seems the dream of another life; every thing has been so entirely changed in a few months. Gowns, and lectures, and proctors, and all the conventional language and feelings of that august place, will ere long fade from the imagination. No wonder, for the work of reading has been succeeded by a sterner struggle with sin in its loathsome dens of iniquity. However, with a few exceptions, I have been well received in the worst places. It is a heavy thing, the weight of souls-hard, up-hill work. Now and then little things come out by accident which give hope. I heard that a poor woman said, every word of one sermon went to her heart, and she thought I was preaching at her. It is necessary to hear these things sometimes, or it would be more than faith could bear. Yet faith would bear it. I again make the resolution to write again soon. ⚫ X. Winchester, November 24, 1840. MY DEAR HATCHARD,-I hasten to answer your letter, which I received on Sunday morning. Most sincerely I congratulate you on your prospect of a curacy, but much more on the approach of the highest earthly honor-the privilege of working for Christ; and welcome you to a participation of its joys and sorrows. Perhaps the latter predominate here; but they are not worthy to be compared to the joys which shall be revealed in us, if we suffer with Him. I think the strictness of self-examination for ministerial fitness is contained in that solemn, searching question of our Lord, thrice repeated, "Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these?" And if we can, from our inmost souls, say, as Peter did, "Lord, thou knowest all things, thou knowest that I love thee," I believe the injunction which follows, and the warning of martyrdom, would be received with equal joy as our Master's will. I am sensible that it is a test that makes me humble; still, notwithstanding backwardness in the work, and much yielding to sloth and selfgratification instead of sowing in faith without longing to see the fruits, I do feel that if the labor, the hard toil in the vineyard, were taken from me, I have nothing left on earth to live for. And I trust that you may have this spirit, less dulled and clouded by earthly motives and low views than it is in J. has not succeeded in his attempt at the fellowship, and I do not know that I am sorry for it, as I believe that it would ruin him altogether to live an Oxford fellow's selfish, dronish life. me. *** XI. March 4, 1841. MY DEAR DAVIES,- *** I received the sermons which you so kindly sent me with much pleasure; that especially on justification seems, under God, calculated to do good. I believe there is at this time a determined attack made by Satan and his instruments to subvert that cardinal doctrine of our best hopes-justification by faith alone; and how far he has already succeeded let many a college in Oxford testify. It is the doctrine which, more than any other, we find our own hearts continually turning aside from and surrendering. Any thing but Christ-the Virgin, the Church, the sacraments, a new set of our own resolutions; any or all of these will the heart embrace as a means to holiness or acceptance rather than God's way. You may even persuade men to give up their sins, if they may do it without Christ; as teetotalism can witness. And the Apostle's resolution, in spite of all we say, is one which we are again and again making, and yet forever breaking, to know nothing but Jesus Christ, and Him crucified. *** XII. May 22, 1841. My sister seems to grow weaker day by day; and though they seem inclined to flatter themselves that she is better, her extreme languor and con tinued cough tell a different tale. Alas! there is no home here, and no abiding comfort; and yet I do not know why I should say alas! for it is better to have one tie to earth severed after another, till we have nothing left to live for but Christ. What emphatic energy must have been in the feeling of St. Paul when he wrote those words: τὴν ἐπιθυμίαν ἔχων εἰς τὸ ἀναλύσαι, Kai oùv Xolor ɛivai, when even we, in the midst of self-indulgence, can yearn for it! I do not wonder at the feelings you express in reading H. Martyn's letters; what a glorious instance he was of what God can make such a thing as man-little less than a seraph burning in one deathless flame of love from the moment when, as he expresses it, the last thing left on earth was taken from him, till the last burning words were traced at Tocat. It is a book that may well be blistered by hot tears of shame. Sometimes one is inclined to fancy that if a path of special usefulness could be pointed out, we might devote ourselves as he did; but I suppose this is only the usual feeling of readiness to bear any cross but that which God has put upon us. I am now reading a book of much devotional and self-denying fervor, Thomas à Kempis's Imitation of Christ. I love to feel the oneness of feeling which pervades the sons of God amidst vitally opposed communions. To see such men as Martyn and à Kempis at the right hand of Jesus in His kingdom, will be a joy that might almost compensate for a menial post there as the lowest of the low. *** XIII. Hôtel de la Couronne, Geneva, Angust 3, 1841. MY DEAR STRU,-I have already sent three letters. You come fourth in the family; therefore this is directed to you. I begin from where I left off. This morning I went to call on M. Malan, without introduction, except that of many mutual acquaintances. I sat talking with him about two hours. The chief subject of discussion was that of assurance. He says that a Christian can not be without assurance, except sinfully. This I agreed to, though not exactly on the same ground as that on which he puts it. The proof of adoption is a changed heart-2 Cor. v. 17. If a man see this change in himself, it is a proof to him that he has believed, because the work of regeneration is begun-the work which God performs in the heart of all whom He has chosen, conforming them to the image of his Son-Rom. viii. 29. If he does not see this change, it is evidently because of the predominance of sin; and therefore the want of assurance springs from sin. But Malan makes it sin, not indirectly, but directly. His argument, simply stated, is this: Whosoever believeth that Jesus is the Christ is born of God. You acknowledge that. Is He the Christ? Have you any doubt? You are sure He is? or do you mean to say you do not believe that He is? But if you tell me you do believe that He is, how can you doubt your safety? Would you make God a liar? for He says that “ every one who believes is born of God." I do not think this satisfactory, because I believe many who never will be saved are convinced of it, and so in a certain sense believe it, as the devils do who tremble, or as Simon did-Acts viii. 13-who was yet in the bond of iniquity. And it is this possibility which can make a Christian doubt his own state, even when he says, I believe. Still I admit that want of assurance is the mark of very low attainments in grace: because, if sanctification were so bright as to be visible, there would be no doubt. Though a subject on which I have thought much, he gave me many new ideas. I have only mentioned one for the present. Yesterday I dined with M. They were very attentive, and the conversation on all manner of subjects extremely interesting, till we came to discuss the advantages of creeds for a Church. He was for admitting all shades of opinion. I represented the object of our Church, to admit all whose opinions differed on subjects not fundamental, and exclude others. But it soon turned out that our views of fundamental questions differed entirely, and I told him we could not consider one who denied the Deity of Christ a Christian. I used this term, because I knew he would admit the "divinity." He then told me he did not hold the Deity. I said I could not retract, and must tremble for him. This led to a hot and long discussion. Poor misquoted Scripture, and would make no answer to the texts I brought forward. My chief point was to prove the death of Christ not merely a demonstration of God's willingness to pardon, on repentance and obedience, but an actual substitution of suffering; and that salvation is a thing finished for those who believe-not a commencement of a state in which salvation may be gained; insisting especially on Heb. x. 14. But to this he would scarcely even listen, and protested against single texts, requiring the general tone of Scripture as the only argument. It would be long to go through it all. He understood fully that the denial of his right to the name of Christian was not necessarily intolerant, but might be even charity. * I have just returned from another long discussion with Malan, before several persons, which I do not like, because calmness in argument is then always difficult. You think of your own victory instead of the truth. However, I only parried, and allowed him to cross-question me. He does it in the most affectionate and earnest manner; but I could not yield, because I believe all I said based upon God's truth. He said, "Mon très-cher frère, vous aurez une triste vie et un triste ministère." It may be so; but present peace is of little consequence. If we sin we must be miserable; but if we be God's own, that misery will not last long; the evidence is lost only for a time, but I do feel sure it is lost. But God's promise is so clear-" Sin shall not have dominion over you"-that the evidence must become brightagain by victory. Misery for sin is better worth having than peace. I love old Malan from my very soul, and hate disputing with him, even though it is the dispute of Christian brothers. How we ought to yearn for the day when truth shall not only be, but also be felt to be one. *** CHAPTER III. Marriage of Mr. Robertson.-Death of his Sister.-He takes the Curacy of Christ MR. ROBERTSON did not travel farther than Geneva. He met there, and, after a short acquaintance, married, Helen, third daughter of Sir George William Denys, Bart., of Easton Eston, Northamptonshire. Almost immediately after his marriage he returned to Cheltenham. He was cheered by a farewell visit to Winchester— Where (he says) many of my old congregation received me with great affection, and I preached to a very crowded church my last sermon. From what I learnt I have reason to believe that more than I had thought were savingly brought to Christ during my ministry there. If this be so, it is more than a requital for a whole life of labor. For some months, owing to his ill-health, he was forbidden to do any regular duty. During this interval of passiveness, his mind wrought and forged out some results from his past experience. Even at this period his freedom from party spirit, and his individuality of character, began to be recognized. He says, writing in January, 1842: How much some systematic preparation for the ministry is needed in our Church! We enter it almost without chart or compass; and I suppose the Anglican Church alone exhibits the strange spectacle so common amongst us of a deacon intrusted with the sole charge of souls. I hope not to be alone for some years to come, if God should spare me so long. I have preached here several times, and been set down sometimes as a Tractarian, sometimes as an ultra-Calvinist. I trust the accusations neutralize each other, for they are most certainly incompatible. If a man will really endeavor to avoid Popery, either that of Rome or that of a party, and practically hold the real Protestant doctrine of the supremacy of Scripture, I suppose he must be content to come into collision with conventional phraseology, and several received views. Yet it is somewhat hard to unflinchingly incur the suspicion of those whom, on the whole, you believe to be God's people, although it is so easy to keep out of sight what is uupalatable. I am much tempted to it sometimes in the pulpit and in conversation. In February of the same year, his sole surviving sister, Emma, died. She had long been lingering into death. He watched her with a brother's affection, and the whole image of her patience crept into "his study of imagination," and impressed him with a more solemn sense of duty and eternity. He writes in February: Dear, dear girl! you can not dream the holiness which filled her young mind, increasing daily and rapidly till she departed to be perfect. There had been a subdued calmness about her for years, which made the earnestness with which she sometimes expressed her opinion on vital truths more striking and more lovely. She had left us all behind, far; and when I think of her, I am disgusted with the frivolity and worldliness of my own heart. Is it credible that a man can have known Christ for six years, and believed that there is in store an inheritance whose very essence is holiness, and yet be still tampering with the seductions, and follies, and passions of this wretched place? I trust this solemn scene may make us all who have witnessed it more in earnest, and more single in heart and purpose. The days are fleeting away, and there is little done for Christ, much for self and sloth. And I sometimes shudder when I wake, as it were, for a moment, to remember that while we are dallying, the wheels of the chariot of the Judge do not tarry too, but are hurrying on with what will be to some among us fearful rapidity. My dear Hatchard, what need we have to pray for an ever-serious, solemn mind, and an unresting sense of the presence of God within and around us! The startling silence in the room where the last of my darling sisters lies, has chilled my heart with a cold feeling of certainty that most of our life and profession is mockery To serve the Eternal so! Before his sister's death occurred, he had been inquiring for a curacy. He wrote to Mr. Hatchard in January, 1842: I am grieved to hear your account of yourself. Take care. Depend upon it, you will gain nothing by a press of steam, as I now acknowledge with bitterness; indeed, I do not expect ever to be worth much again. Can you tell me of a curacy which combines diametrically opposed qualities—sufficiency of stipend and easiness of work? By easiness I mean half services, that is, I can not take any duty single-handed, but must have either a resident rector, or a stipend sufficient to procure regular assistance. I have had a district church mentioned to me. Such a thing would just suit me. The curacy of this district church, the incumbent of which was the Rev. Archibald Boyd, now incumbent of St. James, Paddington, was offered to him and accepted. He entered on his duties in the summer of 1842, and performed them for nearly five years. The only external events which marked these years of his life were the birth of three children and the death of one. It was fortunate for him at this time that he had formed a high estimate of his rector. It was all-important for him, in a place like Cheltenham, that a great reverence for another should keep him humble, and that eager emulation after an ideal should prevent him from being carried away by the passing excitements of society. Writing to Mr. Hatchard in the beginning of his second year at Cheltenham, 1843, he says: 28 Park Place, Cheltenham, February 9, 1843. MY DEAR HATCHARD,-Many thanks for your kind congratulations and long letter. I feel considerably antiquated by being invested with the honor of paternity, and already experience a sort of foretaste of its cares and responsibilities. I am thankful to say both my dear charges are going on far better than I could have hoped, and I only trust that I may be enabled to realize the promise inseparably annexed to training," for otherwise I should feel indeed a heavy sinking at the prospect of my boy's future career. 66 I am sorry to read your account of your rector's ill-health. What you quote from Bishop Hall is very true in some cases. God grant that when we are called our work may be done. Poor Grotius's motto lies sometimes heavy at my heart-"Vitam perdidi operosè nihil agendo.' You tell me nothing of your work. Mine is far less satisfactory than at Winchester, partly from the superficial nature of this place, in which I would not remain another day but for the sake of my coadjutor and leader; partly from the effect of the temptations and the frittering away of time almost inseparable from a residence here. Mr. Robertson always preached in the afternoon. He soon began to exercise upon his congregation his peculiar power of fascination. It was the fascination not only of natural gifts of voice, and speech, and manner, but also of intellect warmed into a vivid life by the deepest earnestness. Mr. Dobson, formerly the principal of Cheltenham College, says of him, in a letter to his father: |