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acquiesced in the conclusions of orthodoxy, and have taken their baptismal vow upon themselves without any just sense of the obligations and responsibilities thereby incurred. Their practice has therefore been an habitual infraction of that vow. Their religion has floated in their heads, but has never penetrated their hearts. Resting on no solid foundation, it has yielded to unfounded objections and plausible sophistries, when these have been presented to their minds in alliance with wit and ridicule, fashion and example.

Mr. Whalley at length returned to his native country, with opinions, tastes, and habits uncongenial with those of the friends and associates among whom he was to live. He missed the exciting objects of art in which he had taken such delight, and happily he found among his countrymen few admirers of the French philosophy. The elegance of his manners, his refined taste, and his familiarity with foreign scenes and objects, naturally made his company sought after; but there was a hauteur and reserve about him which was justly deeemed repulsive. His elder brother, the late Dr. Whalley, once said to me, "You are well acquainted, I believe, with my brother Richard; but unless you could compare him, as I can, with his former self, you can scarcely imagine what religion has done for him. I well remember him as one of the proudest and most fastidious of human beings. He was, in fact, the proudest man I have ever known." The late Mrs. Hannah More, and her sisters, who were well acquainted with him at the time now referred to, have occasionally described him to me as a man of refined elegance, but chilling fastidiousness. Scepticism, when it is based, as it usually is, on presumption and ignorance, is in the same proportion arrogant and uncompromising. Voltaire, with all his wit and powers of ridicule, was in this sense grossly ignorant, as has often been proved; yet he touches on theological topics with the confidence of an oracle; and from scepticism, in all probability, originated much of that peculiar pride which marked Mr. Whalley, and which cost

him in the retrospect the sincerest grief and self-abasement. To the absence of religious control is also to be ascribed the too great dominion which a naturally hot temper had obtained over him; and which singularly contrasted with the meekness and benignity of his subsequent demeanour.

Among the friends who lamented his sceptical opinions, there was one who not only urged upon him the duty of further inquiry, but intreated him to bring those opinions to the test of such a book as Butler's Analogy. Happily, for his own future peace, he followed this friend's advice, and devoted himself to its perusal. It met and refuted the arguments upon which he had most confidently relied as subversive of revelation. That profound work, it is well known, converts what appear, on a superficial view, to be objections to the scheme of Christianity, into illustrations of its divine origin and truth. It proves that what are called difficulties in the religion of grace, apply with equal force to the government of the natural world, and to the constitution of nature; in which, though replete with general and convincing indications of the wisdom, goodness, and equity of the great Creator, partial appearances of evil and irregularity are mingled: it shews that the objections thence made to the natural and moral government of God, are results of human ignorance, resolving themselves into the incompetence of a finite being to see through the counsels and to penetrate the ultimate designs of an Infinite Intelligence: that a creature of such limited views and capacity as man, can take in at best only a minute part of the general plan and purpose upon which such a Being acts, and is as incapable of tracing out the relations of the several parts of that plan to each other, as of comprehending their final relation to the whole the monarchy of the universe is a dominion unbounded in extent and endless in duration, and that therefore whatever in it is imperfectly understood, must in all reason be interpreted by that which is plain and obvious.

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And the same is shewn to be true of the Christian dispensation. It also

is a system too vast in its relations for human comprehension, and is therefore imperfectly understood. It bears upon it the impress of the same glorious attributes which are radiant on the face of nature, united to peculiar characteristics of its own; wisdom, justice, love, mercy, being stamped upon it in immeasurable degrees. Its end is the divine glory and human happiness, in a way and by means of God's contriving; necessarily mysterious, therefore, and inscrutable in many of its bearings, to a mortal capacity. Its morality is worthy of its heavenly origin, and if acted upon would convert earth into a paradise of peace and love. The objections against the Christian system most relied upon are singularly analagous to those which have been urged against the constitution of nature, and they resolve themselves into the same cause, the ignorance of man. The difficulties in each case are just such as a finite being must expect to meet, when it attempts to scan the counsels of Infinity. Enough of light and truth, of wisdom and goodness, are stamped upon each system, to challenge faith and obedience, love and adoration; enough of obscurity rests upon both to exercise faith, to test love and obedience, and to mingle awe with adoration. Arguing from what is known to what is unknown, from what is revealed to what is unexplained, from what can be com prehended by a finite being to what is incomprehensible, doubt is quelled, humility is inculcated, faith is confirmed, seeming contradictions and irregularities are justly inferred to be consistent with wisdom and goodness, for reasons and in ways inscrutable by man. To acquiesce in his present ignorance, to be intent upon his obvious duties, and "by patient continuance in well-doing, to seek for glory, honour, and immortality," (Rom. ii. 7.) are shown to be the course prescribed to him by reason and religion. And be it further remembered, that all these are considerations apart from the positive evidence which establishes the truth and authority of divine revelation. That evidence, both external and internal, still remains to be added in all its

plenitude to the force of these considerations. Tradition, history, prophecy, miracles, providence, testimony the most various and incontestible, unite their converging rays to illustrate the external evidence. And as respects that which is more especially internal, who can deny the striking adaptation of Christianity to the exigencies of a world bursting with sin and sorrow? The eye is not more perfectly adapted to the reception of light, than is the divine philosophy of the Holy Scriptures to the deep corruptions, the guilty fears, the corroding sorrows, and the festering anxieties of the human heart.

Of all this Mr. Whalley finally became convinced; but as yet the fruits of his conversion were imperfect. He cast away his sceptical opinions, he did homage to the truth of the Bible, he saw through, and rejected the sophistries to which he had yielded credence. These were important points gained, and the change in his opinions wrought a beneficial change also in many respects, in his tastes, pursuits, and habits. But though his judgment and reason were convinced, his heart was not yet duly affected. He was too much inclined to view the subject of his late inquiry as a dry question of truth and error, without a proper regard to the weighty consequences and obligations consequent on his faith as a Christian. He therefore felt no depth of remorse for years unprofitably spent, for talents misapplied, and for mercies abused. Pride and fastidiousness still closely adhered to him. Neither does it appear, judging from his own communicatious to myself, that any such salutary considerations were suggested to him by his friends. Satisfied with his disavowal of infidel opinions, and with the general correctness of his life and manners, they ceased to be anxious about him, and perhaps were little qualified to probe the depth of his spiritual maladies.

In 1775, he married Elizabeth Frances, youngest daughter of the Rev. John Paine, Canon of Wells. It was a match of mutual attachment, and imparted to both, during twenty years, much domestic felicity. Two children were the fruit of this union.

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In the year 1786, Mr. Whalley again visited the Continent, accompanied by his wife and children. spent many months in the south of France, more especially at Tours, and amused his leisure by drawing and studying from nature. During his stay there it was proposed to him to take orders, and to hold the living of Horsington, in Somersetshire, for his nephew, as yet a minor. This offer he accepted; and, leaving his family at Tours, returned home in May, 1787, for ordination, which was conferred on him in the June following. Though probably prudential considerations had great weight in prompting him to this decision, he entered on his important office with the intention of discharging its functions in a respectable and conscientious manner; but when, at a subsequent period, he became convinced that at this time he neither comprehended the real end and aim of the Gospel, nor had any just sense of the weight and responsibility of the pastoral office, he felt, as many others under similar circumstances have finally been brought to feel, that though regularly called, on the part of the Church, to the ministerial office, the inward calling of the Holy Ghost had been wanting.

Horsington became his residence, with occasional intervals, during the ensuing thirteen years. In what spirit he discharged his clerical duties, and what were the mutual feelings of himself and his flock, his own words will best describe. They occur in a sermon, in which he refers to this very subject, written after religion had obtained an entire ascendancy in his mind and heart. It will be seen with what honesty he touches on his own past deficiencies as a minister of Christ, at the same time that he gives himself credit for having always a ted in a friendly, charitable, and honourable spirit towards the flock committed to his care:-"As to my services towards you, brethren, for the Lord's sake, I scarcely know in what manner to mention them. I shall only say to you, that even from my first entering in among you, and before I had at all well considered the work I had undertaken, or known anything of my insufficiency for it, or received any help

from above to make me sufficient,any of that light which has since so clearly shewn me what are the true doctrines of the Gospel, and the inestimable treasure of knowledge wrapped up in the written word-I never was a direct and gross hypocrite among you, preaching what I did not at least persuade myself I believed, or professing a concern for your souls which I did not after a manner feel. Many efforts I certainly made to restrain, by the grace of God, though without knowing what that grace was, and therefore, no wonder, without success, my own evil passions and habitual sins. Many arguments, also, I adduced from the word of God, though without a right understanding of it, and therefore no wonder those arguments were ineffectual, to overcome and convince you of yours. It was never my deliberate design to make a gain of godliness, nor to put on the convenient form of it for the sake of temporal advantages; but, ever since I took the ministry, I have always, in some sort, felt and believed that godliness, with contentment, was great gain;' and that the peace of God, though still I knew nothing of it in its high import, was more to be desired than all that the world could give. I shall add that, in regard to my more common intercourse and conversation with you, I never gave you offence, even when I was most intemperate and graceless, without subsequent sorrow, or received offence from you without sincere forgiveness. In the midst of ease and competence in worldly things, I have thought of pain and poverty; and though too generally engaged in vanity, and drawn along with the stream of the world, yet I had always an inward misgiving and feeling of soul, that such a course could never profit me, or come to good.

"Thus much I have thought it allowable and proper to speak of my conduct upon the whole, since I came among you, though you yourselves know very well after what manner I have been with you at all seasons. And if you are aware, as you must be, of the many deplorable imperfections in my character as a man and a neighbour, yet I hope that my

good will towards you was, upon the whole, apparent; and that, however weak and blind and variable my judgment and conduct may have been, my designs and views were directed to promote the happiness of the parish, and to support, as far as my notions and knowledge of it extended, the cause of religion and virtue."

It was in the school of affliction that his religious knowledge and character were perfected. In the year 1795, his beloved wife, the idol of his affections, was taken from him. He had deeply felt the loss of his second son, Francis, only two years before; but this fresh and overwhelming stroke tore up his earthly happiness by the roots. He lived, but so closely had his heart been bound up with her who was now gone for ever, that existence became to him a dreary blank, a profound vacuity. Fain would he have flown from himself and his own thoughts, but they haunted him with images of grief and distraction.

This affliction, according to his own deliberate judgment, found him in a state of religious ignorance; having a name to live while he was spiritually dead; approving generally of the forms and the doctrines of the Church, but unacquainted with their vital end and aim-the consecration of the heart to God. To this cause he ascribed his incapacity to exercise resignation and faith, or to derive any real comfort from the consolations of the Gospel. If the great object of his clerical career had been to communicate the saving light of heavenly truth to his flock, he would now have felt that life had yet in store for him objects and employments in which even angels might delight to participate. Duty to that flock, "plants of his hand, and children of his prayer," would, when the lenient influence of time had softened his grief, have stirred him up to exertions for their good, fraught with reflected blessings on himself. But these were not as yet his inspiring motives, and therefore the thought of his clerical obligations, so far from arousing him to exertion, pressed upon him as a painful burden. Under these circumstances he could no longer endure the solitude of his house, nor the associations of

his parish. He therefore made arrangements for quitting home, and trying what change of place and absence from the scene of his sorrows could effect. His sole companion on this mournful occasion was his Bible. He travelled with it from place to place; he read it seriously and diligently, convinced that it was capable of yielding him divine consolation : but for many long and wearisome months he seemed to read it ignorantly and in vain. After a twelvemonth spent in these wanderings, seeking rest and finding none, he was wellnigh reduced to despair, and at length returned to his forsaken home in almost hopeless dejection.

In what way and by what means his mind was at length enabled to throw off its burden, and to realise the blessed assurance that "God is love," will be best explained in his own language-language scarcely less impressive than that in which a St. Augustine, in the early ages of the Church, depictured the not unsimilar manner in which, after protracted and severe mental conflicts, he was enabled to cast away his old prejudices, sins, and errors, and to believe in Jesus Christ to the salvation of his soul. The expressive language here referred to occurs in a letter to a friend, the latter part of which is alone in my possession; but thence it is evident that in the preceding part he had forcibly described to this friend his former self, as vain, worldly, and irreligious; that he had bitterly reproached himself both as a Christian and a clergyman, for having done so little in furtherance of his own religious edification, and that of his beloved and lamented wife; and that he had described, in strong terms, the very insufficient estimate which the world is apt to make of the sinfulness of such a course. He then proceeds as follows:

"Of these things, and what I might have done to benefit the soul of one whom I thought I loved as my own soul, I have the bitterest feelings of remorse, and can hardly restrain my agonies; but God is all-wise and allsufficient to all, and orders all things wisely, for his will is wisdom. I rest in that persuasion, and well know

that Christ was able to make himself known without my concurrence. Such, dear Madam, is the picture of one who passed with the world for a respectable, nay, and with many, I believe, for an exemplary character. In this manner are the eyes of men deceived and cheated. But God, who had determined to shew mercy to one who was so peculiarly unworthy of mercy as I was and am, was preparing the instruments of an entire conversion and change of my heart and soul. Severe and sharp were the means, it is true, and such as then appeared in the shape of the deepest afflictions; but nothing less than caustics will avail, when the gangrene is far gone. He, who could not be prevailed upon by mercies and blessings, was touched and awakened by sufferings and punishments I lost my child; I lost my wife; I had many pecuniary losses and crosses. The consequences of extreme vanity and mismanagement in my temporal affairs began to press upon me; and when, after twelve months' absence from the scene of my affliction, I returned to my parish, of which I thought I had determined to take leave for ever, I found all these recoil with inexpressible weight upon me. Left entirely to reflect on myself, and at full leisure to estimate the extent of the troubles God had brought upon me, and those he had suffered me to bring upon myself; finding myself despoiled of all I thought was essential to my comfort and happiness, and harassed and embarrassed with a thousand domestic inconveniences and difficulties, I began to look for comfort to my religious principles; but now, alas! to my unspeakable confusion, found that they were fancied principles, and that I really had cultivated none that could effectually help me. I had given myself, in the hour of careless security, credit for a faith which was too light and unsettled to bear me up in the hour of difficulty and distress, and therefore I had nothing to comfort me; I had no place to flee unto; and no man cared for my soul. In this state and condition of misery, with the Bible one day in my hands, (for I had daily resorted to it for consolation since my calamity, though I now seemed

not to have found it,) I uttered, in the bitterness of my heart, a prayer to God, that if that book were indeed the word of truth and message of salvation, he would enable me to apply to it with a simple, teachable, unbiassed mind. I offered a supplication to my Saviour Christ, that if he were indeed a Saviour, he would be at hand to save me; that he would help my prejudices, and heal my corruptions, and remove my blindness, and make me see the wondrous things of his law; and enable me to understand what was there revealed; and give me strength to believe in it, and apply it to my own emergencies; for well I knew that faith in the Scriptures would be a cure for all the evils I laboured under, and that other cure there was and could be none. My prayer was offered under a complete sensation of my inability to help myself in the removal of them; a perfect persuasion that if God gave no comfort, I could never more have comfort either in time or eternity. Blessed be God that he heard my prayer, and turned not aside his mercy from me. I soon, nay, almost instantly, began to read the Scriptures with new eyes; I almost instantly perceived that they were the true word of God. But, gracious God! what did that perception bring with it? A perception derived from that word which told me I was born in sin; a perception of a life spent in actual sin. I now more than suspected that I had been hitherto blind, and that all I had hitherto done was madness and folly. I now more than suspected I had misused every talent, and abused the long-suffering and goodness of my God, and had been adverse to him in every particular and passage of my life. The things I had hitherto looked upon as mere follies, were now felt to be the rankest sins; and I saw at once, and with the utmost clearness and precision, the sin of self-will, and self-love, and love of the world; that my whole will and mind were sinful; that from a bitter fountain sweet waters could never have flowed for one moment; and that therefore I had naturally, never done one thing that could be acceptable to God. The dreadful consequences of remaining under the

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