UUpon the report of the pastor's death being spread through the village, a sudden shock was felt by almost every one, though the event itself did not excite much surprise. He had lived so long amongst his parishioners, and had endeared himself to them by so many acts of kindness, that they wept for him, as an affectionate child mourns for the loss of his father; and even the worldly and indifferent concurred in paying a just tribute of respect to his memory. On the day of his funeral, an immense concourse of people assembled. The instructions which he had given to his friend, Mr. Stevens, respecting his funeral, were minutely attended to; and they were in strict accordance with the chaste simplicity of character which he had maintained through life. There was no hearse with its nodding plumes—no hired mourners; he had selected twelve of the senior members of his church to carry his body to the tomb, and fixed on the spot where the bier was to rest while they relieved each other from the fatigue of carrying his mortal remains. The procession moved from the rectory about ten o'clock in the morning, preceded by the Rev. Mr. Guion and two other clergymen—followed by a few of his relations and a long train of friends, walking three a-breast, in deep mourning—many of his poorer parishioners, having only a piece of crape on their hats, fell into the rear, which was closed by the children of the Sunday-school, who wore a similar badge of grief. Immediately as the procession began to move, the bell, which had been tolling for more than an hour, ceased till the bier stopped at the appointed resting-place, when it again commenced to send forth its melancholy sounds.
Upon the report of the pastor's death being spread through the village, a sudden shock was felt by almost every one, though the event itself did not excite much surprise. He had lived so long amongst his parishioners, and had endeared himself to them by so many acts of kindness, that they wept for him, as an affectionate child mourns for the loss of his father; and even the worldly and indifferent concurred in paying a just tribute of respect to his memory. On the day of his funeral, an immense concourse of people assembled. The instructions which he had given to his friend, Mr. Stevens, respecting his funeral, were minutely attended to; and they were in strict accordance with the chaste simplicity of character which he had maintained through life. There was no hearse with its nodding plumes—no hired mourners; he had selected twelve of the senior members of his church to carry his body to the tomb, and fixed on the spot where the bier was to rest while they relieved each other from the fatigue of carrying his mortal remains. The procession moved from the rectory about ten o'clock in the morning, preceded by the Rev. Mr. Guion and two other clergymen—followed by a few of his relations and a long train of friends, walking three a-breast, in deep mourning—many of his poorer parishioners, having only a piece of crape on their hats, fell into the rear, which was closed by the children of the Sunday-school, who wore a similar badge of grief. Immediately as the procession began to move, the bell, which had been tolling for more than an hour, ceased till the bier stopped at the appointed resting-place, when it again commenced to send forth its melancholy sounds.
On entering the churchyard, the Rev. Mr. Guion began the solemn service by repeating the animating words of Jesus Christ—"I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though hewere dead, yet shall he live." The coffin was taken into the church, and placed on an elevated platform before the pulpit, so as to be distinctly seen by the whole congregation; and after a few minutes, during which time the people were taking their seats, Mr. Guion began reading, in a most solemn and impressive manner, the lessons which are appointed for such an occasion. Agreeably to the custom at funeral obsequies in former times, after he had finished the two lessons, he ascended the pulpit, and delivered a discourse from the following appropriate text—"Sorrowing most of all for the words which he spake, that they should see his face no more" (Acts xx. 38). After a short and judicious introduction, he called attention to the following remarks, which he illustrated and enforced with great effect:—
"The decease of a minister is an event of great importance—
"I. In relation to himself. No class of men occupy a station so important, or are called to discharge duties so momentous, as ministers of the gospel. The eloquent advocate who pleads at the bar, sometimes snatches the victim from the altar, against whose life the foul conspirator has brought his charge, and he retires from the scene of his labours amidst the plaudits of the people; but in a few years they both sink into the same silent earth, and a remote posterity remains ignorant of their anxieties and of their triumphs. The fearless senator attacks iniquity in the high places of its dominion, or rouses up the slumbering principle of justice to vindicate her insulted honours; but he sleeps with his fathers, and having received the honour of his country's applause he is conveyed to the mansions of the dead. The effects of their labours terminate with the occasion of their exercise; or if they should stretch into a distant futurity, they are circumscribed within the boundaries of time. From man they receive their commission, and to man they resign it when it is executed; and though their conduct will undergo a revision at the day of judgment, yet it is from man they receive their official discharge. But it is not so with us. It is true that we are under some degree of responsibility to our superiors in theecclesiastical hierarchy, and it is equally true that we are under some degree of responsibility to the people of our cure; but our chief responsibility relates to a higher tribunal, and a more important decision awaits us than any which man can pronounce. Fix your attention for a moment on a minister of the gospel, see him tottering on the brink of eternity—he falls, we catch his descending mantle, 'sorrowing most of all that we shall see his face no more; but while we are making preparations to perform his funeral obsequies, he is giving up an account of his stewardship. Then the motives which induced him to enter the ministerial office, and which induced him to continue it—the manner in which he spent his time, and discharged the hallowed duties devolving on him—will undergo a strict investigation, and the final sentence will be pronounced, which will fix his doom in raptures or in woe, for ever. If he be found faithful, he will receive the commendation of his Master; but if unfaithful, he will be cast into outer darkness, 'where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.'
"It is an event of importance in relation—
"II. To the people of his charge. They lose their spiritual teacher, their counsellor, their friend, and their example. Yes! and some of you who are now looking on that coffin, if permitted to give utterance to your sentiments, would say, 'There lies the holy man of God, who met me in my mad career of folly and of crime, and was the means of turning my feet into the way of peace.' 'There he lies,' another could say, 'who, when I was perishing for thirst, opened my eyes, and showed me the well of living waters.' 'Alas!' another would exclaim, 'I shall now see his face no more; who, when I was sinking into despair, under the virulence of my moral malady, told me of the balm of Gilead, and of the great Physician there, who healed and comforted me, giving me renovated health and a deathless life.' Farewell, holy man of God; we shall see thy face no more, till we see thee the express image of thy Lord's person.
"It is an event of importance in relation—
"III. To general society. No man, saith the apostle, liveth to himself.While we are individually pursuing our separate interests, we are advancing the general good, and not unfrequently serve others, while intent only on serving ourselves. If this be true of men in general, it is more emphatically true in relation to the ministers of the gospel. While they are discharging the functions of their office in relation to the people of their charge, they are diffusing principles abroad in society which will be found to operate more widely than is generally imagined. When they die, the influence of their example, of their character, of their precepts, of their individual exertions to promote private happiness, and to support public institutions—and of their prayers—is a loss which is felt not only in the immediate circle in which they moved, but to a much larger extent; though it may not be felt so instantaneously nor so deeply.
"But, my brethren, it is not in my power to calculate the loss which you have sustained by the decease of the venerated man whose corpse is now before us; and who, for more than forty years, has preached the gospel of peace in this pulpit.
"When he first entered on the duties of his office, he found a barren wilderness; but he has left a fruitful field. The church, which was mouldering to ruins, he repaired and enlarged; the congregation, which was scattered, he has gathered together; and many who have preceded him through the dark valley, and many whom he has left to follow him, he has been the means of saving from the impending wrath of the Almighty. It is now many years since the person who is now addressing you went, under the most unfavourable impressions, to hear him preach; but the word that fell from his lips came with power, and I, who went to scoff, returned to pray. From that hour I revered him as my spiritual father in Christ; and an intimacy soon after commenced, which continued unbroken and undisturbed till death. If I were now to give full scope to my feelings, I should probably be censured by some for pronouncing an extravagant eulogy on his character; but I am conscious that while he owed all his excellence to the renewing and purifying influence of Divine grace, he uniformly displayed, both in public and in private life, adegree of excellence which has been rarely surpassed, if equalled, in modern times. As a preacher, he excelled no less in the descriptive than in the argumentative style of his address—combining in all his discourses strength of reasoning with the most happy modes of illustration—equally capable of awing his congregation by the solemnity of his manner, and subduing them by the tenderness of his appeals; compelling them by the ardour of his feelings, and energy of his utterance, to lose sight of the messenger who was speaking, in a devout contemplation of the message which he delivered; and giving to things unseen such a power of impression, that those which are visible seemed to dwindle into a state of absolute insignificancy.
"As a man, he was courteous in manners, and amiable in disposition; as a friend, he was disinterested and faithful in his attachments; as a Christian, he was devout and catholic in his spirit; as a minister, he was independent, yet attentive and affectionate—uniformly endeavouring to incorporate in his character the moral qualities which his Lord and Master developed in the progress of his history; and though a nice observer might discover a few shades of imperfection falling on it, yet they were scarcely perceptible. He approached the nearest to the perfect man of the Scriptures of any one I ever knew; but that which gave a distinctive peculiarity to his character, and which made him the object of general esteem and veneration, was his catholic liberality, his ever-active benevolence, and his amiability—combined with a chastened seriousness and sportive playfulness of disposition, which exhibited the gravity of religion untinged by the gloom of superstition, and its cheerfulness free from the levity of folly.
"He thought and judged for himself on every part of revealed truth, and maintained the doctrines which he held with the most determined firmness; yet he never suffered his mind to be soured by the spirit of controversy, nor was he ever known to treat those who differed from him with contempt or with indifference. He loved the catholic spirit of the gospel, no less than its sublime doctrines; uniformlycondemned that arrogance of spirit which leads the bigot to say of the members of his own communion, 'The temple of the Lord! the temple of the Lord are we!' and demonstrated by his conduct that he was as anxious to preserve the bonds of peace unbroken amongst the different denominations of Christians as to keep the unity of the faith entire. And while he gave a decided preference to the Church of which he was so bright an ornament, yet he felt a deep interest in the prosperity of every other religious community which contends earnestly for the faith which was once delivered to the saints; and admitted to his friendship and intimacy the pious Dissenter, with as much cordiality as he embraced an Episcopal brother.
"But his catholic liberality did not degenerate into latitudinarianism. He was willing to cultivate Christian fellowship with all who love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity, and was anxious to narrow rather than widen the ground of difference between them; but he felt no inclination to compromise any essential doctrines of the gospel as a compliment to the semi-sceptical spirit of the age—choosing rather to run the risk of incurring the charge of bigotry, than sanction a popular opinion that there is no danger in speculative error, if the person who imbibes it be sincere in his belief, and display an exterior amiability of temper and conduct, in accordance with the laws of practical righteousness. His charity was not of that deceptive cast, which places a human being who rejects the leading doctrines of Christianity on a level, in the Divine estimation, with the humble disciple of Jesus Christ who implicitly receives them, as he was convinced 'that the charity which the Scriptures so earnestly inculcate, consists in a real solicitude for the welfare of others, not in thinking well of their state;' and thus, while he gave ample scope for the exercise of his compassion in aiming to promote the salvation of all his hearers, he felt awed by that authority which separates the believer from the unbeliever, and which marks, by a palpable line of distinction, the essential difference between those who admit, and those who deny the truth as it is in Jesus.
"Some men are benevolent, but the principle of their benevolence lies embedded in their mental constitution, like fire in the flint, and it is only by hard and reiterated strokes that it can be elicited. This principle, when exerted, may produce all the effects of a spontaneous flow of feeling; but it looks so much like that sullen selfishness which is absorbed in its own gratifications, that its occasional exertions are regarded only as a novel tribute to its own capricious taste.
"Others are benevolent, but the principle of their benevolence is associated with so much finesse and self-adulation, and with so many disgusting and offensive requirements, that while it relieves the wants of a sufferer, it inflicts a deep wound on his spirit, and makes him feel such an oppressive weight of obligation, that he cannot enjoy the comforts which have been administered to him. But the benevolence of our deceased friend was the master-passion of his soul, and it was ever wakeful—ever active; which required no qualifications for its exercise, but misery in some of her multiplied forms; it prescribed no bounds for its exertions, but the limits of his own means; and he bestowed his bounties with so much delicacy, that no other emotion was ever excited in the breast of the recipient than that of the purest gratitude to his kind benefactor.
"His kindness of disposition led him to feel great tenderness for the reputation of others; and though no one could reprove vice more keenly, yet he never sanctioned that habit of depreciating the character of absent individuals, which may be regarded as one of the most besetting sins of human nature. Hence, few men possessed more friends, or fewer enemies; it may be doubted whether among the numerous list of the former he lost the esteem of one.
"Perhaps no man ever united more closely in his private character the dignity and the cheerfulness of religion—preserving unimpaired the sanctity of his station with a lively and playful disposition; and maintaining the reputation of a holy man of God, while hailed in general society as the amiable, the intelligent, and the interesting companion. The line which separates the harmlessfrom the pernicious he was never known to pass, so that he never injured the sanctity of his public character by any levities in his demeanour, but inspired a greater reverence for it, by the dignified ease of his manners, and the uniform placidity and agreeableness of his temper.
"The closing scene of his life was no less beautiful than impressive; and forces from us the exclamation of the worthless prophet, 'Let me die the death of the righteous! and let my last end be like his!' He is gone! That face on which you have looked with so much pleasure, you will see no more; that voice to which you have so often listened with mingled emotions of awe and pleasure, you will hear no more, till you meet him before the judgment-seat of the Son of God; and, brethren, permit me to ask you, whether you think you are prepared to see him, and hear him there? He has preached to you the gospel of peace, with great fidelity, and with equal affection; but have you received it, not as the word of men, but, as it is in truth, the word of God? He has watched for your souls as one who knew that he must give an account; but have you, by your submission to the truth which he proclaimed, enabled him to do it with joy and not with grief? Is there no one in this congregation who has remained insensible to his moral danger, though that danger has often been pointed out to you in the most awful and impressive manner? Is there no one who has remained impenitent, notwithstanding the various efforts which the venerated deceased employed to bring you to repentance, and to a belief of the truth? Is there no one who has forced the aged pastor to retire from this pulpit to his study, and there to weep and to mourn, and to say, in the bitterness of his mental agony, 'When I speak they will not hear: but put from them the words of life, and the way of peace they will not know?' He is gone to enjoy the reward of his labours, and ere long you, my brethren, will follow him. But are you prepared to give an account of the manner in which you have improved his faithful services amongst you? If you are, you will again meet and again intermingle your social feelings and affections in a world where you willenjoy an endless duration of bliss; but if not, let me beseech you to retire, and on your knees implore mercy and forgiveness, lest you should be taken off in the midst of your sins, and be cast out with the workers of darkness, where there will be weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth for ever."
When this discourse was finished, the corpse was removed to the vault; and when placed in it, the remaining part of the Burial Service was read. When the earth fell on the lid of the coffin, as the impressive words,ashes to ashes, dust to dust, were uttered, there was a spontaneous burst of audible weeping from the whole assemblage, which, for a few moments, so overpowered the feelings of Mr. Guion, that it was with some degree of difficulty he could proceed. At length the service was concluded; but on returning from the church the order of the procession was deranged, for while some few walked back to the rectory, others pressed round the tomb; and many stood about the churchyard in detached groups, recalling the various incidents in their history connected with their deceased pastor. "O!" said one athletic youth, who wept while he spoke, "I was a bold transgressor till I heard him preach." "I went to laugh," said another, "but I returned to pray." "He was my friend," said many voices; and all expressed their opinion that they should never see a successor equal to him.
After the concourse of people had dispersed, Mr. and Mrs. Lewellin continued wandering amongst the tombs, reading the epitaphs which surviving friendship had engraven on the head-stones of their departed relatives and friends. The place of sepulture in which they were now walking, was one of the neatest of rural burying places. The walks were free from weeds; there were no gaps in the hedges; the graves bore no marks of being trodden by the foot of beast or of man; the yew trees luxuriated in their native growth, without assuming those fantastic shapes and forms which a capricious taste sometimes compels them to take, and the green ivy overspread the walls of the venerable church. Many of the inscriptions on the earlier tombstones were nearly effaced, and those which were still legible,like too many of the "good old times," recorded sentiments and expressions which are no less offensive to a refined taste, than to a scriptural faith. But in the later stones, which had been erected during the lifetime of the venerable pastor, a striking difference was observable. The inscription bore the name and the age of the occupant of the tomb, and beneath it some appropriate text of Scripture—recalling the words of an elegant writer, "It is meet, pleasant, and soothing to the pious mind, when bereaved of friends, to commemorate them on earth by some touching expression taken from that book which reveals to them a life in heaven."
Mr. Lewellin and his wife now entered the church, resolving to go and indulge their solemn meditations beside the uncovered tomb of the deceased pastor; but on passing down the aisle, were suddenly startled by the deep sounds of sorrow. On looking towards the vault where Mr. Ingleby's remains were deposited, they saw an aged couple leaning on their staffs, looking into the grave, but they appeared too much oppressed by grief to give any other vent to their feelings than by sighs and tears. "Come, Dame, let us be gone," said the old man to his wife; "it won't be long before we see him again." As they turned round from the grave, Mr. and Mrs. Lewellin advanced and kindly endeavoured to mitigate their sorrow. "O! Sir," said the old man, "he was a good man, and a faithful minister of Christ; and many will have to bless God for ever, for sending him amongst us. We thought we loved him while he was with us; but we did not know that we loved him so much till he was taken away. But it won't be long before we shall see him again." "Then," said Mr. Lewellin, "I presume you have received the gospel which he preached amongst you, not as 'the word of man, but, as it is in truth, the word of God.'" "Yes, Sir, we have been enabled to receive it. Before he came to preach in this village we very seldom attended church, and never thought about the salvation of our souls; but, blessed be the name of the Lord, we were both called to the knowledge of the truth through the instrumentality of his honoured servant; and have, for the space of near fortyyears, been walking together as heirs of the grace of life. It was a great shock to our feelings when we heard of his death, though we expected it; but now he is gone, it is our duty to be resigned to the will of God. But, Sir, resignation may feel its loss; and the Saviour won't condemn us if we weep at the grave of our departed pastor, as He once wept at the grave of Lazarus. He was one of the most excellent of the earth. He preached well, and he confirmed the truth which he preached by the unblameableness of his life. He was a most benevolent man. He obeyed the words of the Scriptures, and did good to all, especially to the household of faith. We shall never see his like again."
My friend and his wife felt so deeply interested by the affection and piety of this aged couple, that they walked with them to their little thatched cottage. "This little cottage," said the old man, "was built for us by our pastor, who gave it to us for our life. This is the chair in which he used to sit, and this is the Bible which he gave us, and here is his picture, which we have had for these thirty years—and this is his walking-stick, that he gave me when I took my leave of him at the door of the rectory, the Sabbath before he left us." "And when," said the old woman, "I could not see to read my Bible, he gave me these spectacles; and he used to come, and sit with us, and talk to us of Him who lived and died for sinners, and made us forget the trials of the way, by discoursing to us about the joys of the end of it. But it won't be long before we see him again."
Mr. and Mrs. Lewellin were much affected by this touching account of their old friend, whose charity and benevolence formed a theme of grateful remembrance in the minds of those poor cottagers. Perceiving that their circumstances were much straitened, they presented them with a trifling sum, and then, amid the blessings of the aged couple, took leave and proceeded on their way to Rockhill.
SSoon after the death of the venerable Ingleby, the Rev. Mr. Cole, the Rector of the adjoining parish of Aston, whose health had been gradually declining, was taken very ill. He had accompanied several of his friends to a concert in a neighbouring town, and on his return caught a violent cold. No danger was apprehended for several weeks; but having imprudently accepted an invitation to spend an evening at a friend's, where he was detained to a late hour at whist, his favourite amusement, his indisposition gained a fresh accession of strength by exposure to the night air. He now began to entertain apprehensions of a fatal termination to his complaint, and said to his wife, when she was consulting him on the propriety of putting off a party which had been fixed for the following week, "My dear, I shall never appear amongst you again."
Soon after the death of the venerable Ingleby, the Rev. Mr. Cole, the Rector of the adjoining parish of Aston, whose health had been gradually declining, was taken very ill. He had accompanied several of his friends to a concert in a neighbouring town, and on his return caught a violent cold. No danger was apprehended for several weeks; but having imprudently accepted an invitation to spend an evening at a friend's, where he was detained to a late hour at whist, his favourite amusement, his indisposition gained a fresh accession of strength by exposure to the night air. He now began to entertain apprehensions of a fatal termination to his complaint, and said to his wife, when she was consulting him on the propriety of putting off a party which had been fixed for the following week, "My dear, I shall never appear amongst you again."
"Don't say so, Edward. You are getting low-spirited and unnecessarily anxious. You should keep up your spirits, and anticipate the pleasure which you will yet enjoy amongst your friends."
"I have nowishto die, Emily, but Imustdie. The doctors can do nothing for me. I should like to see my old friends again, but I have no spirit to entertain them."
"I heard Dr. Bailey say, that he placed great dependence on the prescription which he gave to Mr. Russel. Indeed, I think you look better. He says he has no doubt but you will recover; and all your friends say that you must banish the thought of dying, as nothing will tend so much to accelerate that awful event. I think they had better come: they will put new life into you."
"Yes, they may tell me to banish the thought of dying, but I cannot do it; it forces itself upon me in spite of all my resolutions to avoid it."
"Dr. Bailey suggested to me to read some amusing book to you.Here are thePickwick Papers. Let me read you a chapter about Pickwick and Sam Weller. I know how they used to make you laugh; and a hearty laugh, to my mind, does more good than all the medicine in the world."
"Neither Mr. Pickwick nor Sam Weller, my dear, would be proper companions for me just now. I must pay respect to the sanctity of my character. I should not object, if I get a little better, to your reading me theVicar of Wakefield, or a paper from theSpectatororRambler. But I fear my disease has gone too far to be checked by any human expedient. I must yield to the law of nature, and prepare for death; and it is, I assure you, an awful thing to die—to go from one world to another."
"Well, my dear," replied his wife, "as you have long since made your peace with God, you have nothing to fear; and therefore I hope you will keep your mind composed."
"My mind is tolerably composed, Emily, except when delirious thoughts come and throw it into a tumultuous agitation, and then I feel wandering about in a maze of confusion. Death may be looked upon by some, who have no taste for earthly enjoyments, with peculiar interest, as the forerunner of their future bliss; but I would rather live than die."
When Mr. Cole found himself getting worse, and his most sanguine friends began to fear that the hour of his departure was at hand, he wished to receive the sacrament; and the Rev. Dr. Greig, from a neighbouring town, was requested to come and administer it to him. The Doctor seemed much affected when introduced to his old friend; and, after gently squeezing his hand, as a token of affection, he sat down by his bedside.
"I am sorry, Sir," said the reverend Doctor, "to find you so extremely ill; but I hope you will yet recover."
"That, I fear, is impossible; I must die; and I wish, before I die, to receive the holy sacrament. I think it will put strength into my soul, and enable me to meet death without dread."
"I hope you have no dread of death."
"Why, no, Doctor, I have no dread of death; but as it is the passage into the eternal world, I feel that it is an awful thing to die—more awful at the crisis than in anticipation."
"It may be awful to the wicked, but it cannot be to you, who have spent your life in the public service of our Church, promoting the cause of virtue and religion."
"I confess, Sir, that I have nothing to reproach myself with. I have spent a long life in the service of our Church, and have endeavoured to teach my parishioners the way to heaven; and as a recompense for my well-meant efforts I hope eternal life will be given to me; but now that death is near, I feel it to be a more awful thing to die than when I viewed it at a distance. I now see the propriety of the passage in our Burial Service—'O God, most mighty, O holy and merciful Saviour, thou most worthy Judge, eternal, suffer us not at our last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee.'"
Dr. Greig now proceeded to read the Communion Service; and having partaken of the elements himself, and given them to Mrs. Cole and the nurse, he presented them to his dying friend, who ate the bread, and drank the wine, with great solemnity of manner. The service being ended, he said that he had one more request to make, and then he should die in peace. "I wish, Doctor, you would read the Burial Service at my interment, and preach my funeral sermon on the following Sunday; and you may tell my parishioners, that Idie in charity with all mankind."
In about six hours after his friend left him, a change took place, and he remained insensible the greater part of the night. Towards the morning he awoke out of a deep sleep; and, having taken a little refreshment, he sat very composedly for a few minutes. Looking at his wife with intense earnestness, he said, "My dear Emily, I suppose I must die;" and then he fell back on his pillow, heaved a deep sigh, and expired. On the seventh day after his death he was buried in a vault, near the communion table of his own church; and Dr. Greig, according to his request, read the service, and delivered his funeral discourse on the following Sabbath. The congregation, whichwas unusually large, appeared deeply affected, especially when the Doctor pointed to the tomb in which their deceased pastor had just been interred.
In delineating the character or Mr. Cole, Dr. Greig dwelt for some time on his classical taste and his literary acquirements; paid a just tribute of praise to his amiable disposition and obliging manners, and commended him for his uniform attachment to the Church, of which he had been a minister for the greater part of half a century; and concluded by saying, "His religion was not of that austere cast which prohibits the innocent amusements and gratifications of society, and dooms its possessor to a life of perpetual gloom and mortification. It was an enlightened piety—a piety which united the gravity of wisdom with a cheerful and facetious spirit, which courted no popularity by the vanity of its pretensions; which sought retirement rather than publicity; and conciliated the favour of the Almighty by the practice of virtue, rather than by the dogmas of belief. His life is an epitome of moral virtue and social goodness, which may be read by all men with great profit. It will teach us all, and especially the clergy of our Church, how they should live, and what recompense they may expect to receive when called to die, as a reward for their fidelity to their charge. He did not, as we all know, in imitation of the example of some, rob other churches to fill his own; but was contented to preach to the select few who favoured him with their presence and their friendship; and who, I doubt not, will revere his memory as long as the power of recollection remains; and who, when the duties of life are discharged, will go where he is gone, to renew the intimacy of friendship, and enjoy the felicity of social converse. And who is not struck with the dignified serenity of his death! There were no raptures of enthusiasm in prospect of dissolution; no flights of fancy; no rhapsodies of expression, as though he were weary of life and longed to lose it; but a submission to the law of nature, which requires that we must die, accompanied by a sublime avowal which he wished me to make to you,that he died in charity with all mankind."
In examining the character of these two clergymen, and reviewing the temper of mind which they displayed in the immediate prospect of entering the eternal world, the intelligent reader will perceive a manifest difference; and though it does not become us to invade the province of the Supreme Judge, and fix the final destiny of any human being, yet we may be permitted to say, that the venerable Ingleby bore the nearest resemblance, in his life and in his death, to the ministers of the New Testament. If Mr. Cole was the most learned man, Mr. Ingleby was the most spiritual; and though Mr. Ingleby derived no gratification from the trifling amusements of fashionable life, yet he uniformly displayed a cheerfulness of disposition which became the sanctity of his office. Mr. Cole consented to die because he could not live; while Mr. Ingleby yielded up his life as a free-will offering to God who first gave it, and then demanded it. In the death of Mr. Cole we can discover no humility on account of the imperfections of his character—no utterances of a mind delighting in communion with the great Supreme—no reference to a Mediator, by whom the guilty and the worthless are reconciled to the offended Sovereign—no ardent anticipations of a state of changeless purity and glory; while, in the closing scene of Mr. Ingleby's life, we behold a spirit, yet inhabiting the tabernacle of earth, springing forward to meet the great Deliverer—hailing his approach with mingled emotions of awe and delight—giving utterance to the sublimest conceptions of future bliss, and in language, such as Paul employed when treading on the narrow isthmus which separates time from eternity. The death of Mr. Cole was certainly the most calm; but it was the calm of a stagnant pool, whose waters move not because they are unaffected by any current; while the death of Mr. Ingleby resembled the peaceful ripple of the crystal stream, as it moves tranquilly from its source to swell the waters of the vast ocean. The one died like a philosopher, over whose mind the light of evidence produced a belief of the existence of an eternal world, which, alas! presented no powerful attractions; the other, like a sinner, redeemed by the precious blood of Christ, and mademeet to possess the inheritance of the saints in light, in comparison with which the brightest honours of earth pass away as things of no value.
When the pastor of a Dissenting church is called away from his flock, to give an account of his stewardship to the great Shepherd and Bishop of souls, an event occurs in its history which generally produces a most powerful effect on the minds of the surviving members. As he, while living, was the pastor of their choice, so, when dead, they cease not to venerate and esteem his memory. They pay him, it is true, no superstitious homage. All they show is the feeling of pure nature, which requires no artificial expedients to express its affection for the object of its esteem when he is taken away. But amongst them, while the pastor dies, the ministry lives. They turn away from his tomb to listen to the voice of his successor; and though they cannot easily transfer that strong attachment and profound respect which have been the growth of a long and close intimacy, yet they receive him in the Lord with all gladness, and hold such in reputation.
In the choice of a successor they have great advantages over their Christian brethren who are members of the Establishment. They are not compelled to receive a pastor, but are left to choose one; and hence, as is natural, they select one whose religious opinions agree with their own, whose manner of preaching accords with their own taste, and whose character is such as corresponds with the sacredness of his profession. And though a popular election is liable to some objections, yet, from the mode in which it is generally conducted amongst them, they are but as the small dust of the balance, when weighed against the sterling value of the privilege which it involves and secures. The argument employed by Dissenters in support of this practice is, in their judgment, quite conclusive. They say, As we claim the right of choosing the attorney whom we consult on a point of law—of choosing our surgeon and physician when visited by sickness—of choosing the tutor under whose care we place our children, we act still more in accordance with the establishedlaws of social life, and the most obvious dictates of enlightened reason, when we exercise the right of choice in relation to the pastor from whose public ministrations we are to receive the consolations of the gospel of peace. In this instance, no less than in others, a preference will be felt; and while we hold all in reputation for their works' sake, who discharge the sacred duties of the pastoral office with fidelity, we shall derive a greater gratification, and higher degree of improvement, from the labours of one for whose manner of preaching we may feel a decided predilection and regard. When this right of choice is denied us, we are compelled to receive a minister who has been appointed over us by the authority of another, and if he be just such a one as we like, no evil is produced; but suppose he reject the doctrines which we receive as true, or suppose his style of preaching be in direct opposition to our taste, or suppose his moral conduct be not in exact accordance with his profession, what in such a case ought to be our line of conduct? Can we expect to become established in our faith, by going where that faith is perpetually assailed? Can we expect to derive consolation, if we go where the manner in which the message is offered offends our taste? Can we expect to venerate the ministry, if the man who holds the hallowed office display not the same mind which was in Christ Jesus our Lord? Impossible! We may make the experiment, but it will not be found productive of the fruits of righteousness and peace; as the laws of nature forbid us to calculate on gathering grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles.
Within a few weeks after the death of Mr. Ingleby, the living of Broadhurst was presented to Mr. Porteous, the grandson of a neighbouring magistrate of the same name,[41]who took offence at the first sermon Mr. Ingleby preached; and though he felt a profound respect for his private virtues, yet he withdrew from his ministry, and usually attended that of Mr. Cole. This young man possessed a fine person, and the graces of a popular and commanding elocution; but he was gay in his manners, volatile in his disposition, addicted tothe sports of the field, and decidedly opposed to those peculiar doctrines of the gospel which his predecessor had so long and so faithfully preached.
As his character was generally known through the parish, the pious members of the Church were deeply depressed when they heard that he was appointed to succeed their deceased pastor; but they prudently resolved to hear him preach, having previously met on several different occasions to pray that a double portion of the Spirit of grace might rest upon him. The church was excessively crowded when he delivered his first discourse, which was founded on the following text—"Be not righteous over much."
He read the prayers with so much seriousness and propriety of emphasis, that the whole congregation was delighted with him. When he announced his text, there was a simultaneous movement amongst them; and for a few moments they looked at each other as though deeply amazed, and then the eyes of all were fastened on him. After adjusting his position and his attitude with great caution, and surveying his audience with an appearance of complacency, he began reading his sermon, which he delivered in fourteen minutes, and then concluded the service. The sermon was a severe philippic on the labours of his predecessor, and the piety of his hearers; and though in the conclusion he paid a passing tribute of respect to his private virtues, and the benefits which the parish had received from his pastoral visits, yet he gave it as his decided opinion that he had uniformly disregarded theimportantinjunction of the text:—"That he erred from the purest motives we all must admit; and it must be some consolation to know, that his error was all on the side of virtue; but virtue is never so lovely as when she is kept from all excess of feeling—as when she spurns from her those restraints, which, by keeping her out of the circle ofinnocentindulgences, give her the appearance of grief-worn sadness—as when she enjoys life, and is contented to wait for the reward which the Almighty will confer on her honest and well-meant endeavours to please him. That it will be my endeavour to avoid the error into which my mostexcellent predecessor fell, my intelligent hearers may calculate on; and I flatter myself by so doing, I shall diffuse over the whole of my parish, the air of cheerful gaiety and social pleasure; and that the gloom which has so long hung over you will soon disappear, as the lowering cloud retires from the face of nature, when the bright orb of day scatters his golden rays in passing from the horizon to the meridian."
When he had finished his discourse, he paused for the loud Amen; but the good old clerk disdained to utter it; and when, on retiring to the vestry, he was asked by Mr. Porteous, the grandsire of the new Rector, why he had neglected his duty, he honestly replied, "Because, Sir, I did not choose to sanction those perversions of the gospel which the Rector has been guilty of this morning; nor appear to commend the severe and unjust animadversions which he has made on the character of my deceased pastor."
"Then, Sir, you shall be turned out of office."
"I will not wait to be turned out, Sir, I will resign it; for I have too much love for the truth to sanction error, and hold the reputation of my deceased pastor in too much esteem to say Amen, after it has been so wantonly defamed."
"Then, Sir, I suppose you intend to raise the standard of revolt against my grandson; but if that be your mind, you shall suffer for it."
"As I live, Sir, in a land of freedom, and was never in bondage to any man, I shall not, now I am grown gray in years, sell my birth-right for a mess of pottage; and therefore, without wishing to give either you or the new Rector any offence, I frankly tell you, that while he continues to preach as he has preached this morning, I will never return to hear him."
"You are an obstinate fellow, and ought not to be suffered to speak to your superiors in this style."
"You asked for the reasons of my conduct, which I have given you; and also for the line of conduct I intend to pursue, and I have told you; and now, as you descend to abuse, I will retire."
This altercation with the old clerk, who was greatly esteemed by the congregation for his superior intelligence and decided piety, was overheard by many of the people, who were much pleased; first, by his silence at the conclusion of the service, and now, by the bold stand which he made against the perversion of the truth, and the unmerited attack on the reputation of the venerable deceased. On coming out of the vestry, he was commended by them, and urged not to suffer any threat to induce him to bend to the authority, which had so unhandsomely endeavoured to intimidate him.
As Mr. Lewellin had acquired a considerable degree of influence among the pious members of the Church, during the short time he had resided in the parish, they very naturally looked to him for counsel at this critical juncture; and though he was unwilling to take any premature steps, yet he gave it as his decided opinion, that they ought not to suffer the gospel to be driven from amongst them. "I am a Dissenter," said he to a few friends who waited on him; "but while the gospel was preached in the Church, I felt perfectly willing to worship there, and should have continued to do so, if the new Rector had followed the example of our deceased pastor, but as he has chosen to make such a bold avowal of his determination to extirpate the serious and devout piety of the parish, that he may propagate his gay and anti-Christian religion, I think we are called upon by the voice of Providence to prevent it."
"I cannot leave the Church," said one.
"Nor I," said another.
"Nor I," said a third.
"I should not like to leave it," said another, "but if I cannot hear the gospel in the Church, I will hear it where I can."
It was finally determined to let things take their course for the next few weeks, during which time they were to consult their friends on the question.
On the Sabbath after Mr. Porteous preached his first sermon at Broadhurst, Mr. Hartley, Mr. Cole's successor, took possession of his living at Aston, and preached his first discourse from Ezek. xxxvii.3—"And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live? And I answered, O Lord God, thou knowest." From these words, taken in connection with the entire parable, he gave a description of the moral condition of man, during the period of his unregeneracy; demonstrated the inefficacy of all human expedients to recover him, without the co-operation of a supernatural power; and traced the progress of his spiritual renovation by the renewing power of the Holy Spirit, from its earliest symptoms to its final consummation in heaven. The sermon discovered some ingenuity, but more judgment; it abounded with striking remarks, expressed in the most appropriate language; but its predominating quality was a regular appeal to the understanding and the heart of the audience, conducted with such force of reasoning, and charm of persuasion, that many expressed their astonishment at their former ignorance of revealed truth; while those who had long enjoyed the ministry of the venerable Ingleby, rejoiced that God had sent another faithful messenger amongst them. Some few, who were the late incumbent's personal friends, and who often participated with him in the amusements of fashionable life, were displeased with thelengthof the sermon, though they were gratified with the chasteness of the language which was employed; and reprobated the austere requirements of the new religion, while they spoke in very complimentary terms of the elegant composition and the good delivery of the new Rector. The great majority of the people, however, were astonished and delighted; and from the conclusion of the sermon were led to anticipate in Mr. Hartley a very different pastor from Mr. Cole.
"Hitherto, many of you have lived," said the preacher, "without any deep repentance on account of your sins—without any active and operative faith in the efficacy of the Saviour's death—without enjoying any spiritual communion with the great Invisible—and without anticipating your entrance into the eternal world with that sublime awe which such an event ought to inspire in your breast. It devolves on me to rouse you from this state of deep insensibility and criminal impiety. You live; but what is that life which youhave lived? Has it not been a life of social pleasure—a life of vain indulgences—a life of indifference to the interesting facts, the sublime doctrines, the pure precepts, and the glorious promises of the gospel of Jesus Christ! It now devolves on me to awaken you, if possible, out of this mental delusion, that you may 'yield yourselves unto God as those that are alive from the dead;' then ye 'shall have your fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life.' To accomplish this, I shall add private admonition to public instruction; and though I have no wish to pry into the secrets of your families, nor to obtrude myself where my presence would not be acceptable, yet it will be my endeavour, as far as possible, to gain an accurate knowledge of the spiritual state of the whole of my charge, in the hope that by God's blessing I may be able at the last day to present every one of you perfect in Christ Jesus. When you are afflicted, I will visit you; when in trouble, I will administer to you the consolations of the gospel; in your dying hours, I shall consider it a privilege to be permitted to cheer you with the hope of immortality; and as I am placed over you as your spiritual guide and friend, I assure you, that there is no sacrifice which I will hesitate to make, nor any duty which I will not most cheerfully perform, to promote your happiness; and I shall esteem the gratification of serving you an adequate recompense for all my exertions, as I seek not yours, but you."