My lady of the stage-coach did not seem in the least a match for this sort of manoeuvring; and talked on in a simple good earnest, without perceiving the satiric twist of her gentleman's mouth, while talking of Romaine, Baxter, and Leighton; books which it was evident to me that he had never read; but not so to their enthusiastic commentator, whom he plied with admiration of their worth. A passage to the antipodes is not always long: and from the holy of the earth, they fell to talking of its base corruptors. Here my friend was, I suspect, well read: his large, rude eyes spread wider with delight, when he found his lady as much at home here as heretofore: conversant not only with infidel philosophers of other days, the nobler mischiefdoers of the earth, but also with their small retinue of to-day. But he affected squeamishness: he was hardly competent to give an opinion, being so little conversant with these works; he had his doubts about reading-dropped something about their indelicacy as well as profaneness-perhaps he was too particular, but the manœuvre served his purpose. The Christian lady took up the advocacy, not of their principles, of course, but of their talents; the unfairness of condemning men for opinions: the propriety of reading every thing to form your own judgment: the sufficiency of principle to maintain itself without avoiding its enemies. She did not, of course, agree with them, but she had great delight in their deep reasoning, and expansive thought, and independent spirit, that defied authority, and would yield only to conviction. She called some of these worthies-the enemies of her Saviour, and blasphemers of her God" fine creatures," "noble spirits," "ex. quisite writers." Artfully encouraged by the affected ignorance of her companion, she repeated many of their witticisms, impossible not to laugh at, as she said, in spite of their profaneness. The conversation passed, and the lady left the coach at Sheffield. Much was the comment I had been making on it in my own mind as it proceeded, and already I had determined to remit to you my listenings, with my thoughts on what I had heard. On the adventurous pride that thus dared the approach of evil; the treachery that held friendly converse with a master's foes, (for doing less than this towards an earthly sovereign, men have been hanged as traitors,) the licentious curiosity that could amuse itself with the mysteries of iniquity. Can holiness amuse itself with sin? Can purity soil itself with foulness? Can the saved laugh round the graves of them that perish, and dress their tombs with laurels? I had determined to write my sentiments on the consequences of a young person, and a female, and a Christian, risking the pollution of her mind by the perusal of such books; and encouraging the profligacy of others, by her defence of them; and grieving that Holy Spirit, which, alas! has a task quite hard enough to restore the soul to holinesss, by bidding its opposers do their worst to keep it in corruption. All this I meant to speak of, though little given to talk. But my friend of the coach made the comment himself: I cannot mend it, and with him I leave it. Scarcely had the lady left the coach when he said-to all, I suppose, whom it might concern, for he addressed himself to nobody; "These saints should not be so anxious to exclude us sinners from heaven, for they will be sadly off without us. With all their love of holiness, they cannot do without the zest of sin; and so, when they have done committing it for themselves, they amuse themselves with other people's. Do you see? She can cram her conscience with Leighton and Baxter: but she must have recourse to the sceptics to feed her intellect; hah hah! These folks are wiser than the world takes them for, after all: more knaves than fools. If she cannot smuggle a libertine infidel or two into heaven, she will want to come back again to enjoy the exercise of opinion, and freedom of thought!" I leave it with you and your readers to determine whether our Christian lady had or had not provoked this unholy sarcasm. If she herself should read it, it may not be useless to her to know the issue of her conversation. VOL. II. HARVEST-HOME. O! how sharp the pain Our vice, ourselves, our habits to disdain; To sigh, yet not recede; to grieve, yet not relent. A LETTER TO THE LISTENER : CRABBE. I FEEL strongly that nothing but looking at and handling the vanities and gaieties of this world, can enable us to see through and believe their lightness. Could I imagine myself educating a child; a task so awful as to make one shrink with distrust from every plan ever yet laid down, because of the imperfection of all; I could not answer to myself for the effect it seems to me would be produced by shutting out the world's excitements from a young and active mind. Having once given that mind a high standard, by which to judge itself and others, 1 should dread it as most dangerous to debar it of the bitter, but useful, fruits of experience in folly. Had it been so with me, I am persuaded, that at this moment, although past the age of twenty-five, I should have a restless craving, an admiring, and yet unacknowledged wish, to be initiated, that would be a thousand times more hurtful than the temporary delight and permanent indifference that arise out of a close acquaintance with them. I was brought early into the world, and early into a state of responsibility and power, that both restrained and excited me in no common degree; my vanity was continually gratified, and I had keen delight in the indulgence of my tastes: but with all this, and in the midst of a family party in whom I was blessed indeed, I found myself writing down, out of the fulness of conviction, "that this life, considered without reference to another, was a gift more fraught with pain than pleasure." I never, even in the stillness of darkness, in the thunder-storm, or the extreme of sorrow, have that strong persuasion of the immediate coming of death and judgment, which arises in my mind when I am in a gay crowd; even when I seem, and am, a flattered, pleased, and animated actor in that crowd, still the thought that every one of that number will soon moulder in the grave, haunts me, until I am ready to say aloud, The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised." When I look at others in the world, I think no one feels like me; and when I look into myself, I feel as if every body must have the same impressions. It may sound like the extreme of vanity, but I am persuaded, that to judge of others by ourselves is the truest charity; who that has heart and mind enough to feel any thing, will not acknowledge, that not only their most sinful, but their highest, purest, most delicate, and spiritual thoughts, are those which never pass their lips, and scarcely appear in their lives, because they lack the opportunity of proving them, or feel they would be misinterpreted? They are reserved for one only eye, and we seem what others seem to us. Oh! let us believe, that such is the true state of almost all these seeming worldlings; nor think, that when the secrets of all hearts are laid open, we alone have in that fearful store some which we need not tremble to unfold! But it may be I have overlooked what |
