"These observations," said Mr. Stevens, "are quite correct; yet how few wish to live their life over again. Some, who have no hope of a blissful immortality, would not object to a second birth and to a second childhood; but in general they would prefer some other course of life than that which they have run, under a supposition that they should be able to avoid the evils by which they have been oppressed, and gain the prize of mental happiness, which they have never obtained."

"But the reluctance which we may feel to go back to infancy, and live through our past life is, in my opinion, no substantial argument against a preponderance of happiness in the world. If we prefer another course to that which we have run, it is because we calculate on a fewer number of evils, and a greater portion of enjoyment; but who would not willingly endure all the miseries which he has suffered, with the comforts with which he has been favoured, rather than die and enter the invisible world, where he knows not what destiny awaits him?"

"If we know not what destiny awaits us in the eternal world, we ought to prefer the endless continuance of life, even when associated with the severest afflictions, rather than wish for its termination; because here the most violent pulsations of anguish admit of some intermitting seasons of ease; but there, if we miss the prize, we shall be cast out into outer darkness, where will be weeping and gnashing of teeth, and for ever."

"This subject," said Mr. Roscoe, "at times almost overwhelms me; and like Job, when in his anguish, I am inclined to say, 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, there is a man-child conceived.' But this is useless. I am in being, and can't go out of existence. I may pass from one world to another, and sometimes wish to pass the line which separates the unseen from the visible world, that I may know the final issue; but this is not a permanent desire. No! the final issue of life is invested with such solemn and awful grandeur, so much personal and relative happiness or misery is dependent on it, that I feel either instinctively or morally afraid to anticipate it. Indeed, I should be a more happy man if I could disbelieve the immortality of the soul. Yes, I should. I could enjoy life; and though I might feel some occasional regret in prospect of ceasing to exist, yet then I should escape the awful sense of horror which sometimes fills my mind in the fearful apprehensions of future degradation and misery."

"I have thought," said Mr. Stevens, "from our former conversations, that you had no doubt of a state of future happiness."

"Very true, I once had no doubt, but then I never thought deeply on the subject. I felt confident that I should enter heaven, and participate in the joys of the blessed, immediately after my decease; but then I was under the power of that self-delusion which you so often entreated me to guard against. I sometimes felt a momentary elation in anticipation of seeing the beauty and grandeur of the heavenly world; but when I began to examine the foundation of my confidence, I found it giving way. I thought that the Supreme Being could not, consistently with his benevolence, inflict punishment in another world for the sins committed in this; and that the conscientious discharge of our relative duties towards each other, constituted the whole extent of our obligations to him. Hence I necessarily expected a state of future happiness; but, by a closer examination of the Scriptures, I am convinced that he has appointed a day in which the administration of justice will be conducted impartially; when the motives of human action, as well as the actions of human life, will undergo a strict investigation, and we shall be rewarded or punished according as we have done good or evil."

"This is a very important discovery, and may be regarded as the beginning of a great change in your religious opinions—a change which may lead to the most happy results."

"But can such a discovery, which has plunged me into an abyss of terrific horror, ever lead to any favourable issue?"

"Yes, Sir, it can. It is the discovery of our guilt and our danger that predisposes and impels us to receive the Christian faith as exactly adapted to our moral condition. Until this discovery is made, the scheme of salvation which is revealed in the Bible may be contemplated as true, without being felt as necessary; and the mind, perplexed and bewildered by the speculative doctrines of its own belief, may admit them in theory, and yet reject their practical application. But when we feel our guilt, and perceive the moral danger to which it inevitably exposes us, we necessarily ask the question which the jailer of Philippi once put to the apostle, 'What must I do to be saved?' Will a person ever put such a question till he feels that he is in danger of being lost?"

"Certainly not; but when he does feel that danger, the question becomes not only proper, but one of paramount importance. And what MUST we do?"

"As you have admitted the importance of the question, I at once reply to it, and do so by quoting the language which the apostle used when it was proposed to him—'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.' This reply corresponds with the language of Jesus Christ himself, who says, 'God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' Hence you perceive that our salvation is made to depend on our belief in Christ; but it must be obvious to you that it must be such a belief as will produce a practical effect. Not a vague and inoperative assent, which leaves the mind in a state of moral apathy, neither alarmed by a perception of danger, nor delighted by the promise of deliverance; but that strong faith in the efficacy of the Saviour's death, and his willingness to save, which will impel us to make a direct and a constant appeal to him."

"I am aware that a change is taking place in my religious opinions, or rather, that my religious opinions are beginning to produce a deeper impression in my heart; but my happiness is not increased by it. Indeed, I cannot account for the singular restlessness and depression of my mind. I once could pray with ease and pleasure; but now, if I make the effort, I cannot do it. I once had great delight in reading the Scriptures, but now I cannot understand them. The more I read and reflect, the deeper I am involved in mental perplexity; and such is the perturbed state of my feelings, that unless it please God to interpose, and give me some relief, I shall be lost."

As he gave utterance to these expressions, we were no less astonished than delighted; and the rapid interchange of looks, seemed to indicate a positive mistrust of our senses. A perfect silence prevailed among us for some minutes, while each one felt grateful to Him who was in the act of redeeming a noble spirit from the bondage of ignorance and self-delusion, by pouring into the recesses of his soul the light of truth. At length Mr. Stevens said, with an emphasis which I shall never forget,

"Permit me, my dear Sir, to offer you my congratulations. Your present depression is to me a source of unutterable joy. Your spirit is wounded by an unseen hand; but there is balm in Gilead—there is a Physician there. You are involved in a state of mental perplexity, which increases in proportion as you labour to extricate yourself; but the day-star will ere long arise in your heart, and then, under the light of a clear manifestation of the truth, you will not only see its beauties, but feel its moral power. You may be tempted to conclude that your case is singular, and that you shall never be able to derive any consolation from the promises of the Bible; but you must guard against receiving such an impression; and remember that He who, when on earth, opened the eyes of the blind, and made the dumb to sing, and He alone, can give you that spiritual discernment which constitutes the essential difference between a real and a nominal Christian."

Mr. Roscoe felt somewhat embarrassed by this powerful appeal; but recovering himself, and assuming his natural dignity of manner, he said, in a subdued tone, "I have much to unlearn, and much to learn, before I can become a real Christian. The following passage, in one of St. Paul's epistles, has often puzzled me, but now I begin to understand its meaning: 'Let no man deceive himself. If any man among you seemeth to be wise in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise.' I once thought that I could acquire a knowledge of the theory of revealed truth by the mere effort of intellectual research and investigation, as we acquire a knowledge of any human science; and perhaps few men have devoted more time to the study of it than myself; but I have hitherto neglected to implore wisdom from above, because I did not think it necessary. And the result of all my mental application is a painful discovery of my own ignorance, and even this was not made till I saw my danger. My dear Sophia has often told me that a Divine illumination of the mind is the great secret in personal religion; but I could form no conception of her meaning. Such a sentiment appeared to me not only unnecessary, but absurd; and I often feared, when she has been speaking on this subject, that her understanding was bewildered amidst the unintelligible reveries of a mystical theology. Sometimes, it is true, her arguments would be attended with so much force and skill that she has compelled me to change the subject of debate; but on a recent occasion, when she quoted the passage, 'But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned,' it made so deep an impression upon my heart, that from that hour to the present I have undergone a perpetual conflict between my prejudices and convictions."

Mr. Roscoe had engaged to return home early in the evening, and now withdrew, but not without expressing the great pleasure which the conversation had afforded him, and making us promise that we would spend an evening at his house in the following week.

Mr. Stevens and I walked with him the greater part of the way home. It was a lovely evening. The moon was just rising above the top of a distant hill; and, as we were entering the grove, we lingered to listen to the songs of the nightingales responding to each other.

"Here is melody," said Mr. Roscoe. "Here is the song of innocence. Here is sweet contentment. And why is the bird of night more happy than man? Ah! why?"

"Because," said Mr. Stevens, "man is fallen from that state of purity and honour in which he was created, and it is wisely ordained that misery shall be the consequence of sin." We now bade him adieu.

On our return, Mrs. Stevens said, "I should like to send a note to Miss Roscoe, to tell her the nature of our conversation with her father. Dear creature, it will make her so glad."

"I think you had better defer doing so till to-morrow; and even then I would advise you to avoid precipitancy. Her mind has recently been under very strong excitement, and as such news will necessarily produce a powerful effect, great prudence is needful on your part in making this communication. As she has to pass from the deepest anxiety to the most elevated joy, she ought not to be startled by a hasty communication; it should be made cautiously, that the transition of feeling may be gradual, instead of rushing in upon her with overpowering force."

"Perhaps, when he sees her, he will make some allusion to the subject of our conversation, which may lead to an entire disclosure of the state of his feelings. What a change! How surprising! I seem as if I were suddenly roused from an enchanting dream."

"Yes, my dear," said Mr. Stevens, "it is surprising that the Lord of glory should condescend to subdue the enmity of the human heart, and thus make the child of disobedience an heir of glory; but it ought not to surprise us. If we look back, we shall remember the time when to us the theatre possessed more attractions than the house of God, and the follies of gay life gave us more delight than the exercises of devotion; 'but God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ (by grace are we saved), and hath raised us up together, and made us sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus.'"

"If," said Mrs. Stevens, "Mr. Roscoe should come forth a decided character, it will make a powerful impression on his irreligious friends. Surely they will not be able to withstand the force of such a striking evidence in favour of the divine origin of the Christian faith—why, it is a self-evident demonstration. I begin to anticipate the happiest results."

"But, my dear, you must not be too sanguine; Mr. Roscoe may not come forth so soon, nor so decidedly, as you anticipate. Though I trust the great moral change has taken place which distinguishes the real from the nominal Christian, yet, as his mind is of a very singular order, we may conclude it will still retain its individuality, and develope its new qualities with that precision and precaution which are its distinctive characteristics. We may calculate on decision, but not rash or hasty decision; on energy, but not much ardent zeal; and on unbending integrity and unremitting constancy; but his progression is likely to be that of a man moving onwards with the dignity of principle, rather than under the impulse of strong passion."

"But do you not suppose that he will go to Broadhurst, and hear our dear Mr. Ingleby next Sabbath?"

"Certainly not; you are not to conclude, from the conversation of this evening, that he yet sees the truth with perfect clearness. No, he rather resembles the man of whom we read in the gospel, who, when the mystic power commenced its mighty operation, saw men so indistinctly that they appeared 'like trees walking.' The film is but partially removed from the eye of his understanding; and though he has the power of spiritual discernment, yet not perfectly. And such is the degree of influence which prejudice, and family, and social connections may still have over his mind, that probably he will not very soon break through his long-established habits, and mingle among us as one of our own people. Indeed, I hardly wish it; because it will be so extraordinary, that it would be considered as a religious mania, taken as by some kind of mysterious infection, rather than the positive result of deep thought, and cool and deliberate judgment. Oh, no; minds, when under the dominion of grace, are usually governed according to the settled laws of their own constitution; and hence the difference of conduct, in relation to an open profession of religion, which is so apparent among the heirs of salvation."

"I am sure Mr. Ingleby will be delighted to hear of it. I have often heard him say, that the conversion of a moral man to the faith of Christ is a more decisive proof of the efficacy of Divine truth, than the conversion of an immoral man, and a much more rare occurrence."

"Yes, my dear, it is more rare, and more difficult, because it is not so easy to convince of mental sin as of an overt act of impiety; but I do not wish that there should be even the most distant allusion made on the subject to any one but Miss Roscoe."

"My dear, you surprise me."

"Perhaps I may, but I think you will be satisfied with my reasons for wishing silence to be observed. If we hastily proclaim to our friends that Mr. Roscoe has undergone a great change in his religious opinions and principles, we may raise expectations which his cautious habit of mind may disappoint, at least for a season, and thus bring on ourselves the censures of some, for stating as a fact what we merely wish to be true. And not only so, but we shall deprive his decision of that power of impression which I think it will ultimately possess. For if we are more forward to speak of such a mental change than he is to profess it, we may be considered as the originators of it; and in that case his example will not have such a powerful influence over his irreligious friends, as it will have if it appear to be the result, as I expect it will, of calm deliberation. He will move with great caution, and we should speak with equal caution."

"What effect do you think his conversion will have on Mrs. Roscoe?"

"Why, unless it should please God to interpose, and bring her to the knowledge of the truth, I have no doubt but it will be regarded by her as some astounding and destructive visitation, sent by an unknown hand to destroy her happiness for life. She is but partially reconciled to the piety of her daughter; and, even now, expresses not only her surprise, but her deep regret; and if her husband become pious (as I have no doubt but he will), though she may endeavour to conform herself to his religious habits, yet it will be with extreme reluctance. But perhaps by his conversation, and the dignified consistency of his conduct, he may succeed in process of time, in answer to his own fervent prayers and the wrestling prayers of dear Sophia, in winning her to Christ."

"It is possible, nay, very probable, as prayer will be made for her continually; and the prayer of faith brings to pass moral wonders. We may live to hail them both as fellow-heirs of the grace of life."

"What a blissful consummation!"