By EDWARD C. REYNOLDS, ESQ.
Agency is one of the most common relations of individual to individual. It is a delegation of power that few can avoid, in a greater or less degree of importance. The wife who purchases goods for household purposes in her husband’s name, is acting purely as his agent; and the clerk who sells the articles to her acts, in the transaction, as agent for the merchant in whose employment he is.
The legal maxim,Qui facit per alium, facit per se, which we will make read here, “What one does by another he does himself,†is the essential idea of agency; that is, it places on sure foundation the question of responsibility, at least, as to where it belongs. This is the whole doctrine so far as responsibility or liability is concerned.
That it is particularly necessary in business life to have this delegation of power, and this centralization of responsibility,needs no explanation. The publisher of this magazine could be a publisher only in imagination without it, for he would have no influence in his own sanctum, except with himself; and we should feel no security in dealing with a company with no recognized and responsible manager.
We have to deal with a fixed fact. Agency exists. The owners of magnificent stores, the stockholders in the railroad and steamship lines are all indebted to an army of agents whose active brains and eager efforts keep cars and steamers in motion, purchase and sell goods, and keep the accounts of the business world in proper balance.
How is an agency established? Our readers probably could answer this question in part; try it and see if we are not right.
We must answer by remarking that it depends somewhat upon what is wanted of an agent. Thus, if one be possessed of real estate, situated in some distant place, and is desirous of making a sale, and of selecting and commissioning some one to represent him in such a transfer of property, the appointment would be by a power of attorney, executed as described in our later article on real estate, “to which reference is hereby made.â€
To represent another in ordinary business transactions one may act by virtue of a written or verbal agreement. Thus, if A places goods in B’s hands for the purpose of selling through B, this will be sufficient to constitute an agency, and for the purposes of this business B is A’s agent, and all would be protected in dealing with him in such capacity. A bookkeeper in the counting room of his employer is fairly presumed to have authority to receipt bills, to pay bills, render accounts, and in some cases to make purchases, particularly if such part by him done has been sanctioned by the merchant in the past. But he has no authority to sign his employer’s name to notes, bills or checks unless specially authorized.
A minor, though not capable of being a party to a contract himself, may do so for an employer, and thus be an agent, and his principal is responsible for his acts in such capacity, unless they betortious, or wrongs in themselves. There would obviously be no security for innocent parties in fixing upon any other solution of the question of liability, because if A permits B, though a minor, to act for him and thereby takes advantage of his services in that capacity when they are favorable to his interests, it would be inequitable for him to shift the responsibility when it becomes onerous.
While the principal is responsible for the acts of his agent, when not beyond the authority given, it is the duty of the agent to obey the instructions of his principal. This he is always to do unless some unforeseen situation presents itself, which requires the exercise of a discretionary power and immediate action. And then, an agent would be justified in acting contrary to instructions, or without instructions only when reasonable foresight and experience would approve of the course pursued by him. This for legitimate pursuits, our readers always remembering that an agent is not justified in doing an illegal or immoral act, and that, even though specially instructed so to do. The agency must be apparent and known to exist, that third parties may know themselves to be dealing with one in such capacity, and that agents may not be made to assume responsibilities which do not belong to them. This may be accomplished by advertising in and transacting all business in the principal’s name; or where the name of the principal is not necessarily made use of in the course of the business, the fact of the agent’s business employment being known as such would doubtless be sufficient.
A clerk having occasion, in the course of business, to sign his employer’s name to letters, in receipting bills and such routine business, does it in this manner:
E. E. Emmons,Per S.
Where special authority is given to sign checks, notes and accept bills in his principal’s or employer’s name, the agent will add his own name, with the word “Attorney.â€
It must be remembered that an agency, so far as an agency transaction is concerned, must stand by itself, and not be associated with agent’s private business; that principal’s and agent’s property should be kept entirely distinct.
A commission merchant, although an agent so far as his dealings with his principal or consignor, is not such in relation to other parties, since he does business in his own name, and is recognized as a merchant and not an agent, although his business may be largely a commission business. He is bound to obey instructions of his principal or consignor, whom he charges a percentage for the handling of the goods consigned, incidental expenses, and, in cases where he assumes the indebtedness resulting from the sales, an extra commission.
Since mention has been made of commission merchants, we must individualize once more, and mention brokers. A broker simply effects a sale or purchase, as of merchandise or stocks. Unlike commission merchants they neither have, for the purpose of effecting the one, nor acquire by the accomplishment of the other, absolute possession of the chattels bought or sold.
In whatever capacity as special agent for another, one is acting, he is ever bound to keep and render proper account of the business entrusted to his care; to keep his principal properly informed regarding it; to use due diligence in business; to treat the property of his principal with same care and handle with same prudence, as a man of ordinary carefulness and forethought would his own. All this means only, that he should act with ordinary skill, and should render to his principal fair and honest service.
What terminates the agency? Death or insanity of either party; completion of work undertaken; expiration of time agreed upon; by express declaration of either party at pleasure, the other having due notification, and by such action acquiring a valid claim for whatever damages result on account thereof.
It is of constant occurrence that persons deem it advisable to unite themselves together for the prosecution of some general or particular business, paying their respects, by such act, to the old saw, “In union there is strength.†They agree by such an association to undertake the business, which induced them to unite their efforts with the hope of attaining to better results. The partners may or may not equally participate in the activities of the business to be undertaken, and may or may not stand on equal footing so far as relates to the sharing of the gains and losses. All of this is governed by their agreements at the outset, and its subsequent mutually agreed upon changes.
Like other species of contracts, the conditions of partnerships may be agreed upon verbally, may be in writing, and may result by implication. Of the three, which? Regarding this and all other engagements, establish a rule to which adhere rigidly. The rule: Have a thorough understanding with all parties with whom you contract; reduce it to writing, and have all interested parties sign. In this way the difficulties of misunderstandings and convenient forgetfulness will be less troublesome. It is worth all it costs to bear this precaution in mind.
Partners assume different relations and responsibilities as regards the partnership and the business world. There are the ostensible partners who boldly advertise themselves as such, and as such assuming the hazards incident to commercial enterprises; then the nominal partner who seeks to help a partnership by lending it his name, and thereby holding himself out as a member of it and making himself liable to creditors for partnership debts, providing credit was given, because of his supposed connection with the firm, as a regular partner; secret partners, who keep their names from the public, seeking by this means to avoid liability, but at same time sharing with the other partners the profits arising from the business. Ifsuch partnership becomes known to creditors, they may enforce collection of claims due from the partnership, as against the property of the secret partner; and the special partner, recognized by the laws of some of the states, which limit his liability to the amount of his investment, on condition that he gives public notice of such partnership agreement in a manner prescribed.
The partnership is organized, the partners assuming such relation to the partnership as they mutually agree upon, bearing in mind the above description of liabilities.
The element agency becomes quite conspicuous here, for each partner is an agent of the partnership and invested with plenary power to bind the other partners by his acts, when within the business sphere of the firm. It will be observed that we say in the line of the copartnership business, because otherwise it would not be sanctioned. As an illustration: A member of a partnership engaged in the flour trade would not have authority to bind his partners, if he attempted to involve them in stock speculations, unless previous similar enterprises by him had been approved by them, in which case there might be a fair presumption that such authority existed. This leads us to the question of liability; and liable they are, each and every partner, unless by virtue of exception previously mentioned, exempted. Their individual property, in the event of there being insufficient partnership assets to liquidate the indebtedness of the firm, must respond to the creditors’ call.
Now, since the acts of a partner may result in a manner disastrous to all associated with him, it is his duty to act with all fidelity and perfect good faith; to give his attention carefully to the business, acting as his best judgment may advise for the benefit of all. While, however, a breach of these obligations creates a liability for such misfeasance or wrong act as a partner may be guilty of, it does in no way affect outside parties, unless cognizant of and participating in same.
Gains and losses how shared? The object of our partnership is the hope of gain; its effect may be the realization of loss.
This question of division ought to be solved by reference to the articles of agreement, which should have expressed the whole partnership contract, and have been signed by all the partners. This not done? Well then, we say, all should share in equal proportions the gains or losses, first making unequal investments equal by an allowance of interest on net investments, and equalizing individual ability and experience by allowing each partner that salary to which, measuring his services by comparison with those rendered by other partners, he seems to be fairly entitled. Where capital and skill are equal, an equal sharing in the gains or losses is equitable.
The following conditions serve to dissolve a partnership:
The expiration of the time for which the partnership was organized; ordinarily the completion of the business for the purpose of accomplishing which the partnership was formed;
The misfeasance of a partner; whenever a partner fails to act in harmony with his associates, or disposes of his interest in the partnership affairs;
By the death of any one of the partners;
By decree of the court ordering the same;
By the consent of all the partners at any time.
After the dissolution, a partner acts no longer for his former copartners to the extent of entering into or incurring new obligations. Each partner however has full power to collect debts due the firm, signing the firm name to receipts, and also to liquidate outstanding obligations of the firm, unless by special agreement these powers are conferred on one partner alone. This is an arrangement which affects the partners only, third persons being protected in a settlement with any member of a late partnership dissolved.
After the business is wholly settled, all liabilities being paid, and not till then, is a partner entitled to his share of the partnership funds.
Notice of the dissolution of a partnership should be publicly given, it being necessary in the case of one or more retiring from the firm, in order to secure them from future liability. Individually this notice is given by mail to all with whom the firm has been dealing. This, in addition to ordinary publication of notice in newspaper, is sufficient.
A sale is the transfer of certain property from one to another for a certain sum paid or to be paid, those being parties to it, to make it valid, who are competent to enter into a contract.
A sale effected entitles the purchaser to possession of the goods on payment of price agreed upon; or, if purchaser be given credit, at once, unless there be some special agreement to the contrary.
In the case of goods shipped to a purchaser who becomes insolvent before they have been delivered, the vendor may order the carrier to hold them subject to his (vendor’s) order, thereby exercising a privilege given him by law, and called the right of stoppagein transitu.
All sales are not made with an actual knowledge on the part of the vendee of the quality of his purchase, some being by sample. Sales in this manner give credence to the inference that the samples constitute a part of the goods sold, and therefore the goods must be of same quality as the samples, else the vendor does not comply with the conditions of the contract to which he is a party, and the purchaser may refuse to complete the sale by acceptance of the goods.
The quality of goods sold must be as represented by the vendor, if he warrants them by such representation, in order to secure a sale. In sales each one is supposed to be on his guard. “Let the purchaser beware,†is the maxim. And if, without actual fraud, concealment or misrepresentation on the part of the vendor, the vendee is deceived in a purchase because of poor judgment, he alone must suffer the consequences and take the loss. A warranty of an article puts the vendor under the necessity of making compensation to vendee, if the article is defective wherein warranted.
A purchase of stolen property gives to the purchaser no title as against the true owner, or the one from whom the property was stolen, even though the purchase be made in good faith, and for a full consideration. “Let the purchaser beware.â€
There is but one species of personal property to which this will not apply, and that negotiable commercial paper.
Some contracts regarding sales must be in writing, and signed by the party to be charged, or his agent. What are they? See article on contracts.
The present paper has been abridged from “Italian Paintings,†by Edward J. Poynter, R. A., and Percy R. Head.
Italian painting is divided into a number of schools, each of which has some illustrious artist as its founder, and a train of skillful and exact workmen following his methods. To study the style and methods of the master is to study the school. The most famous of these artists have been selected to represent the Art of Italy, the first of whom, the father of Italian painting, is
Giotto was born near Florence, in 1266. Employed as a boy in watching sheep, he is said to have been one day discovered by the artist Cimabue, as he was sketching one of his flock upon a stone. The painter, surprised at the promise shown by the boy, who was not more than ten years old, took him to Florence, and made him his pupil. Giotto’s earliest works were executed at Florence, and at the age of thirty he had already attained such fame that he was invited to Rome by PopeBoniface VIII., to take part in the decoration of the ancient Basilica of Saint Peter. TheNavicellamosaic which he there executed, representing the Disciples in the Storm, is preserved in the vestibule of the present Saint Peter’s. The famous story of “Giotto’s O†belongs to this episode in his career. When the envoy sent by the pope to engage his services begged for some drawing or design which might be shown to his holiness in proof of the artist’s talent, Giotto, taking an ordinary brush full of color, and steadying his arm against his side, described a perfect circle on an upright panel with a sweep of the wrist, and offered this manual feat as sufficient evidence of his powers. The story shows the importance attached by a great artist to mere precision in workmanship, and teaches the useful lesson that genius, unsupported by the skill only to be acquired by discipline and labor, is wanting in the first condition which makes great achievements possible. This visit to Rome took place about 1298; soon afterward we find Giotto engaged on his frescoes in the church of Saint Francis at Assisi, a series of allegorical designs illustrating the saint’s spiritual life and character. In 1306 he was working at the fine series of frescoes in the Arena Chapel at Padua, which represent thirty-eight scenes from the lives of the Virgin and of Christ. We here see Giotto in the fulness of his powers; the incidents are treated with a charming simplicity and sentiment for nature, and he rises to great solemnity of style in the more important scenes. Important works by Giotto are found in many other places beside those mentioned above, including especially Naples, Ravenna, Milan, Pisa and Lucca. Perhaps the finest are those which have been discovered of late years in the Church of Santa Croce at Florence under coats of whitewash which happily had preserved them almost intact; the “Last Supper,†in the refectory of the convent attached to the church, is in remarkable preservation, and is a magnificent example of the style of the time. The twenty-six panels which he painted for the presses in the sacristry of the same church are good illustrations of his method of treatment; natural and dignified with the interest concentrated on the figures; the background and accessories being treated in the simplest possible manner, and hardly more than symbols expressing the locality in which the scene is enacted. Giotto was the first of the moderns who attempted portrait-painting with any success, and some most interesting monuments of his skill in that branch of art have been preserved to us. In 1840, discovery was made, in the chapel of the Podestà ’s palace at Florence, of some paintings by Giotto, containing a number of portraits, among them one of his friend, the poet Dante; the portraits being introduced, as was usual among the early painters, and indeed frequent at all periods, as subordinate actors in the scene represented. Giotto was not only a painter; as a sculptor and architect he was also distinguished. Giotto died at Florence in January, 1337, and was buried with public solemnities in the cathedral. His style, though marked by the hardness and quaintness of a time when chiaro-scuro and perspective were very imperfectly understood, displays the originality of his genius in its thoughtful and vigorous design, and shows how resolutely the artist relied, not on traditions, but on keen and patient observation of nature.
The earliest of the great fifteenth-century painters belongs in the character of his works rather to the preceding century. The monk Guido di Pietro of Fiesole, commonly called Fra Angelico from the holiness and purity which were as conspicuous in his life as in his works, was born in 1387 at Vicchio, in the province of Mugello. At the age of twenty he entered the order of the Predicants at Fiesole, and took the name of Giovanni, by which he was afterward known. His first art work was the illumination of manuscripts. Quitting the monastery in 1409, he practiced as a fresco-painter in various places until 1418, when he returned to Fiesole, and continued to reside there for the next eighteen years. In 1436 he again quitted his retreat, to paint a series of frescoes on the history of the Passion for the convent of San Marco in Florence. This work occupied nine years, and on its completion Angelico was invited to Rome. The chief work which he undertook there was the decoration of a chapel in the Vatican for Pope Nicholas V. In 1447 he went to Orvieto to undertake a similar task, but returned in the same year, having done only three compartments of the ceiling, and leaving the rest to be afterward completed by Luca Signorelli. He then continued to reside in Rome, where he died and was buried in 1455. The most striking characteristics of Angelico’s art spring from the temper of religious fervor with which he practiced it. He worked without payment; he prayed before beginning any work for the Divine guidance in its conception; and believing himself to be so assisted, he regarded each picture as a revelation, and could never be persuaded to alter any part of it. His works on panel are very numerous, and are to be found in many public and private galleries; of the finest of these are, a “Last Judgment,†belonging to the Earl of Dudley, and the “Coronation of the Virgin†in the gallery of the Louvre. After his death he was “beatified†by the church he had served so devotedly—a solemnity which ranks next to canonization; and Il Beato Angelico is the name by which Fra Giovanni was and is most fondly and reverently remembered. His style survived only in one pupil who assisted him at Orvieto.
Leonardo da Vinci belonged to the Florentine school, the fifteenth century, of which he was the first great example. Leonardo was the son of a notary of Vinci, near Florence, and was born at that place in the year 1452. He became the pupil of Andrea Verrocchio, the Florentine sculptor and painter, and progressed so rapidly that he soon surpassed his master, who is said to have thereupon given up painting in despair. Leonardo’s studies at this time ranged over the whole field of science and art; beside being a painter and a sculptor, he was a practiced architect, engineer, and mechanician; profoundly versed in mathematics and the physical sciences; and an accomplished poet and musician. The famous letter in which he applied to the Duke of Milan for employment, enumerates only a few of his acquirements; he represents himself as skilled in military and naval engineering, offensive and defensive, and the construction of artillery, and as possessing secrets in these matters hitherto unknown; he can make designs for buildings, and undertake any work in sculpture, in marble, in bronze, or in terra-cotta; and “in painting,†he says, “I can do what can be done as well as any man, be he who he may.†He concludes by offering to submit his own account of himself to the test of experiment, at his excellency’s pleasure. He entered the Duke’s service about the year 1482, receiving a yearly salary of 500 scudi. Under his auspices an academy of arts was established in Milan in 1485, and he drew round him a numerous school of painters. Of the many works executed by Leonardo during his residence at Milan, the greatest was the world renowned picture of the “Last Supper,†painted in oil upon the wall of the refectory of the convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie. Whether it was the fault of the wall or the medium used by the painter, the great picture rapidly faded, and by the end of fifty years had virtually perished. It is still shown, but decay and restoration have left little of the original work of Leonardo. The best idea of it is to be got from the old copies, taken while the picture was yet perfect; of these the most valuable is the one executed in 1510 by Marco d’Oggione, now in the possession of the Royal Academy of London. His other important achievement, while at Milan, was a work of sculpture, which unfortunately perished within a few years of its completion. It seems to have occupied him at intervals for eleven years, for the completed model was first exhibited to the public in 1493. All that we now know of it is from the numerous sketches in the Royal Collection at Windsor. The model was still in existence in 1501,after which nothing more is recorded of it. He also at this time made a model for the cupola of Milan Cathedral, which was never carried out. In 1499 Leonardo left Milan and returned to Florence. He received a commission in 1503 to paint the wall at one end of the Council Hall of the Palazzo Vecchio, the decoration of the other end being at the same time entrusted to Michelangelo. Leonardo’s picture was never completed, and Michelangelo’s apparently never begun; but the cartoons for their two compositions, known respectively as the “Battle of the Standard†and the “Cartoon of Pisa,†excited the greatest admiration, and were termed by Benvenuto Cellini “the school of the world;†both have been lost or destroyed; all that we know of Leonardo’s composition is gained from a drawing of it by Rubens in black and red chalk in the gallery of the Louvre, to which, though spirited enough, he contrived to impart the coarse Flemish character with which all his work is disfigured. In 1514 Leonardo visited Rome, and was to have executed some work in the Vatican, had not an affront put upon him by the pope given him offence and caused him to leave Rome. He went to the King of France, Francis I., who was then at Pavia, took service with him, and accompanied him to France, in the early part of 1516. He was, however, weakened by age and in bad health, and did little or no new work in France. In a little more than three years’ time, in May 1519, he died, at Cloux, near Amboise, at the age of sixty-seven.
Those pictures of Leonardo, which we may regard with confidence as the work of his own hand, fully justify the exceptional admiration with which he has always been regarded. He was excessively fastidious in his work, “his soul being full of the sublimity of art,†and spent years over the execution of some of his works. The painting of the portrait of Madonna Lisa is said to have extended over four years, and to have been then left incomplete. His mind also was at times equally bent on scientific matters, and for long periods he was entirely absorbed in the study of mathematics. For these reasons he produced but few pictures; if, however, he had left none, his drawings, which fortunately exist in large numbers, would suffice to account for the enthusiasm which his work has always excited. It is certain that we do not see his pictures in the state in which they left his easel; from some causes, unnecessary to discuss, they have blackened in the shadows, and the colors have faded. Vasari praises beyond measure the carnations of the Mona Lisa, which, he says, “do not appear to be painted, but truly flesh and blood;†but no trace of these delicate tints now remains.
Leonardo was the author of many treatises, some of which only have been published. The most celebrated is the “Trattato della Pittura,†still a book of high authority among writings on art.
Was born at Castel Caprese, near Arezzo, in 1475. In 1488 he entered the school of Ghirlandaio, the master giving a small payment for the boy’s services. His precocious abilities soon attracted the notice of Lorenzo de’ Medici, and until the death of that prince in 1492, Michelangelo worked under his especial patronage. His earliest drawings show a spontaneous power which made Fuseli say that “as an artist he had no infancy;†but for many years he confined himself almost entirely to sculpture; and some of his greatest achievements in that kind of art were executed before he undertook his first considerable work with the pencil. This was the “Cartoon of Pisa,†finished in 1505, and intended as a design for a mural picture to face that of Leonardo in the Council Hall at Florence. This cartoon is lost, but a copy in monochrome, containing probably the whole of the composition, exists in England. During its progress he had broken off to visit Rome, and execute some sculptural work for the pope; and in 1508 he went to Rome again to begin the great achievement of his life, the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel. The paintings of the ceiling illustrate the Creation and the Fall of Man, together with other scenes and figures typical of the Redemption. The middle part of the ceiling is divided into nine compartments, containing the “Creation of Eve†(placed in the center, as symbolizing the woman of whom the Messiah was born), the “Creation of Adam,†the “Temptation, Fall and Expulsion†in one composition, the “Separation of Light from Darkness,†the “Gathering of the Waters,†the “Creation of the Sun and Moon,†the “Deluge,†the “Thanksgiving of Noah,†and the “Drunkenness of Noah.†At the corners of the ceiling are four designs of the great deliverances of the children of Israel, the Brazen Serpent, David and Goliath, Judith with the head of Holofernes, and the punishment of Haman. There are six windows on each side of the chapel; the lunettes which surround them, and the spaces above them, are occupied by groups of the ancestors of Christ. Between the windows, at the springing of the vault, are colossal seated figures of the Prophets and Sibyls who foretold the coming of the Savior. They are arranged alternately as follows:—Jeremiah, Persian Sibyl, Ezekiel, Erythræan Sibyl, Joel, Delphic Sibyl, Isaiah, Cumæan Sibyl, Daniel, Libyan Sibyl; Jonah and Zachariah are placed one at each end of the chapel, between the historical compositions at the angles of the ceiling. These single figures are the most striking features of the design, and calculated skilfully to help the architectural effect. The side walls of the chapel, below the springing of the vault, had already been decorated with frescoes executed by Sandro Botticelli, Cosimo Rosselli, Ghirlandaio, Luca Signorelli, and Perugino. Michelangelo’s frescoes were finished toward the end of the year 1512. Vasari’s statement that he painted them all in twenty months without any assistance is undoubtedly exaggerated; it possibly refers to the completion of the first half of the ceiling.
For the next twenty years Michelangelo did little or nothing in painting; but in 1533, at the age of fifty-nine, he began the cartoons for the fresco of the “Last Judgment†on the wall behind the altar in the Sistine Chapel. This celebrated composition is entirely of nude figures, no accessories being introduced to add to the terror of the scene. Each figure throughout this vast composition has its appropriate meaning, and the power of design and mastery of execution are unsurpassed and unsurpassable. The picture was finished in 1541. Two frescoes in the neighboring Pauline Chapel, the “Conversion of Saint Paul,†and the “Crucifixion of Saint Peter,†which were finished in 1549, were his last paintings. He had accepted, in 1547, the position of architect of Saint Peter’s, stipulating that his services should be gratuitous. He continued to carry the building forward, altering materially the original design of Bramante, until his death, which took place in February, 1564. His body was taken to Florence, and buried in Santa Croce.
Although the genius of Michelangelo has exercised a vast and widely diffused influence over all subsequent art, yet this master, unlike Raphael, formed no school of his own immediate followers. It must be admitted that Raphael owes him much, for he never found his full strength until he had seen Michelangelo’s works at Rome, when his style underwent immediate improvement. None of those who worked under Michelangelo dared to walk directly in his steps; there is in his style, as there was in the character of the man himself, a certain stern individuality which gives the impression of solitary and unapproachable greatness. Of his assistants, the most eminent was Sebastiano del Piombo.
Always called Raphael, was born at Urbino in 1483. His father died when he was eleven years old, and the boy was placed by his uncles, who became his guardians, with Perugino. His handiwork at this time is no doubt to be traced in many of Perugino’s pictures and frescoes; and, as may be seen, he was an important coadjutor with Pinturicchio at Siena. The earliest picture known to be painted entirely by himself is a “Crucifixion,†in the collection of Lord Dudley, done at theage of seventeen, which closely resembles the style of Perugino. In 1504 he first visited Florence, where he enjoyed the friendship of Francia and Fra Bartholommeo, and made acquaintance with the works of Leonardo and Michelangelo—new influences which considerably affected his style. With the exception of short visits to Perugia, Bologna, and Urbino, he was resident in Florence until 1508. In that year he went to Rome at the invitation of Pope Julius II., and was for the rest of his life continually in the employment of that pontiff and his successor, Leo X. Raphael died on his birthday, the 6th of April, 1520, aged exactly thirty-seven years.
Raphael’s manner as a painter is divided into three styles, corresponding with the broad divisions of his life’s history. Unlike Michelangelo, whose genius and individuality is stamped on the earliest works from his hand, Raphael gained, as his experience of what had been done by his contemporaries was enlarged, a deeper and further insight into his own powers. His first, or Peruginesque style, characterizes those works which he produced while still the companion of his master, before his first visit to Florence; of these pictures the most important are the “Sposalizio†(or “Marriage of the Virgin,â€) at Milan, and the “Coronation of the Virgin,†in the Vatican. His second, or Florentine, style covers the four years from his arrival in Florence in 1504, to his departure for Rome in 1508; here the manner of Fra Bartholommeo had great influence upon him; to this period belong the “Madonna del Cardellino†(“of the Goldfinch,â€) in the Uffizi, “La Belle Jardinière,†of the Louvre, the “Madonna del Baldacchino,†in the Pitti (which was left incomplete by Raphael, and finished by another hand), and the “Entombment†in the Borghese Gallery, at Rome, his first attempt at a great historical composition. It is in his third, or Roman, style that Raphael fully asserts that sovereignty in art which has earned him the name of Prince of painters, and appears as the head of his own school, which, generally called the Roman School, might perhaps, as he collected round him followers from all parts of Italy, more fitly be termed the Raphaelesque. This third period includes all his great frescoes in the Vatican, with a host of easel pictures; for, short as Raphael’s life was, his works are wondrously numerous, and our space permits mention of only a few of even the most celebrated.
It has been questioned whether Raphael’s art gained by what he learnt from Michelangelo, some critics affirming that his earlier style is his best. This, however, must be considered to be entirely a matter of taste. Most painters—unless, like Fra Angelico, so entirely absorbed in the mystical side of their art as never to change their style—as they gain in power of expression, lose something of their youthful emotional fervor; and it is possible to assert that in the magnificent design of the “Incendio del Borgo†the dramatic element is more in evidence than in the “Disputa.†But what is lost on the emotional and religious side is compensated for by the gain in power of representation; and it is difficult to stand before the cartoon of “The Miraculous Draught of Fishes,†and not to confess that Giotto himself could not have imparted a more implicit trustfulness and childlike belief in the power of the Redeemer to the look and gesture of St. Peter; and while the magnificent simplicity of the youths drawing the net is conceived in an equal spirit of truthfulness to nature, the grandeur of style and the knowledge displayed in the drawing is so much pure gain on his earlier manner.
The Loggie, or open corridors of the Vatican, were also adorned by Raphael’s scholars with a series of fifty-two paintings of Biblical subjects from his designs; the whole series was known as “Raphael’s Bible.â€
In 1515 he was commissioned to design tapestries for the Sistine Chapel; of the ten cartoons (distemper paintings on paper) for these tapestries three have been lost; the other seven after many dangers and vicissitudes came into the possession of Charles I. of England. They are perhaps the most remarkable art treasures belonging to England, and are at present exhibited, by permission of Her Majesty, in the South Kensington Museum.
Among the greatest oil pictures of Raphael’s third period may be enumerated the “Madonna di Foligno†in the Vatican; the “Madonna della Sedia†in the Pitti Palace at Florence; the “Saint Cecilia†at Bologna; the “Madonna of the Fish,†and the picture of “Christ Bearing His Cross,†known as the “Spasimo,†in the splendid collection at Madrid; the “Madonna di San Sisto†at Dresden, which obtained for the artist the name of “the Divine;†and finally the “Transfiguration†at the Vatican, the sublime picture on which his last working hours were spent, and which was carried at his funeral before its colors were dry.
Commonly called by the anglicised form of his Christian name, Titian, was born at Cadore, near Venice, in 1477. His studies in art began at the age of ten, under a painter named Zuccato, from whose studio he passed to Gentile Bellini’s, and from his again to that of his brother Giovanni. Space forbids us to do more than indicate the chief landmarks in Titian’s long, eventful, and illustrious life. When his reputation as a great artist was new, before he was thirty years old, he visited the court of Ferrara, and executed for the duke two of his earliest masterpieces, the “Tribute Money,†now at Dresden, and the “Bacchus and Ariadne,†in the National Gallery of London. In 1516 he painted his great altarpiece, the “Assumption,†now removed from its church to the Accademia at Venice, and was at once placed by this incomparable work in the highest rank of painters. The “Entombment†of the Louvre was painted about 1523; and in 1528 he executed another magnificent altarpiece, the “Death of St. Peter Martyr,†in the church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, which was destroyed in the fire of 1867. In 1530 Titian was invited to Bologna, to paint the portrait of the Emperor Charles V.; and he is supposed by some writers to have accompanied the emperor shortly afterward to Spain. Owing to the patronage which Charles V. and his son Philip II. liberally conferred on the artist, Madrid possesses a collection of his works second in number and importance only to the treasures of Venice. The “Presentation in the Temple,†in the Accademia at Venice, dates from about 1539, and the “Christ at Emmaus,†in the Louvre, from about 1546. In 1545 he painted at Rome the celebrated portrait of “Pope Paul III.,†in the Naples Museum. Titian continued active in his art even up to the time of his death, which occurred in 1576, at the great age of ninety-nine. His style, as is to be expected, changed considerably in the course of his long life, and the pictures painted in his last years, though full of color, are infirm in drawing and execution; in the full vigor of his powers he was a draughtsman second to none, though never aiming at the select beauty of form attained by the Florentine school, and by Raphael. It was this that led Michelangelo to say that, with a better mode of study, “This man might have been as eminent in design as he is true to nature and masterly in counterfeiting the life, and then, nothing could be desired better or more perfect;†adding, “for he has an exquisite perception, and a delightful spirit and manner.â€
The splendid artistic power of Titian may perhaps be better discerned in his portraits than in the more ambitious works of sacred art. He stands unquestionably at the head of portrait painters of all ages and of all schools; not even Velasquez equaling him at his best. Beside religious pictures and portraits he painted a great number of subjects from classical mythology. Among the most famous, beside the “Bacchus and Ariadne,†mentioned above—the pride of the English collection—may be named the “Bacchanals†of Madrid, the two of “Venus†in the Uffizi, at Florence, the “Danae,†at Naples, and the often repeated “Venus and Adonis,†and “Diana and Callisto.†He is seen at his very best in the “Venus†of the Tribune, at Florence, perhaps the only work of his whichhas escaped retouching, and in the exquisite allegory called “Sacred and Profane Love,†at the Borghese Palace, at Rome. As a landscape painter, he possessed a sentiment for nature in all its forms which had never before been seen, and his backgrounds have never been equaled since. The mountains in the neighborhood of his native town, Cadore, of which, as well as of other landscape scenes, numerous pen and ink drawings by his hand are in existence, inspired him, doubtless, with that solemn treatment of effects of cloud and light and shade and blue distance for which his pictures are conspicuous.
It is unnecessary to deal with the school of painting which exists in Italy at the present day. It would be paying it too high a compliment to regard it as the legitimate successor of the art of those great epochs whose course we have tried to sketch. The modern Italian school is little more than an echo of the modern French. And seeing that there is no principle clearer or more certain than this, that a great national school of art can flourish only when it springs from a sane and vigorous national existence, it is not to be wondered at if a country so convulsed by the political passions and so vulgarized by the social triviality and meanness of modern times, should be in this respect cast down further than her more fortunate neighbors by the same causes which have soiled even the best art of the nineteenth century with something of dilettantism and affectation.
SELECTED BY THE REV. J. H. VINCENT, D.D.
Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world the love of the Father is not in him.—I. John, ii:15.
Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world the love of the Father is not in him.—I. John, ii:15.
There are two ways in which a practical moralist may attempt to displace from the human heart its love of the world—either by a demonstration of the world’s vanity, so that the heart will be prevailed upon simply to withdraw its regards from an object that is not worthy of it, or by setting forth another object, even God, as more worthy of its attachment, so as that the heart shall be prevailed upon not to resign an old affection, which shall have nothing to succeed it, but to exchange an old affection for a new one. My purpose is to show that from the constitution of our nature, the former method is altogether incompetent and ineffectual, and that the latter method will alone suffice for the rescue and recovery of the heart from the wrong affection that sometimes domineers over it. After having accomplished this purpose, I shall attempt a few practical observations.
Love may be regarded in two different conditions. The first is when the object is at a distance, and then it becomes love in a state of desire. The second is when its object is in possession, and then it becomes love in a state of indulgence. Under the impulse of desire, man feels himself urged onward in some path or pursuit of activity for its gratification. The faculties of his mind are put into busy exercise. In the steady direction of one great and engrossing interest, his attention is recalled from the many reveries into which it might otherwise have wandered; and the powers of his body are forced away from an indolence in which it else might have languished; and that time is crowded with occupation, which but for some object of keen and devoted ambition, might have driveled along in successive hours of weariness and distaste, and though hope does not enliven, and success does not always crown this career of exertion, yet in the midst of this very variety, and with the alternations of occasional disappointment, is the machinery of the whole man kept in a sort of congenial play, and upholden in that tone and temper which are most agreeable to it. Insomuch, that if through the extirpation of that desire which forms the originating principle of all this movement, the machinery were to stop, and to receive no impulse from another desire substituted in its place, the man would be left with all his propensities to action in a state of most painful and unnatural abandonment.
A sensitive person suffers, and is in violence, if, after having thoroughly rested from his fatigue, or been relieved from his pain, he continues in possession of powers without any excitement to these powers; if he possess a capacity of desire without having an object of desire; or if he have a spare energy upon his person, without a counterpart, and without a stimulus to call it into operation. The misery of such a condition is often realized by him who is retired from business, or who is retired from law, or who is even retired from the occupations of the chase and of the gaming table. Such is the demand of our nature for an object in pursuit, that no accumulation of previous success can extinguish it, and thus it is that the most prosperous merchant, and the most victorious general, and the most fortunate gamester, when the labor of their respective vocations has come to a close, are often found to languish in the midst of all their acquisitions, as if out of their kindred and rejoicing element. It is quite in vain with such a constitutional appetite for employment in man, to attempt cutting away from him the spring or the principle of one employment, without providing him with another. The whole heart and habit will rise in resistance against such an undertaking. The else unoccupied female, who spends the hours of every evening at some play of hazard, knows as well as you, that the pecuniary gain, or the honorable triumph of a successful contest, are altogether paltry. It is not such a demonstration of vanity as this that will force her away from her dear and delightful occupation. The habit can not so be displaced as to leave nothing but a negative and cheerless vacancy behind it—though it may be so supplanted as to be followed up by another habit of employment to which the power of some new affection has constrained her. It is willingly suspended, for example, on any single evening, should the time that was wont to be allotted to gaming require to be spent on the preparation of an approaching assembly.
The ascendant power of a second affection will do what no exposition, however forcible, of the folly and worthlessness of the first, ever could effectuate. And it is the same in the great world. You never will be able to arrest any of its leading pursuits, by a naked demonstration of their vanity. It is quite in vain to think of stopping one of these pursuits in any way else, but by stimulating to another. In attempting to bring a worldly man, intent and busied with the prosecution of his objects, to a dead stand, you have not merely to encounter the charm which he annexes to these objects, but you have to encounter the pleasure which he feels in the very prosecution of them. It is not enough, then, that you dissipate the charm by your moral, and eloquent, and affecting exposure of its illusiveness. You must address to the eye of his mind another object, with a charm powerful enough to dispossess the first of its influence, and to engage him in some other prosecution as full of interest, and hope, and congenial activity, as the former. It is this which stamps an impotency on all moral and pathetic declamation of the insignificance of the world. A man will no more consent to the misery of being without an object, because that object is a trifle, or of being without a pursuit, because that pursuit terminates in some frivolous or fugitive acquirement, than he will voluntarily submit himself to the torture because that torture is to be of short duration. If to be without desire and without exertion altogether, is a state of violence and discomfort, then the present desire, with its correspondent train of exertion, is not to be got rid of simply by destroying it. It must be by substituting another desire, or another line of habit or exertion in its place, and the most effectual way of withdrawing the mind from one object, is not by turning it away upon desolate and unpeopled vacancy, but by presenting to its regards another object still more alluring.
These remarks apply not merely to love considered in the state of desire for an object not yet attained. They apply also to love considered in its state of indulgence, or placid gratification, with an object already in possession. It is seldom that any of our tastes are made to disappear by a process of natural extinction. At least, it is very seldom that this is done by the instrumentality of reasoning. It may be done by excessive pampering, but it is almost never done by the mere force of mental determination. But what can not be thus destroyed may be dispossessed, and one taste may be made to give way to another, and to lose its power entirely as the reigning affection of the mind. It is thus that the boy ceases, at length, to be the slave of his appetite, but it is because a manlier taste has now brought it into subordination, and that the youth ceases to idolize pleasure, but it is because the idol of wealth has become the stronger, and gotten the ascendency—and that even the love of money ceases to have the mastery over the heart of many a thriving citizen, but it is because drawn into the whirl of city politics, another affection has been wrought into his moral system, and he is now lorded over by the love of power. There is not one of these transformations in which the heart is left without an object. Its desire for one particular object may be conquered; but as to its desire for having some one object, or other, this is unconquerable. Its adhesion to that on which it has fastened the preference of its regards, can not willingly be overcome by the rending away of a single separation. It can be done only by the application of something else, to which it may feel the adhesion of a still stronger and more powerful preference. Such is the grasping tendency of the human heart, that it must have something to lay hold of—and which, if wrested away, without the substitution of another something in its place, would leave a void and a vacancy as painful to the mind as hunger is to the natural system. It may be dispossessed of one object or of any, but it can not be desolated of all. Let there be a breathing and a sensitive heart, but without a liking and without affinity to any of the things that are around it, and in a state of cheerless abandonment, it would be alive to nothing but the burden of its own consciousness, and feel it to be intolerable. It would make no difference to its owner, whether he dwelt in the midst of a gay and goodly world, or placed afar beyond the outskirts of creation, he dwelt a solitary unit in dark and unpeopled nothingness. The heart must have something to cling to—and never, by its own voluntary consent, will it so denude itself of all its attachments that there shall not be one remaining object that can draw or solicit it.
The misery of a heart thus bereft of all relish for that which is wont to minister to its enjoyment, is strikingly exemplified in those who, satiated with indulgence, have been so belabored, as it were, with the variety and the poignancy of the pleasurable sensations that they have experienced, that they are at length fatigued out of all capacity for sensation whatever. The disease of ennui is more frequent in the French metropolis, where amusement is more exclusively the occupation of higher classes, than it is in the British metropolis, where the longings of the heart are more diversified by the resources of business and politics. There are the votaries of fashion, who, in this way, have at length become the victims of fashionable excess, in whom the very multitude of their enjoyments has at last extinguished their power of enjoyment—who, plied with the delights of sense and of splendor even to weariness, and incapable of higher delights, have come to the end of all their perfection, and, like Solomon of old, found it to be vanity and vexation. The man whose heart has thus been turned into a desert can vouch for the insupportable languor which must ensue, when one affection is thus plucked away from the bosom, without another to replace it. It is not necessary that a man receive pain from anything in order to become miserable. It is barely enough that he looks with distaste at everything—and in that asylum which is the repository of minds out of joint, and where the organ of feeling as well as the organ of intellect, has been impaired, it is not in the cell of loud and frantic outcries where you will meet with the acme of mental suffering. But that is the individual who outpeers in wretchedness all his fellows, who throughout the whole expanse of nature and society, meets not an object that has at all the power to detain or interest him; who neither in earth beneath, nor in heaven above, knows of a single charm to which his heart can send forth one desirous or responding movement; to whom the world, in his eye a vast and empty desolation, has left him nothing but his own consciousness to feed upon—dead to all that is without him, and alive to nothing but to the load of his own torpid and useless existence.
We hope that by this time you understand the impotency of a mere demonstration of this world’s insignificance. Its sole practical effect, if it had any, would be to leave the heart in a state which to every heart is insupportable, and that is a mere state of nakedness and negation. You may remember the fond and unbroken tenacity with which your heart has often recurred to pursuits, over the utter frivolity of which it sighed and wept but yesterday. The arithmetic of your short-lived days, may on Sabbath make the clearest impression upon your understanding, and from his fancied bed of death may the preacher cause a voice to descend in rebuke and mockery on all the pursuits of earthliness, and as he pictures before you the fleeting generations of men, with the absorbing grave, whither all the joys and interests of the world hasten to their sure and speedy oblivion, may you, touched and solemnized by his argument, feel for a moment as if on the eve of a practical and permanent emancipation from a scene of so much vanity.
But the morrow comes, and the business of the world, and the objects of the world, and the moving forces of the world, come along with it, and the machinery of the heart, in virtue of which it must have something to grasp, or something to adhere to, brings it under a kind of moral necessity to be actuated just as before, and in utter repulsion toward a state so unkindly as that of being frozen out both of delight and of desire, does it feel all the warmth and the urgency of its wonted solicitations, nor in the habit and history of the whole man can we detect so much as one symptom of the new creature, so that the church, instead of being to him a school of obedience, has been a mere sauntering place for the luxury of a passing and theatrical emotion; and the preaching which is mighty to compel the attendance of multitudes, and which is mighty to still and to solemnize the hearers into a kind of tragic sensibility, and which is mighty in the play of variety and vigor that it can keep up around the imagination, is not mighty to the pulling down of strongholds.
The love of the world can not be expunged by a mere demonstration of the world’s worthlessness. But may it not be supplanted by the love of that which is more worthy than itself? The heart can not be prevailed upon to part with the world by a single act of resignation. But may not the heart be prevailed upon to admit into its preference another, who shall subordinate the world, and bring it down from its wonted ascendancy? If the throne which is placed there must have an occupier, and the tyrant that now reigns has occupied it wrongfully, he may not leave a bosom which would rather detain him than be left in desolation. But may he not give way to the lawful sovereign, appearing with every charm that can secure his willing admittance, and taking unto himself his great power to subdue the moral nature of man, and to reign over it? In a word, if the way to disengage the heart from the positive love of one great and ascendant object, is to fasten it in positive love to another, then it is not by exposing the worthlessness of the former, but by addressing to the mental eye the worth and excellence of the latter, that all things are to be done away, and all things are become new.
To obliterate all our present affections by simply expunging them, so as to leave the seat of them unoccupied, would be to destroy the old character, and to substitute no new character in its place. But when they take their departure upon the ingress of others, when they resign their sway to the power and the predominance of new affections, when, abandoning the heart to solitude, they merely give place to a successor who turns it into as busy a residence of desire, and interest, and expectation as before—there is nothing in all this to thwart or to overthrow any of the laws of our sentient nature—and we see how, in fullest accordance with the mechanism of the heart, a great moral revolution may be made to take place upon it.
This, we trust, will explain the operation of that charm which accompanies the effectual preaching of the gospel. The love of God, and the love of the world, are two affections, not merely in a state of rivalship, but in a state of enmity—and that so irreconcilable that they can not dwell together in the same bosom. We have already affirmed how impossible it were for the heart, by any innate elasticity of its own, to cast the world away from it, and thus reduce itself to a wilderness. The heart is not so constituted, and the only way to dispossess it of an old affection is by the expulsive power of a new one. Nothing can exceed the magnitude of the required change in a man’s character, when bidden, as he is in the New Testament, not to love the world; no, nor any of the things that are in the world, for this so comprehends all that is dear to him in existence as to be equivalent to a command of self-annihilation. But the same revelation which dictates so mighty an obedience, places within our reach as mighty an instrument of obedience.
It brings for admittance, to the very door of our heart, an affection which, once seated upon its throne, will either subordinate every previous inmate, or bid it away. Beside the world, it places before the eye of the mind Him who made the world, and with this peculiarity, which is all its own—that in the gospel do we so behold God, as that we may love God. It is there, and there only, where God stands revealed as an object of confidence to sinners—and where our desire after Him is not chilled into apathy by that barrier of human guilt which intercepts every approach that is not made to Him through the appointed Mediator. It is the bringing in of this better hope whereby we draw nigh unto God—and to live without hope is to live without God, and if the heart be without God, the world will then have the ascendancy. It is God apprehended by the believer as God in Christ, who alone can disport it from this ascendancy. It is when He stands dismantled of the terrors which belong to Him as an offended lawgiver, and when we are enabled by faith, which is his own gift, to see His glory in the face of Jesus Christ, and to hear His beseeching voice, as it protests good will to men, and entreats the return of all who will, to a full pardon and a gracious acceptance—it is then that a love paramount to the love of the world, and at length expulsive of it, first arises in the regenerating bosom. It is when released from the spirit of bondage, with which love can not dwell, and when to the number of God’s children, through the faith that is in Christ Jesus, the spirit of adoption is found upon us; it is then that the heart, brought under the mastery of one great and predominant affection, is delivered from the tyranny of its former desires, and in the only way in which deliverance is possible. And that faith which is revealed to us from heaven, as indispensable to a sinner’s justification in the sight of God, is also the instrument of the greatest of all moral and spiritual achievements on a nature dead to the influence, and beyond the reach of every other application.
Thus may we come to perceive what it is that makes the most effective kind of preaching. It is not enough to hold out to the world’s eye the mirror of its own imperfections. It is not enough to come forth with a demonstration, however pathetic, of the evanescent character of all its enjoyments. It is not enough to travel the walk of experience along with you, and speak to your own conscience and your own recollection of the deceitfulness of the heart, and the deceitfulness of all that the heart is set upon. There is many a bearer of the gospel message who has not shrewdness of natural discernment enough, and who has not power of characteristic description enough, and who has not the talent of moral delineation enough, to present you with a vivid and faithful sketch of the existing follies of society. But that very corruption which he has not the faculty of representing in its visible details, he may practically be the instrument of eradicating in its principle. Let him be but a faithful expounder of the gospel testimony; unable as he may be to apply a descriptive hand to the character of the present world, let him but report with accuracy the matter which revelation has brought to him from a distant world, unskilled as he is in the work of so anatomizing the heart, as with the power of a novelist to create a graphical or impressive exhibition of the worthlessness of its many affections—let him only deal in those mysteries of peculiar doctrine, on which the best of novelists have thrown the wantonness of their derision. He may not be able, with the eye of shrewd and satirical observation, to expose to the ready recognition of his hearers the desires of worldliness—but with the tidings of the gospel in commission, he may wield the only engine that can extirpate them. He can not do what some might have done, when, as if by the hand of a magician they have brought out to view, from the hidden recesses of our nature, the foibles and lurking appetites which belong to it. But he has a truth in the possession, which, into whatever heart it enters, will, like the rod of Aaron, swallow up them all—and unqualified as he may be, to describe the old man in all the nicer shading of his natural and constitutional varieties, with him is deposited that ascendant influence under which the leading tastes and tendencies of the old man are destroyed, and he becomes a new creature in Jesus Christ our Lord.
Let us not cease, then, to ply the only instrument of powerful and positive operation, to do away from you the love of the world. Let us try every legitimate method of finding access to your hearts for the love of Him who is greater than the world. For this purpose, if possible, clear away that shroud of unbelief which so hides and darkens the face of the Deity. Let us insist on His claims to your affection, and whether in the shape of gratitude or in the shape of esteem, let us never cease to affirm that in the whole of that wondrous economy, the purpose of which is to reclaim a sinful world unto Himself, He, the God of love, so sets Himself forth in characters of endearment, that naught but faith, and naught but understanding are wanting, on your part, to call forth the love of your hearts back again.
And here let me advert to the incredulity of a worldly man; when he brings his own sound and secular experience to bear upon the high doctrines of Christianity, when he looks upon regeneration as a thing impossible, when feeling as he does the obstinacies of his own heart, on the side of things present, and casting an intelligent eye, much exercised, perhaps, in the observations of human life, on the equal obstinacies of all who are around him, he pronounces this whole matter about the crucifixion of the old man, and the resurrection of a new man in his place, to be in downright opposition to all that is known and witnessed of the real nature of humanity. We think that we have seen such men, who, firmly trenched in their own vigorous and homebred sagacity, and shrewdly regardful of all that passes before them through the week, and upon the scenes of ordinary business, look on that transition of the heart by which it gradually dies unto time, and awakens in all the life of a new felt and ever growing desire toward God, as a mere Sabbath speculation; and who thus, with all their attention engrossed upon the concerns of earthliness, continue unmoved to the end of their days, amongst the feelings and the appetites, and the pursuits of earthliness.
If the thought of death, and another state of being after it, comes across them at all, it is not with a change so radical as that of being born again, that they ever connect the idea of preparation. They have some vague conception of its being quite enough that they acquit themselves in some decent and tolerable way of their relative obligations; and that upon the strength of some such social and domestic moralities as are often realized by him in whose heart the love of God has never entered, they will be transplanted in safety from this world, where God is the Being with whom it may almost be said that they have had nothing to do, to that world where God is the Being with whom they will have mainly and immediately to do throughout all eternity. They admit all that is said of the utter vanity of time, when taken up with as a resting place. But they resist every application made upon the heart of man, with the view of so shifting its tendencies that it shall not henceforth find in the interests of time, all its rest and all its refreshment. They in fact regard such an attempt as an enterprise that is altogether aerial, and with a tone of secular wisdom caught from the familiarities of every-day experience, do they see a visionary character in all that is said of setting our affections on the things that are above, and of walking by faith, and of keeping our hearts in such a love of God as shall shut out from them the love of the world, and of having no confidence in the flesh, and of so renouncing earthly things as to have our conversation in heaven.
Now, it is altogether worthy of being remarked of those men who thus disrelish spiritual Christianity, and, in fact, deem it an impracticable acquirement, how much of a piece their incredulities about the doctrines of Christianity are with each other. No wonder that they feel the work of the New Testament to be beyond their strength, so long as they hold the words of the New Testament to be beneath their attention. Neither they nor any one else can dispossess the heart of an old affection, but by the impulsive power of a new one, and, if that new affection be the love of God, neither they nor any one else can be made to entertain it, but on such a representation of the Deity as shall draw the heart of the sinner toward Him. Now, it is just their unbelief which screens from the discernment of their minds this representation. They do not see the love of God in sending His Son into the world. They do not see the expression of his tenderness to men, in sparing him not, but giving him up unto the death for us all. They do not see the sufficiency of the atonement, or of the sufferings that were endured by him who bore the burden that sinners should have borne. They do not see the blended holiness and compassion of the Godhead, in that He passed by the transgressions of His creatures, yet could not pass them by without an expiation. It is a mystery to them how a man should pass to a state of godliness from a state of nature—but had they only a believing view of God manifest in the flesh, this would resolve for them the whole mystery of godliness. As it is, they can not get quit of their old affections, because they are out of sight from all those truths which have influence to raise a new one. They are like the children of Israel in the land of Egypt, when required to make bricks without straw—they can not love God, while they want the only food which can aliment this affection in a sinner’s bosom—and however great their errors may be, both in resisting the demands of the gospel as impracticable, and in rejecting the doctrines of the gospel as inadmissible, yet there is not a spiritual man (and it is the prerogative of Him who is spiritual to judge all men) who will not perceive that there is a consistency in these errors.