrew and Greek Continua Soriptio. 
At various fcinaes and places. Samaritan Pentateuch: discrepancies 
between it and the Hebrew Bible. Controversj. Discovery in modern 
times of these manuscripts. 

its preservation by successive transcripts. Old ones worn oat and lost. 
Ezemplarfl. 

Greek Testament. Why in Greek .' Circulated in manuscript. . 

Textus receptus. Elzevir Edition. Pres. manuscripts imperfect. 
Written about 1000 or ]4iK) Alexandrian manuscripts. Vatican. Modes 
of determining antiquity. British Museum. 

Trans/atipns. Septuagint. Vulgate. Printed editions of the Bible 
and Greek Testament. Complutensian Polyglot. Sources of informa- 
tion. Manuscripts. Septuagint. Samaritan Pentateuch ; quotations, 

1514. 

English. Wickl life's. Oppositions made to it. Circulated in man- 
nscript. Tindal's printed in Holland. Efforts to keep copies out of 
Enj^land. Bishop of London bought up the whole edition to burn. 
James' Bible. Fifty four men at various places, Cambridge,- Oxford, 
and VVesUninster. Later translations, 1607. Forty-seven men of the 
fifty met to compare, and after three years' labor, issued, in J 660, the 
most commonly approved version. 

Another form in which these abstracts may be written, 
where the importance of the subject or the interest of the 
reader renders it desirable, is by giving a full and complete 
view of the facts on some one topic. The fqllowing, takeo 
from a third abstract book, is a specimen: 

Sir Humphrey Davy. 

Born at Penzance, Cornwall, Eng. Dec. 1779. His family were in 
the middle rank in life, and in reduced circumstances, so that he was 
thrown upon his own efforts and resources at an early age. At the age 
^ of nine years distinguished for his poetical talents. At eighteen his 
* acquirements in many of the science:! were good, but chemistry parti- 
cularly arrested his attention. His first experiments showed originality, 
and his pursuit promised uaeful discoveries.. His first examination of 
sea-weed proved that marine plants exexl the same influence upon the 
air contained in the water of tbe ocean, as land vegetables exert upon 
the atmosphere. Two years after commencing his chemical studies he 
published his " Researches," which exhibited great skill, and gave to 
the world many original experiments and discoveries. He first *lried 
the experiment of inhaling the nitrous oxide — the exhilarating gas.' 
When not much over twenty years of age he was designated to nil the 
ehemical chair in the Royal Institnlion in Great Britain, founded by 
Count Rumford. His first efforts in this elevated sphere were turned 
towards endeavoring to render his powers useful and advantageous to 
the arts employed in the humbler walks of life. The tanning ofleather, 
and agricultural implements, were among the subjects of his first at- 
tention, and he adapted himself admirably to the circumstances of the 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. 967 



Hiring Cbildren. 



practical agriculturist. In l^J06-7 he nade his brilliant discoyeries in 
galyanism ; in 1810 he brought forward his theory respecting the nature 
of chlorine, or ozymuriatic acid, which gaye rise to a memorable con- 
troversy that agitated the schools of chemistry ten years. At the close 
of this period nearly the whole army of chemists came over to his side. 
In 1812 he was knighted by the Prince Regent, (George IVth,) and 
was thus released from the arduous daties of the protessorship, and 
was enabled to devote himself wholly to his pursuits. His attempts to 
unroll the valuable MSS. found in the ruins of Uereulaneum, 1696 in 
number, were frustrated by unavoidable obstacles thrown in his way 
by jealous superintendents of the Museum ; but the enterprise was not 
wholly fruitless, twenty-three MSS. beingr partially unrolled. The year 
1818 was rendered memorable by the mvention of the safety lamp. 
Terrible disasters had occurred in the coal mines in England for years 
— -a^species of gas extricated frpm the coal, on mixing with atmospheric 
air, takes fire from a lamp, anil explodes with great violence. All pre- 
vious efforts to obviate these dangers had proved ineffectual ; but the 
experience of fourteen years, while this lamp has been in constant and 
extensive use, without the occurrence of a single explosion, proves its 
importance, and the benefit conferred on the world by its invention. 
In 1820, by a majority of two hundred to thirteen, he was elected Pres- 
ident of the Royal Institution. His last great scientifia effort was the 
discovery of a method ofvroteeting the copper ahetUhing of ships from 
corrosion by sea-water. His method of proceeding in this and all simi- 
lar cases, was simple and obvious, yet one rarely followed, viz. first to 
ascertain the cause of the evil, and then to find out how to control it by 
studying its nature. He died at Geneva, whither he had resorted for 
his health, of apoplexy, aged 50 years and 6 monthsii 

I have one form more to describe, in which these notes 
and abstracts may be kept. It requires a little higher 
intellectual effort, and is consequently more useful than the 
other. You meet, in conversation or in reading, with some 
fact which illustrates a useful and important general prin- 
ciple, or which suggests to you an interesting train of 
thought : you record the fact, and the reflections which it 
suggests together. For example, to make use of a case 
which actually occurred, a sea captain remarks in your 
hearing that it is unwise to promise sailors extra pay for 
their extra exertions in difficult emergencies, for it soon has 
the effect of rendering them indolent whenever such extra 
pay is not offered. They are continually on the watch for 
occasions on which they can demand it. This conversation 
might suggest the following entry in a note book. 

HrRiNG Children. Parents should never promise their children 
any reward for doing right, or for refraining from doing wrong. A 
sea captain was once so unwise as to promise his sailors in a storm, 
that if^they would exert themselves he wou]d reward them by an addi- 
tion to their wages when the storm was over. They did make an 



358 TOtTNO CHRlSTIAIfT. [Ch. II. 

Tlie Saviiir** ihirtt un ihe croM. Deceiviug^cbildren. 

unatual efiort, and teo^ived the reward ; but thfe eonsequenee was, 
that be could ne^er aflerword get them to do their duty in a storm 
without a reward being promised. In the same manner, if parents 
begin by hiritig their children to do right, they will not afterward do 
right without ^ing hired. 

The following are similar examples, but on different 
subjects. The second was written by a pupil in a female 
school. 

The Satiob's thirst on the cboss. The dreadful thirst of the 
Savior on the cross was occasioned by the violent fever produced by 
the inflauimation of his wounds. I met with the following passage 
io>day in the narrative of a soldier, which illustrates this subject : 

** I remember well as we moved down in column, shot and shell flew 
over and through it in quick succession. We sustained little injury 
from either ;' but a captain of the twenty-ninth had been dreadfuUv 
lacerated by a ball, and lay directly in our path. We passed close to 
him; he knew us ail; and the heart-rending tone in which be called 
to us for water ^ or to kiU fumy I shall nc'ver forget. He lay alone, and 
we were in motion and could give him no succor ; for on this trying 
day, such of the dying as could not walk, lay unattended where they 
fell. AH was hurry ajid struggle ; every arm was wanted in the 
field." 

Deceiving Childrbh. Returning from school yesterday afler- 
noon, my attention was arrested by the loud voice of some one address- 
ing a child ; I turned, and as I walked very leisurely^ 1 overheard the 
following conversation : 

Lady: John, leave off playing in the snow; see your clean clothes 
now ; and your shoes are filled with snow. 

John. I don't care for that ; I shall play here if I*m a mind to, for 
all you. 

Lady. You little impudence ; 1 don't love you, I don't love you at 
all. 

John. Well, that's no matter. 

Lady. I'll go off, then ; good night. I am going to the jail. . ^ 

(She turns round and walks down the street a little distance.) 

Lady. Ton see I'm gokig, John. 

John. I don't care if you are. 

Presently she walked slowly back and came up to John ; at the same 
time he gave a hearty laugh, saying, " I thought you were going to 
the jail." 

I ,had now got so far as not to be able to hear what more they said, 
but I could not help pitying the child, who thus early was taught to 
disobey his superiors, for surely it is nothing less. 

Many parents, and even brothers and sisters, complain of the con- 
duct oi the younger -members of their families, while they are contin- 
ually treating them in this manner : they certainly need expect nothing 
better from mem while they endeavor thus to deceive them. 

The above examples illustrate well what I mean by 
turning kuowle ?ge to account, drawing from it the prac- 
tical lessons which -it may help to teach. This is in fact 



Ch. 11.] PERSONAL IMPROVEMENT. 369 



Ellen, or " Boast not thyself of to-ioorrow." 



< « 



the most important part of your object in mental cultiva- 
tion. Many young persons err exceedingly in seeking 
iimply knowledge, which they treasure up in a cold and 
speculittive form, without drawing from it any moral les- 
soos, or making it the means of awakening any of the 
strong emotions of the heart. But I wish my readers 
would always remember that moral progress is far more 
valuable than iiUelUctual; the latter in fact is but the in- 
strument of the former. In all your writing theti, aim at 
accomplishing the real object which ought always to be 
kept in view. In selecting from your reading, or from 
your personal observation, what you will impress upon your 
memories with the pen, choose those facts and occurrences 
which touched your hearts, and whose impressions your 
pen may strengthen or renew. I close the chapter with 
two specimens which will illustrate this. One, as will be 
evident from its own allusions, was written by a pupil in a 
female boarding school; and it will be observed in reading 
it, how the ordinary occurrences of life may be made the 
means, through the instrumentality of redcction and of the 
pen, of fixing in the heart the lessons of the Bible. Both 
narratives are substantially true; the latter entirely so« 

" BojiST NOT THTTSELF OF TO-MFORRow.** Yesterday our sammer term 
closed, and a day of bustle it was. Every moment that could possibly 
be spared from our fltudies was deroted to preparations for returning 
home, packing trunks, exchanging parting words, «nd talking over 
various plans for enjoyment during the vacation, which all seemed to 
anticipate as a continued scene of unalloyed happiness. 

My afflicted room-mate, Ellen, was then the happiest of the happy.. 
She is an only daughter, a most a^ctionate^ warm-hearted girl ; and 
hasten so much elated, for the last few days, at the thought of meet- 
ing her beloved parents and brothers, that she hns seemea to tread on 
air ; but I fear now that when they meet it will be in a deep sorrow. 

Last evening we assembled in the hall for our devotions, and as is 
eustomary, each young lady repeated a text of Scripture before we 
united in prayer. " Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest 
not what a day may bring forth," was Ellen's text. It was particularly 
observed by several, on account of the appropriate warning it seemed 
to convey. She litUe thought how soon her own experience would 
tonfirm its truth. Afler bidding our teacher good ni^ht, she skipped 
up stairs with a glee and light-n&artedness that could scarcely be re- 
■trained within proper bounds, exclaiming, " To-morrow — to-morrow 
how happy I shall be ! " 

" Remember your text, dear Ellen," said one of our beloved com- 

rnions with a sad smile, as she passed on to her own room. " I wish 
would not talk bo seriously,^' said Ellen, as we closed our door for 



960 TOUNO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 11. 



Tbe story ot Elton continned. 



the nii^t. ** bat then, after all, I love her the more for it. I heard flOflBe 
one aay that she had been much afflicted for one 00 yoang.'* 

Thia morning Ellen was awake at the peep of dawn, and waked me, 
that I might enjoy with her, through our half-elofled cartains, the deep- 
ening glow in tlie east, which gave promise of a fine day for ber rioe 
home. When the bell summoned us to prayers, every thing was ready 
for the journey, and she met the iamily in her riding-dress, that no 
time might be lost after her father, whom she expected for her, should 
mrriTe. 

** Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day 
may bring forth, were the first words that met our ear from the selec- 
tion of Scripture which our teacher had chosen ibr the morning. 

'' We have had your text again, EUen," whispered one of the giris 
as we went to the breakfast-room. " Ominous of evil— say you not so? '* 
'' I am not superstitious," said Ellen smiling; " besiiles, it refers to 
to-morrow, not to to-day." 

At the breakfast- tab& little was eaten and little was said. There 
were happy fiices there, but the joyous excitement of the preceding 
evening had given place to deeper feeling. Many were in a few hours 
to meet their lieloved parents, rrom whom they had been separated for 
several months ; and all were expecting some friend to tase them to 
their respective homes. Our parting was not however to be particu- 
larly painful, as all expected to meet again at the expiration of the 
vacation. 

As we were rising from the table & servant came in with the letters 
which had arrived in the morning's mail. One was ffiven to Ellen. 
She broke the seal, and glancing at the contents, hastily placed it in 
tbe hand of the governess and rushed up to ber own room. . I followed, 
and found her in tears, greatly agitated. Her emotion was too great to 
allow her to tell me the cause. The governess came up and gave me 
the letter to read, kindly saying at the same time that I had better leave 
Ellen alone a few minutes, until the first buist of sorrow should be 
over, and then she would be in a better state to listen to the voice of 
consolation. 

The letter was from her parents ; brief, yet evidently written under the 
influence of strong excitement. They had just heard of the sudden and 
da.ngerous illness of their eldest son, a young gentleman of high pro- 
mise, who had nearly completed his professional studies. His physicians 
gave not the slightest hope of his life. His parents made immediate 
preparations for leaving home, with the faint hope that by rapid trav- 
elling they might be enabled to be with their beloved child in his djdng 
moments. Tney could not take Ellen with them, and the best arrange- 
ment they could make fer her, was to have her remain where she then 
was until their return. 

I returned to Ellen, but found her scarcely more composed than 
when I lefl her. To this brother she was most fondly attached. He 
had written to her frequently, and taken a deep interest in ber studies 
and amusements. He expected to have been at home during a part of 
her vacation, and now the thought of never meeting him again was 
agony. I knew not what to say ; I ' could only weep with tier, and 
sOently commend her to *^ Him who healeth the broken in heart," en- 
treating that she might be enabled submissively to say, '^ Thy will be 

My father consents that I should remain for two or three days with 
Ellen. I know that more striking instances of tbe uncertainty of earthly 
prospects are constantly occurring, but I feci that the scenes of to- 
day have made an impression upon my own heart and the hearts of mj 
companions that can never be effisiced. I shall never again hear otheni 



CHl. 11.] PSR80N4L IMPROYBMSNT. 361 



Th« dying ked. 



planning with confidence for the future, without thinking of poor 
£l]en's disappointment end affliction, and of the text, '^ Bout not thy- 
•elf ef to-morrow, for thou knoweat not what « day may bring forth.** 

The other narratiTe is more serious still in its subject. 
Both might have been given with propriety as specimens 
of Personal Journals, though as they do not give strictly 
the personal history of the writer, they may perhaps better 
be inserted here. I admit this last the more readily, as the 
thoughts of the final account which we all must render are 
brought up very distinctly to view by it, and this thought is 
a very proper one to be presented, now that this volume is 
drawing to a close, as a means of fixing the resolutions 
which I trust some of my readers at least have formed, and 
of stimulating to diligence in duty. 

The Dtihg Bkik 

On Monday, a few minutes before breakfastgA messenger came to 
me with a note from a gentleman whom I shall caU Mr. A. whose wife?, 
the Saturday preyious, was taken suddenly ilL She became worse 
and worse, until she was considered in a dangerous situation. And 
now her husband addressed a note to me, requesting me to visit his 
wife, *' for she is,^* said he, " aa sick as she can well live.** 

Immediately after breakfast I hastened over to their house, and found 
Iter very wieak and low. She seemed near her end. Having understood 
that neither herself nor her husband was a profbssing C&istian, I at- 
tempted to point out to her without delay the way to be saved, and 
directed her mind at once to the Savior of sinners. She could just 
speak a few words in faint and broken whispers— just enough for me 
to ascertain her anxious and agitated feelings. I endeavored to compose 
her mind, and to explain the feelingd which were becoming in us as 
sinners, when we look to the Savior for pardon and peace. She 
looked and listened with intense interest, and I have seldom felt, as I 
then did, the responsibility of trying to direct any one, but especially 
any one in the immediate prospect of eternity, to the Lamb of God, 
who taketh away the sins of the world. I looked to the Savior to hel|c 
and to guide me, to put such thoughts in my heart and such words in 
my mouth as he saw were necessary, and as would be suited to the 
sick, and, as I supposed, dying woman. I besought him earnestly, in 
silence, that he would assiist me in being faithful and useful to her im- 
mortal soul. 

After some few questions, and some remarks and quotations from the 
Savior's words ; at her request I engaged in prayer. Her husband, one 
son. about 12, another son about 6 years, and her youn^st child about 
18 months, were present. Several other relations and friends were also 
there. We kneeled around her bedside and besought the Lord for her. 
OeeasionaHy the voice of prayer was interruptea by the swoon into 
which she was felling every few minutes. After a short prayer, we 
cose. All was silent, except the sighing of her friends around her, the 
ttoise of the fea, and the eatehing of her breath as she recovered nrom 
a swoon 

51 



MS Toimo oHttisftAif. [Otk. it. 



Tfta dying bed. 



After m fcw nf nutmi hid ekiMed , during wMdi rfw ieemed atraggHnv 
with sidciieM and witii a tamnli of ieefme in her boaom, she callea 
tht diflferent membeM cif her family around her. Fkit to her hosbaiid 
■he addressed herself somewhat in these word^ : 

^ Aad now, my dear hoaband, I hope yoa mO. keep your resolutiony 
and not let the next commumon aeaaon paaa withoat making a piofep- 
uon* I faaye been more lukewarm than vou. If I had been as much 
«BgaMl as you were, we should have both of oa been numbers of the 
cburoi long ago, bat I ha^e held back. I hope yon will not fail to kef|» 
your resolution." 

She then sMMit af&otionately bade him &rewell, expressing tiie tea- 
derest interest in his religious j^orposes, and in the hope of a happier 
meeting in heaven. After a moment's pause she took her eldest son 
by ibs hand and addressed him as folh>ws : 

'' And now my dear son William, I am going to leave you. Tour 
poor mother is goin^, and von will be left without father or mother 
ra 6ie vorld : t but Mr A. has always treated you a» one of his own 
children ; and if you will be good and obedient he will always be a 
lather to yon. Be a good boy, my son, and God will take care of you." 

The poor little boy as he held hip mother's hand in one of his own, 
and covered his eyes with the other, wept and sobbed as though his 
heart would break. She then took her little Edward by the hand, and 
bade him a similar and equally affecting adieu. 

The youngest, ahi^t iS months old, she requested to be laid upon a 
pillow m her bosom, ^he tenderly embraced it, and all wept. 

Bhe then called for her mother-in-law, who was behind her, (the bed 
standing in the middle of the room ;) " And what shall I say to you," 
said she—-" you have been a mother to me." She turned to a gentleman 
who had been a long and valued fViencL and who was now at her side 
banning her, and in tears, and taking his hand, expressed her ardent 
af&ction and. gratitude toward him for his kindness and attention 
during their long acquaintance. She alluded to an interview with him 
many years ago, ana seemed most deeply afiected in remembrance, as 
I thought, of some proofs of real fraternal kindness which she then re- 
ceived from Kim. 

She sent her last message to. her parents, brothera and sisters, and 
when her strength and voice failed her, she just uttered in a faint 
whisper, 

■**'rlease to sing, * Life is the time to serve the Lord.* ** 

A lady who was present, and whose eyes and heart were full, siud^ 

" I would take another — * O for ah overcoming faith ! ' " 

The hymn book, however, was given to her husband, who read two 
lines at a time of the hymn his wife had named, when all who could 
«ing, and whose emotions would allow it, joined in singing, until the 
linunind, completely overcome, dropped his head, unable to proceed. 
Another then took the book, and as well as we could, with tears and 
faltering voices we closed the hymn. 

As I read over my description of this scene^ I am so struck with its 
litter weakness, that 1 almost regret thai I attempted to make it. It 
made an impression upon my mind that I cannot describe. O that the 
<delusive hope of preparing for death upon a death-bed were banishefl 
fog ever from the earth. 

* Tbey 'had, at a communion lervice in their neighborhood, a short tifn« befors 
mitedlsr resolved to imprcrve the next octfaaion, wbicb was expected in a fi)W 
«r«alcii;iocoi»iMct.ilKH»8elwe» wHh the-^liarcli, and aatpr i^nn alUlie dutiaaaf 
•Christian life. « 

t He was tbe son of her former bosbsad 



Cil. 11.3 PBRSONAI* UtrBO^CMSNT. 3(R3r 

Morel aspaeta of wbat is seen and heard. Power of the pen. 

I have inserted the twQ Cbregmog specimens, in order to 
bring up as distinctly as possible this principle, viz. that in 
all your efforts at inteUeetual improvement you ought to 
look with special interest «t the mdral bearings and rela- 
tions of all that you read or hear. The heart is the true 
seat both of virtue aod of happiness, and consequently to 
affect the heart is the great ultimate object of all that we 
do. The intellect then is only the avenue by ^hich the 
heart is to be reached, and you will derive not only more 
benefit, but far greater pleasure from reflection and writing, 
if you are accustomed to consider the moral aspects and 
relations of every thing which you observe, or of which 
you read or hear. 

A great prominence has been giveiji in this chapter to 
the use of the pen, as a means of intellectual and moral im- 
provement. I assure my readers that the power of the pen 
for such a purpose is not overrated. I ^m aware that a 
great many persons, though they may approve what I have 
said, will not make any vigorous and earnest efforts to 
adopt the plan. Still more will probably begin a book or 
two, but will soon forget their resolution, and leave the 
half-finished manuscript in some neglected corner of their 
desks finally abandoned. But if any should adopt these 
plans, and faithfully prosecute them, they will find that the 
practice of expressing in their own language, with the pea, 
such facts as they may learn, and such observations or re- 
flections as they may make, will exert a most powerful 
influence upon all the habits of the mind, and upon the 
whole intellectual character. 



564 Tocmo cHRiiitiAir. [C6. IS 

CHAP. XII. 

CONCIiUSIOiC 

** And DOW I coBMMc n J yov t» God„and t» the wenf 9t hk grace, wbicb 
ii able to build you up and give 70s aa iokeritaDce among tbem that are 
■aactified." 

As I draw toward the close of tbis^ TDlume I think of the 
influence which it is to erert npon the many who will read 
it, with mingled emotions of hope and fear, i hare en- 
deavored to state, and to illustrate as dtstrnctly as I could, 
the principles of Christian duty ; and rf, ray reader, yow 
have perused these pages with attention and care, they 
nmst have been the means of hringing^ rery pFain-ly before 
your mind the question, whether you will or will not con^ 
fess and forsake your ms, and henceforth live to Go^^ 
that yon may accomplish the great object for which life 
was given. I shall say nothing; in these fow conchtdin^ 
paragraphs, to those who have read thors^r without coming 
in heart to the Savior. If they have not been persuaded 
ere this to do it, they would not he persnaded by any thin^ 
which I have time and space now to say. I have liowevcr, 
l>efore ending- this volume, a few parting words for those 
who have accompanied me thus far, with at least some at- 
tempt at seff-appKcation — Some desire to cherish the feel- 
ings which I have endeavored to portray — ^somc penitence 
for sin, and resolutions to perform the duties which I have 
from time to time pressed upon them. 

It is, if the Bible is true, a serions thmg to hare oppor- 
tunity ta read a religions book — and more especially for 
the young to have opportunity to read a praetieal treatise 
on the duties of pi«ty> written expressly for their use. The 
time is coming^ when we shall look back upon all our priv- 
ileges, with sad reflections at the recolleclion of those 
which we have not improved; and it is sad for me to think 
that many of those who shall have read these pages will in 
a future, and perhaps not a very distant day, kx>k upon me 
as the innocent means of aggravating their suflferings, by 
having assisted to bring them light, which they nevertheless 
would not regard. This unpleasani pari of my tesgoam^ 



Cik. 12.] CONCLUSION. 36$ 

Respfitnaibilitjr of religiout teacbera. Injury to be done by tlite book. 

bilit/ I must aecessarily assume. I share it with everjr 
one who endeavors to lay before men the principles of duty, 
ttod the inducements to the performance of it. He who 
onligfatoAS the path of piety, promotes the happiness of 
those who are persuaded to walk in it, but he is the iniM>- 
oent meaas of adding to the guilt and misery of such as 
will still turn away. To the one class of persons, sa^s 
Paul, ** we are the savor of death unto death, and to the 
other, the savor of life unto life." 

It is not merely to those who absolutely neglect or re- 
fuse to do their duty to God, that the ill consequences of 
having neglected their privileges and means of improve- 
ment will accrue. These consequences will be just as 
sure to those who partially neglect them. I will suppose 
that a young person, whose heart is in some degree re- 
newed, and who has began to live to God, hears of this 
book and procures it to read. She feels desirous of culti- 
vating Christian principles, and she sits down to her work 
with a sincere desire to derive spiritual benefit from the 
instructions. She does not run over the pages, dissecting 
out the itories for the sake of the interest of the narrative, 
and neglecting all the applications of them to the purposes 
of instruction ; but she inquires when a fact or an illustra- 
tion is introduced, for what purpose it is used-*— what moral 
lesson it is intended to teach — and how she can learn from 
it something, to guide her in the discharge of duty. She 
goes on in this manner through the book, and generally 
understands its truths and the principles it inculcates. 
But she does not cordially and in full earnest engage in the 
practice of them. For example, she reads the chapter on 
confession, and understands what I mean by full confession 
of all sins to God, and forms the vague and indefinite re- 
s^tion to confess her sins more minutely than she has 
done ; but she does not, in the spirit of that chapter, explore 
folly all her heart, and scrutinize with an impartial eye all 
her conduct, that every thing which is wrong may be 
brought to light, and frankly confessed , and abandoned. 

31* 



366 rmriftf cantmAff^ [Cb. t^^ 

Imperfect Mlf-application. A ugoleM way of remnnff. 



She does not, in a word, make s serums and aor eamesi 
business of confessing and forsaking, all sin. 

In another case, a young man who n perhaps sincereljT 
a Christian, though the influence of Christian principle i9 
yet weak in bis heart, reads that porliotf of the work which 
relates to the Sabbath. He knows that his Sabbaths have 
not been spent in so pleasant or profitable a manner as 
they might be, and lie sees that the principles pointed out 
there would guide him to duty and to happiness on that 
day, if he would faithfully and perse vermgly apply them to 
his own case. He accordingly makes a feeble resolution 
to do it. The first Sabbath ailer he reads the chapter, bis 
resolutions are partially kept. Bert he gradually neglects 
them, and returns to his former state of inaction and spirit-* 
Ual torpor on Grod's holy day. Perhaps I express myself 
too strongly in speaking of inaction and torpor as being a 
possible state of mind for a Christian cfn the Sabbath; but 
it must be admitted that many approach far too near it. 

Now there is no question that many Young Christians 
will read this book in the manner I have above described; 
that is, they throw themselves as it were passively before 
it, allowing it to exert all the influence it will by its own 
power, bat doing very little in the way of vigorous effort 
to obtain good from it. They seem to satisfy themselves 
by giving the book an opportunity to do' them good, but do 
little to draw from it, by their oitn efforts, the advantages 
which it might aflfbrd. Now a book of religious instruction 
is not like a medicine, which, if it is once admitted into the 
system, will produce its effect without any farther eflbrt on 
the part of the patient. It is a tool for you to use industri- 
ously yourself. The moral powers will not grow unless 
you cultivate them by your own active efforts. If you 
satisfy yourself with merely bringing moral and religious 
truth into contact with your mind, expecting it, by its own 
power, to produce the hoped-for fruits, you will be like a 
farmer who should, in the spring, just put a plough or 
two in one part of his field, and half a dozen spades and 
hoes in another, and expect by this means to secure a bar* 



Ch. 12.] CONCLtTSlON. 567 

. Effectual reading. Plan recommended. 

' ' ' ' ■ ' ■ ' — ^^^»^.< 

▼est. Many persons read religious books continually, bul 
make no progress in piety. The reason is, their own 
mora] powers are inert while they do it. The intellect may 
be active in reading and understanding the successive 
pages, but the heart and the conscience lie still, hoping 
that the truth tnay of itself do them good. They bring the 
instrument to the field and lay it down, and stand by its 
side, wondering why it does not do its work. 

I beg my readers not to treat this volume in that way, 
And not to suppose that simply to read and understand it, 
however thoroughly it may be done, will do them any good. 
The book, of itself, never can do good. It is intended to 
show its readers how they may do good to themselves, and 
it will produce no good effect upon any who are not willing 
to be active in its application and use. 

Do you, my reader, really wish to derive permanent and 
real benefit from this book? If so, take the following mea- 
sures; it is a course which it would be well for you always 
to take at the close of every book you read on the subject 
of duty. Recall to mind all those passages which, as you 
have read its pages, have presented to you something 
which at the time you resolved to do. Recollect, if you 
can, every plan recommended, which, at the time when 
you were reading it, seemed to be suited to your own case, 
and which you then thought you should adopt. If you 
have forgotten them, you can easily call them to mind by a 
little effort, or by a cursory review. You will thus bring 
up again to your mind those points in which the instruc- 
tions of the book are particularly adapted to your own past 
history and present spiritual condition. 

Afler having thus fully reconsidered the whole ground, 
and gathered all the important points which are peculiarly 
-adapted to your own case into one view, consider deliber- 
ately, before jou finally close the book, what you will do 
with regard to them. If any thing has b^en made plain 
to be your duty, consider and decide distinctly whether 
you will do it or not. If any thing has been shown to be 
conducive to your happiness, determine, deliberately and 



Mi TOVKO GHRISTIAN. [Ch. k2* 



Be in earneit. 



lUMlerstandiiigly, Whether yo\x will adopt it ar not. Do not 
fottve it to be decided by cbanpe, or by your own accideii- 
tai feeliagft of energy or of iildolence, what oourse yoa will 
take in reference to a Sttfajeot so momesntous as the que«« 
tions <^ religiouB duty. I fear, however, that notwithstaad* 
ing ail that I can aay, very maByy even among the modi 
thoughtful of my readers^ will close this book without de- 
riving from it any permanent good, either in their conduct 
or their hearta. It will have only produced a few good 
intentions, which will neiver be. carried into effect, or 
arouse them to momentary effort^ which will soon yield 
again to indolence aiul languor. 

There is no is^i'eaafton th«^ I more strongly desire to 
produce in these few runainiiig pdges, than that you should 
be in earne$ty in deep and persevering earnest^ in your 
efforts after holiness and salvation. If you are interested 
enough in religion to giv^ up the pleasures of sin, you 
lose all enjoy m^ftt unlesBt you grasp the happiness of piety. 
There are, at the present dtoy, great numbers in whose 
hearts religious principle ha^ taken so strong a hold as to 
awaken conscience and to destroy their peace, if they con** 
tinue to sin; but they do not give themselves up wUh all 
their hearts to the service of tke Savior. They feel, con- 
sequently, that they have lost the world ;-^^hey cannot be 
satisfied' with its pleasures, and they are unhappy, and 
feel that they are out of place when in the company of its 
votaries. But though ^ey have thrown themselvea out of 
one home, they do not, m earnest, provide themselves 
with another. They do not give all th^ h^art to Grod 
No life is more delightful than one spent in intimate cattif 
munion with our Father above, and in earnest and devoted 
efforts to please him by promoting human hkppiness;' aad 
none is perhaps mare unhappy, and prepares more effect- 
ually for a melancholy dying hour, than to spend our days 
with the path of duty plain before us, and conscience 
urging us to walk in it, while we hang back, and walk 
with a slow and hesitating step, and look away wistfiiUy 
at the fruits which we dare not taste. Do not take sileh a 



Ch. 12.] coNCLUsiasr. 369 



A great proportion of life gone. 



course as this. When you abandoa the world, abandon 
it entirely; — and when you choose God and religion for 
your pertion, do it with all your heart. Outrun conscience 
in the path of duty, instead of waiting to have your lag- 
ging steps quickened by her scourge. 

Once more. Much less of life is lefl to you than you 
generally suppose. Perhaps the average age of the read- 
ers of this book is between fifleen and twenty, and fifteen 
or twenty years is probably, upon an average, half of life. 
I call you young, because you are young in reference to 
the active business of this world. You have just reached 
the full developement of your powers, and have conse-* 
quently but just begun the actual work of life. The long 
years that are past have been spent in preparation. Hence 
you are called young — ^you are said to be just beginning 
life, understanding, by life, the pursuits and the business 
of maturity. But life, if you understand by it the season 
>f preparation for eternity, is more than half gone; — life, 
so far as it presents opportunities and facilities for peni- 
tence and pardon — so far as it bears on the formation of 
character, and is to be Qonsidered as a period of probation 
-^is unquestionably more than half gone to those who are 
between fifleen and twenty. In a vast number of cases, it 
is more than half gone, even in duralion, at that time ; and 
if we consider the thousand influences which crowd around 
the years of childhood and youth, winning to piety, and 
making a surrender to Jehovah easy and pleasant then, 
and on the other hand look, forward beyond the years of 
maturity, and see these influences losing all their power, 
and the heart becoming harder and harder under the dead* 
ening effects of continuance in sin, we shall not doubt 
a moment that the years of immaturity make a far more 
important part of our time of probation than all those 
that follow. 

You do right then, when you are thinking of your 
business or your profession, to consider life as but begun; 
but when you look upon the great Mork of preparation 
for an other world, you might more properly consider it as 



9Pt rovva cbbistian^ [Ch. If. 

Closing addre«8 to parenli. Tbelr co-opentioa. 

mutdy ended. Almost all moral changes of obaracter 
are wraally effected before the period at whieh jov hard 
arrived, and soon all that will probablj remain to yvu oa 
eaith is to exempiify, for a few yeara^ the character which 
in early life you formed. If, therefore, yoa would do any 
thing in yoar own heart for the cause of truth and doty, 
yon must do it in earnest, and roust do it now. 

I have intended this book chiefly for the young, but I 
ciuinot close it without a word at parting to those of my 
readers who hare passed the period of youth. If the work 
shall at all answer the purpose for which it is intended, 
it will, in some instances at least, be .read by the mature; 
and I may perhaps, without impropriety, address a few 
words respectfolly to them. 

You are probably parents; your children have been 
reading this book, and you have perhaps taken it up be*' 
cause you are interested in whatever interests them* 
You feel also a very strong desire to promote their piety, 
and this desire leads you to wish to hear, yourselves, 
whatever on this subject is addressed to them. I have 
several times in the course of this work intimated, that 
the principles which it is designed to illustrate and explain, 
are equally applicable to the young and the old. It has 
been adapted^ in its style and manner only, to the former 
class ; and I have hoped, as I have penned its pages, that 
a father might sometimes himself be affected by truths 
which he was reading during a wiitter evening to his 
assembled family; or that a mother might take up the 
book purchased for her children, and be led herself to 
the Savior by a chapter which was mainly written for 
the purpdfse of winning them. I do not intend, however, 
to press here again your own personal duties. I have 
another object in view. 

That object is to ask you to co-operate fully and cor- 
dially in this, and in all similar efforts to promote the 
welfare of your children. If you have accompanied them 
through this volume, you will know what parts of it aro 



Ch. 12.] c<»i«LcsiO]7. 3Ti 

■ ' ■ ^^»— . ^^—1 . I 11——^ 

Ways in which tb«y may eo-opwaM. lU Wf ioui example of pannu. 

peculiarly adapted to thek condition luid wants Tkese 
parts you can do much to impress upon tli€ir minds hf 
your explanations, and by encouraging them to make tlve 
efibrts they require. The intwest which a father or a 
mother takes in such a book, is a pretty sure criterion— 
it f» almost the very regulator of that felt by the divld. 

If you notice any thing in the volume which you think 
erroneous, or calculated to lead to error; or if there is any 
ihult which your child discovers and brings to you, with a 
criticism which you feel to be just, do not deny or attempt 
to conceal the fault because it occurs in a book whose 
general object and aim you improve. Separaite the minute 
imperfections from the general object and design of the 
whole ; and while you freely admit a condemnation of the 
one, show that it does not aflect the character of the other, 
and thus remove every obstacle w^ich would' impede what 
is the great design of the book, to press the power of re- 
Kgious obligation in its most plain and simple form. 

On the other hand, do not magt^ify the ^ults which you 
may find, or think you find, or turn e^ the attention of 
your children from the serious questions of duty which the 
book is intended to bring before the oonsctence and the 
heart, to a cold and speculative discussion of the style, or 
the iogic, or the phraseology of the author. A religious 
book is in some degree entitled to the privilege of a re- 
ligious speaker. Parents easily can, on their walk home 
from church, obliterate all serious impressions from the 
minds of their children, by conversation which shows that 
they are looking only at the literary aspects of the per- 
formance to which they have listened. In the same manner 
&ey can destroy the influence of a book, by turning away 
attention from the questions of duty which it brings up, 
to an inquiry into the logic of an argument, or a comment 
upon the dulness or the interest of a story. 

There is one thing more which I may perhaps without 
impropriety say. Tour religious influence over your chil- 
dren will depend far more on your example, than upon 
your efforts to procure for them good religious instruction 



973 TOmCO CHRISTIAN. [Ch. 19. 



BlaMiac obtained by religious example. 



They look to you for an exemplification of piety, ^and if 
they do not see this, you cannot expect that they will yield 
themselves to its principles on your recommendation. 
Your children, too, must see piety exemplified in a way 
which they can appreciate and understand. To make 
vigorous efibrts jfbr the support of the Gospel — to contribute 
generously for the various benevolent objects of the day — 
and even to cultivate in your hours of secret devotion the 
most heartfelt and abasing penitence for sin, will not idone 
be enough to recommend piety effectually to your children. 
They look at other aspects of your conduct and character. 
They observe the tone of kindness or of harshness with 
which you speak — the tranquillity or the irritation with 
which you bear the little trials and disappointments of life 
•:— your patience in suffering, and your calmness in danger. 
They watch you to observe how faithfully you perform the 
ordinary duties of your station. They look with eager 
interest into your countenance, to see with what spirit you 
receive an injury, or rebuke what is wrong. 

By making faithful and constant efforts to live like 
Christians yourselves, and to exhibit to your children 
those effects of piety upon your conduct and character 
which they can understand and appreciate, and by adapt- 
ing religious instruction to the peculiar intellectual habits 
of the young, you may anticipate a sure and an abundant 
blessing upon your labors. Childhood is a most fertile 
part of the vineyard of the Lord. The seed which is 
planted there vegetates very soon, and the weeds which 
spring up are easily eradicated. It is in fact in every 
respect an easy and a pleasant spot to till, and the flowers 
and fruits which, with proper effort, will bloom and ripen 
there, surpass all others in richness and beauty. 



THE END 



I 12 3 4 5. . 

ABBOTT, Jaco b 

j AUTHOR ■ 

The yoimK Chr ial-.i.,.. 

TITLB 

or, A familiar illust.rn- I 



I 



Call NumtKi 

BV 
4531 
.A34 
1835 



L 



