No one, I apprehend, will wonder, that at the close of the preceding view, my mind was at rest as to the course most advisable. A voice seemed to sound in my ears, ‘Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partaker in her sins.’ With gratitude unfeigned, I thank God, who has delivered me from such antichristian articles of faith. I entirely reject them, persuaded that they are the mere invention of crafty men, who, under the pretence of superior sanctity, are among the most consummate hypocrites on earth; and heartily rejoice that though such articles were once the terror, they are now the sport of enlightened society.

An affecting question is asked by the prophet Zechariah, ‘Is not this a brand plucked out of the fire?’ and it is with no small propriety that the inquiry is made concerning myself. I have wandered over sea and land; have been in perils both of flood and field; in ‘hair-breadth ‘scapes’ I have rivalled Othello’s self; for several years I was dangerously familiar with the bayonet-point and whistling bullet; and have followed a profession whose element is strife and bloodshed. While thousands have fallen, I am preserved in the land and light of the living; and, what is perhaps an equal mercy, am placed in a situation in which I have become conscious of these obligations, and where the privileges of church-fellowship exist in rich abundance. It would be ungrateful, also, were I not to acknowledge the uncommon kindness with which several of the officers under whom I served furnished me, on application, with testimonials relative to my previous conduct in the army. It would be mere affectation were I to profess myself indifferent to opinions so generously expressed; and as military reputation, founded on faithful services, is frequently the only riches of which an old soldier can boast, I shall be pardoned for introducing some extracts from letters received about this time from several gentlemen well known in superior military circles.

I ought to premise that I had applied to Lieut.-Col Williamson, Commandant at the Royal Military Asylum, Chelsea, for admission into that institution as one of the superintendents of the children; to secure which, I found it necessary to obtain respectable references as to previous character. Colonel (now General) Pearson observed concerning me: ‘I have much pleasure in stating, that his conduct on every occasion merited my most perfect approbation, and that I consider him highly qualified for any situation which requires activity, sobriety, and integrity; and as such I beg leave to recommend him.’ Major Page, under whose notice I had acted at Tynemouth, certified that he had known me for several years, during which period he was pleased to say, that my conduct as a soldier gave great satisfaction; and, with reference to an event in my life already alluded to, adds ‘he particularly distinguished himself, and was the means of rescuing from a watery grave three or four sailors. I recollect his plunging through the surf and bringing a sailor on shore, at the time no boat would quit the beach. I cannot say too much in this soldier’s praise; and nothing gives me greater pleasure than to recommend him.’ To make assurance doubly sure, Colonel Napier added, that I had ‘served in the 43rd regiment nearly eleven years; had been at the reduction of Copenhagen in 1807; at General Moore’s retreat to Corunna in 1808, and the following year; and at the battles of Almeida, Busaco, Pombal, Condeixa, Subagal, Fuentes d’Onoro, Ciudad Rodrigo, and Badajos, at which latter place he was severely wounded in the head and thigh.’ These nails, driven so forcibly, to fasten my respectability, were clenched by Lieutenant-Colonel Duffy, who also spoke of me in very handsome and obliging terms. Captain Patteson then advanced, by stating concerning me: ‘I had every reason to be satisfied with his steady, sober, honest, and soldier-like conduct, and had frequent opportunities of observing his brave and valiant behaviour in the field.’ Besides these, which told heavily on the board, I had a letter of similar import from Lieutenant-Colonel Booth, who was condescending enough to bring up the reserve, and inclose his recommendatory note in another written and directed to myself, in which he remarks: ‘I have great pleasure in stating what I remember of your character in the 43rd regiment, for I have a perfect remembrance of you; and it is gratifying to myself that you remember your old corps with so great affection. You are entitled to our best wishes, as one of those good and gallant soldiers who contributed to support the reputation of the regiment during the Peninsular war.’

I have been induced to quote these flattering notices, not for the purpose of self-esteem, and finding food for vanity; but I am anxious to show, that alertness and vigilance are neither unnoticed nor unrewarded in the British army; and that the superior officers are not unwilling to recollect an old and wounded soldier, when the recognition can assist him. Supported by such respectable rank and influence, my efforts to gain admission into the asylum were successful, and in the month of December, 1823, I was received as a company sergeant. After having been in this situation about four years, I became acquainted with several members of the congregation assembling at Sloane-terrace chapel, Chelsea; and my views of human depravity, of moral obligation, and ‘the exceeding sinfulness of sin,’ together with the necessity of a change of heart and life, were rendered much clearer than formerly. I perceived that in religion there is not only something to be professed, but a great deal to be experienced. The more I inquired and reflected upon myself, so much the more I was dissatisfied. At first I resolved to mend my morals, and live more scrupulously. But a brief trial showed me that my theory was good for nothing, nor would hang together. There was no relish of salvation in it; and in escaping from one evil, I ran headlong into a greater. My mind was afterwards led, by degrees almost imperceptible, to reflect deeply upon that infinite goodness by which I had thus far been brought through the great and terrible wilderness of this world. I began more clearly to perceive, that religion consisted in a divine change; and desires to share in its blessings, till then unknown, created, no doubt, by the Spirit’s influence, were continually present with me. But how to escape from the trammels of sin was the great and apparently unconquerable difficulty: my condition is described in holy writ with infinite accuracy;—‘For the good that I would, I do not: but the evil that I would not, that I do. I find then a law, that when I would do good, evil is present with me.’ The more I strove, the deeper I sank; until, wearied with the vain task of conquering sin by efforts founded on the strength merely of reason and propriety, I gave up the contest, and endeavoured to conclude that it would be time enough to enter on religious courses when I became old and good for little. The illusion was incomplete. It was not sufficiently specious to deceive even my own mind. Perhaps I ought rather to conclude, that the mercy of God would not permit me thus to wander into the congregation of the dead. I had no rest. My sins became increasingly alarming; and I felt afraid of going to sleep, lest I should awake in perdition.

Among several other places of public resort in the vicinity of my residence, and much frequented by military men, was ‘The Snow-shoes,’ a public house of entertainment, of great convivial celebrity, where many pounds of my money had unfortunately gone astray. In spite of some vivid convictions to the contrary, I made an engagement to meet an old brother sergeant, and ‘spend the evening,’ which, in gay language, generally includes the luxury of cigars, and libations of strong liquor. It happened, providentially, that my friend was not ready by the appointed time, so that on my arrival I was seated alone, and had time for reflection. A few minutes before I entered the house, a prayer rose in my mind, that the Almighty would preserve me from the pending excesses, the ruinous effects of which, I knew, must fall both on myself and family. The check was so powerful that I halted at the threshold of the passage. In that instant Satan suggested, ‘Take a little, and get home in time,’ I accordingly went into the house and called for some liquor, but had not remained long before I felt myself suddenly struck by some powerful though unseen hand. My whole frame trembled, so that I was fain to lean against the table for support. Meantime I thought a voice repeated in my ear, ‘Go home!’ My agitation was so great as to excite the attention of several persons in the room, who asked me what was the matter. Unable to reply, and determined to obey my invisible but friendly monitor, whom I considered as a gracious signal of Almighty direction, I hurried out of the place, went home immediately, and related the occurrence to my wondering family. This was only the beginning of miracles; and from that time I can trace the operations of the Spirit as they were graciously afforded, every link of which, as part of a golden chain, let down from on high, contributed to draw me from the miry clay of nature’s dismal dungeon, to the light and liberty of Gospel day.

It so happened, or rather, was so ordered, that my daughter was placed in a school conducted by a worthy member of the Wesleyan society. One day the governess made some inquiries relative to the state of religion in our family. How she was answered by her pupil I know not; but most likely the good instructress had reason to conclude that our devotions were not of the most exalted kind. Be that as it may, she kindly selected a tract, entitled ‘James Covey,’ and gave it to the child, with directions to read it at home. My daughter, aware of the prejudice I had entertained against Methodism, was afraid to show me the tract. It was at length so contrived that the ‘Covey’ should attract my notice. After a cursory glance, it struck me there was some Methodist contrivance about the matter; I therefore threw the tract upon the fire, and desired that my daughter might be removed from those fanatical folks. Satisfied with the exploit, I left the house, and resumed my employment; but on taking off my hat, for the purpose of hanging it up, I observed what appeared to be a sheet of paper, folded up inside the crown, beneath the lining. On taking it out, to my surprise, there was ‘James Covey’ again. The truth is, that this tract, though thrown upon the fire by my ungodly rashness, was taken off with equal haste and superior wisdom, and had been placed in my hat by the hands of my excellent wife. Wondering, at first, how it came there, and impressed with the oddness of the circumstance, I thought, that as pains had evidently been taken by some one to draw my attention, it would be ungrateful were I entirely negligent; and that, at all events, a slight inspection could not poison my mind, especially if confined to the first page or so. I accordingly began to read, but soon passed the bounds I had assigned. As I went on, the tale was so charming that I felt anxious to ascertain the catastrophe; in fact, I became so riveted to the performance, and saw, as if I had looked in a mirror, my own case so completely shown forth in the description of the sailor, that my almost impenetrable heart was melted, nor could I help exclaiming, ‘Lord, if I should turn to Thee, like him, wilt Thou have mercy on me?’

I was much impressed with the similarity that, in some respects, existed between the sailor’s life and my own. He had fought by sea, and I by land. He, in the days of his ignorance, had profaned the mysteries of the Cross by disbelief and vanity; I had done the same. He found mercy; and now, through the same medium, even by the new and living way, the desire, though late, was found in my heart to follow in the same course. Great searchings of heart followed the inquiries arising from the above tract. The more I looked into my own condition, the greater was the dissatisfaction felt. I found, not only that some things were wrong, but that little or nothing was right. I felt convinced, also, that the change required was of a spiritual kind; that old things were to pass away, and all things become new; and that if any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of his.

In this condition of hope, mingled with sad uncertainty, I continued a wearisome time. One Sunday forenoon I attended the chapel already mentioned, with the hope of receiving instruction and encouragement; and, with respect to the former, I succeeded. I had been told that the minister appointed to preach on that day, had been useful to others; which begat a hope respecting myself. Prayers having been read, he ascended the pulpit. The simplicity with which the services were so far conducted, especially when contrasted with the multiplied ceremonies of the Romish Church, powerfully affected my mind. It appeared to me, that the difference between the two lay precisely here: Papists cultivate the forms of religion, with little of the power; while here the power was present, with as much only of the form as served to give seriousness to the worship. In the Catholic chapel, one is apt to be taken up with circumstantials, while spirituality of mind, so essential to true devotion, is well-nigh destroyed. There is the gaudy attire of the priest, who performs his part by reading certain lessons in a language which not one in twenty understands. Then an elegant picture, or image, is exhibited, before which the priest, as if smitten with some sudden emotion, pretends—for it is merely a studied piece of acting previously rehearsed—to be melted into humility. He accordingly commences a series of genuflexions and homage, on which, from the formality observed, the principal value of the service seems to depend. Lads dressed in white surplices then enter, bearing large wax candles. Anon is heard the tinkling of a small bell, while an ignited perfume of some sort, contained in a silver chafing-dish, and suspended by a chain, is waved by one of these juvenile clericals for general gratification.

Laying aside these extraneous matters, the use of which is above my comprehension, the preacher in the Protestant chapel now alluded to adopted a widely different plan. He was in person of good figure, rather tall and slender, with marked benevolence of countenance; I think something under forty years of age; and was dressed in a plain black suit of clothes, which, though sufficiently neat and respectable to denote the sacred profession of the wearer, evinced a noble carelessness of outward show or self-consequence. In truth, he had much better ground of dependence. The service began with singing a hymn. I should think that religion improved the voice, as well as reformed the life; for every one appeared able to sing, and the effect was beautiful. The minister then proposed prayer, to which all assented by kneeling in silence. The petitions offered were singularly appropriate, and although evidently not a pre-composed form of words, were fluent and comprehensive; and what rendered them remarkably seasonable and well-timed, they were so framed, as to apply to the apparent rank, condition, and circumstances of the assembled congregation. Another verse or two of a hymn was sung with equal effect, immediately after which the preacher selected a text and began the sermon. Having nothing before him but the Bible, and as the passage selected for discussion consisted only of a few words, I concluded the homily would be rather brief. The result showed that I knew little, either of it, or the preacher.

In cathedral services, one is used, when the reverend Dean ascends the pulpit, to observe a handsome quarto manuscript, enveloped in a cover of clerical jet, nicely squared, and paged to prevent mistake, which is safely pressed upon the cushion, and containing in characters so legible as to defy mistake the approaching lesson of instruction. On the occasion to which I now refer, these preparations were dispensed with. The good pastor began his discourse without the least hesitation; and being a man of pleasing address, and of distinct, though not very powerful voice, the attention of an overflowing audience was immediately arrested. After several introductory observations, of somewhat discursive tendency, he applied himself to the explication of the passage chosen for the occasion; and never in my life was I more surprised. The remarks made seemed as if directly levelled at myself, not recollecting that, as all have sinned alike, so all are to be saved through one Mediator. I had imagined that the workings of my mind were necessarily secret, and was sure the preacher knew nothing either of my life or creed. I therefore strove to elude the unexpected application of unwelcome truth; but the thing was impossible; there was no getting away from the searching pursuit of the speaker. He traced the half-awakened sinner through all the lanes and by-paths of subterfuge to which the pride of human nature is so prone, and having concentrated his energy, at once assaulted the conscience and convicted the heart. He then entered, with such minuteness, into my condition; gave such an account of the causes and cure of my uneasiness; hit upon my general train of thought and reasoning with nicety so miraculous; anticipated, and then overthrew my doubts with such force; guarded the moral law with penalties so terrific; and depicted the wide waste of human transgression with a pencil so true, that all my resources vanished. What was also wonderful, he entered into and conducted the discussion with such earnestness, as clearly proved the deep interest he took in the matter. No legal pleader, however magnificent the expected fee, ever took more pains to prove his point. The observations contained in the body of the discourse were acute, and to me original; from some of them, native corruption naturally recoiled; but before the mind had time to gather up itself, and put on the show of defence, he advanced some powerful scriptural quotation, so perfectly apposite and conclusive that all resistance was vain. Nor was I less delighted with the trouble he took to make himself understood; not that his enunciation was defective, or his style obscure or far-fetched, but, afraid lest the least portion of his meaning should be misapprehended, he placed himself, as it were, in different positions, from which he took varied and delightful views of several cardinal points of gospel truth; so that in the collected light, thus produced, it was next to impossible for the plainest understanding to misconceive his meaning.

The general effect of this remarkable pulpit exercise was, to constrain, rather than compel, men to embrace religion; and this was effected by the presentation of motive, so judiciously selected, and so elegantly urged, that no human being, unless his heart were adamant, could hear without emotion and obedience. The sermon was closed by an energetic appeal to the congregation on the necessity of personal piety, and of taking an immediate step in order to secure it; and from the profound silence that prevailed, the appeal was, I doubt not, effective. Who, indeed, could sit for an hour unmoved, while an approved minister of righteousness, not only in formal phraseology does his duty, by the cold and formal announcement of truth, but goes almost beyond himself, and strives, by every method which zeal and ingenuity can devise, to render that truth attractive, and save the souls of men? Let me subjoin another observation. Deep and vivid as was the impression produced by the preacher alluded to, I am not sure that he was to be numbered among those who are termed extremely popular. But an unction from the Lord, as if at a renewal of the pentecostal season, came down upon the word. The communings at Emmaus were revived, when Jesus Himself drew nigh, and broke the bread of life; so that many were fain to say, ‘Did not our hearts burn within us, while He talked by the way, and opened unto us the Scriptures?’ To my own mind, the entire service was very beneficial; that is, I acquired self-knowledge. The remembrance of my sins was grievous, and the burden, but for the mercy of God, intolerable. All my preconceived notions of bettering myself were exploded, nor could I offer any other prayer than that of the publican, ‘God be merciful to me a sinner.’ I dare not mention the name of the minister to whom these remarks refer; for he yet lives, and will, I trust, be preserved many years, a blessing to the Church. For many subsequent months the ministry of the Rev. Philip C. Turner was rendered exceedingly serviceable to my mind.

People may think as they please, but religion is no fable; neither is the work of grace upon the soul of man a mere hypothesis, to be examined with suspicion, and embraced or rejected at humour. If there be a genuine and awful reality on this side eternity, this is one; nor would I suppress my belief in the fact, for the applause of millions. Truth is great, and, though it be surveyed with scorn, must finally prevail.