26

ATONEMENT.-INFIDELITY IRRATIONAL. -AN INFIDEL'S CONFESSION.

mercy, of God. Repentance, sorrow, humiliation, contrition at the thought of his past conduct, seem, upon this account, the sentiments which become him, and to be the only means which he has left of appeasing that wrath which he has justly provoked. He even distrusts the efficacy of all these, and naturally fears lest the wisdom of God should not, like the weakness of man, be prevailed upon to spare the crime by the most importunate lamentations of the criminal. Some other intercession, some other sacrifice, some other atonement, he imagines, must be made for him beyond what he himself is capable of making, before the purity of the Divine justice can be reconciled to his manifold offences. The doctrines of revelation coincide, in every respect, with those original anticipations of nature; and, as they teach us how little we can depend upon the imperfections of our own virtue, so they show us, at the same time, that the most powerful intercession has been made, and that the most dreadful atonement has been paid, for our manifold transgressions and iniquities."

Wherever we turn our eyes-" to the myriads of beings, animate and inanimate, which surround us-to the world beyond our ken, to which imagination makes its excursions-to the world within, whence our soberest and deepest thoughts are sometimes drawn-above, about, and underneath, we behold, with an evidence that stifles all doubt, that GOD exists-exists to rule, and hence to be obeyed exists to bless, and therefore to be loved. Lord Herbert, a Deist, could infer that there is no man well, and entirely in his senses, that doth not worship some Deity; and that a rational beast is a thing less absurd than an irreligious man!" *

Infidelity is, therefore, as irrational in its principles as it is demoralising and pernicious in its influence. But you may think that I have overcharged the gloomy picture of an unbeliever's life. You may perhaps allege that my experience is tinged with a morbid melancholy; and that, like an Alpine peasant, dwelling in a dreary valley, which the sun has never gladdened with his beams, I hastily infer that the lot of all sceptics has been equally wretched with my own. Were that the case, you might fairly question the correctness of my conclusion. But, my dear friend, you will find that the sounds of disappointment and lamentation that issue from the vale of life, where the sunny spots are, alas, few and evanescent, are but the echoes of those bitter complaints that are heard on the brightest elevations of opulence "All and grandeur. Of this fact innumerable proofs might be adduced. is vanity and vexation of spirit," says Solomon, after pursuing the phantom of human happiness with all the advantages of absolute power, unbounded wealth, and unrivalled wisdom. Wooed by the syren song of hope, he entered many a hall consecrated to glory, many a chamber and many a bower devoted to pleasure; but, as he passed out over the threshold of each, he mournfully reiterated-" All is vanity and vexation of spirit." Nor is this experience peculiar to the monarch of Israel. His has found a response in the hearts of " the great" in every age. specimen the candid avowal of a noble sceptic of modern times. one you may judge of the whole tribe :

"I have run," says Lord Chesterfield, "I have business and pleasure, and have done with them all.

* Dr. Olinthus Gregory,

complaint

Take as a
From this

run the silly rounds of I have enjoyed all the

AN INFIDEL'S HOPE.-A DEVOTEE.

27

pleasures of the world, and, consequently, know their futility, and do not regret their loss. I apprise them at their real value, which is, in truth, very low; whereas those that have not experienced them always overrate them. They only see their gay outside, and are dazzled with their glare. But I have been behind the scenes; I have seen all the coarse pulleys and dirty ropes which exhibit and move the gaudy machines; and I have seen and smelt the tallow candles which illuminate the whole decoration to the astonishment and admiration of an ignorant audience. When I reflect back on what I have seen, what I have heard, and what I have done, I can hardly persuade myself that the frivolous hurry, and bustle, and pleasure of the world had any reality; but I look upon all that has passed as one of those romantic dreams that opium commonly occasions, and I do by no means desire to repeat the nauseous dose, for I am sick of the fugitive dream. Shall I tell you that I bear this melancholy situation with that constancy and resignation which most people boast of? No; for I really cannot help it. I bear it because I must bear it, whether I will or no. I think of nothing but of killing time the best way I can, now that it is become mine enemy. It is my resolution to sleep in the carriage the remainder of the journey."

Unhappy man! how much wiser would it have been to reflect on what might happen at the end of the journey, to escape "the wrath to come," by flying for refuge to a crucified Redeemer. But I must now conclude this letter.

LETTER. V.

MY DEAR FRIEND,-One of my companions during the sceptical state of my mind was retarded in his progress to the priesthood by want of money. Often did he allude to the words of Juvenal,* with a melancholy emphasis which showed that he spoke from the heart. "Alas!" he would say, "the

effort to rise is no less difficult in the modern Church than it was in the ancient city of Rome. 'Chill penury,' the fatal 'res angusta domi,' represses our energies, and effectually bars the road to eminence. The gods sold everything for labour, but the priests will not dispense their favours without money."

My friend had been very superstitious. He blessed himself before and after meals; and even drew the sacred sign over the sheets when retiring to rest, lest any satanic influence should chance to linger within their folds. He wore many rings and charms, and was, of course, regarded as a very holy person. He occupied himself incessantly in painting what he called “the sacred heart of Jesus," which was the picture of a heart radiating with love, and streaming with expiatory blood. This he frequently kissed with the utmost fervour. He was, moreover, a leader of the choir, and sang the

*"Haud facile emergunt quorum vertutibus obstat
Res angusta domi. Sed Romæ durior illis
Conatus."

28

28

A DEVOTEE.-PREDESTINATION.

matins and vespers apparently with great devotion. But, notwithstanding all his "charms," he fell into very gross sin, the priests "gave him up," and, as is usual in such cases, he was ultimately hurried down the stream of depravity into "a horrible pit."

"Believe nothing good of those who are righteous overmuch."*

Such is

the advice of the celebrated Bossuet, and it is not without force. This disposition to push matters to extremes belongs to what Shakspeare calls the "simular of virtue." A likeness, it is true, is preserved; but as Dr. Campbell well remarks, what is beautiful in the original is hideous in the

copy.

With this person I had frequent disputes on metaphysical theology. Often we sat apart

"In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high,
Of Providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate;
Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute,
And found no end in wandering mazes lost."

66

He

I remember I was, for argument's sake, Agustinian, and strenuously defended predestination. My friend appealed, by agreement, to a learned divine, in a neighbouring town, for a decision of the controversy. His reply was, that these matters were too high for us, and that such discussions should be abandoned for something more practical and profitable. was not, however, a believer in "foreknowledge absolute." "God," said he, “cannot see the future actions of men otherwise than as they really are in themselves. But future actions are contingent and possible; therefore, God sees them only as contingent or possible." That argument, I was wont to remark, takes for granted a very important step in the process-namely, that the actions of men are contingent in reference to the Divine arrangements. And, moreover," said I, "conditional foreknowledge is little better than absolute ignorance. For, from the unknown volitions of men, new events will be incessantly darting up, like bubbles, on the stream of life. The OMNISCIENT must, therefore, be daily acquiring fresh stores of knowledge, and must also frequently alter his purposes and proceedings to meet the unexpected emergencies that from time to time arise. Does not this view of the subject represent the Deity as anxiously watching the "wheel of fortune," that he may shape His course according to the new appearances that are perpetually exhibited by the operations of chance? And is it not, therefore, inconsistent with all correct notions of God ?"

The great body of the Irish priests, I conceive, take the Arminian side of this controversy; but there are not a few who hold the sentiments of St. Augustine. These speculative questions, however, were interesting to me rather as a student of nature than of theology; for I had come to regard Christianity itself only as one among the phenomena which the great

*Ne croyez jamais rien de bon de ceux qui outrent la vertu. "

+ The Rhemish annotators were decidedly predestinarian.

PREDESTINATION.-DISAPPOINTED CANDIDATE.

29

29

panorama of superstition had been from age to age exhibiting to the world. I had discarded the mysteries of religion for those of nature, and adored the divinity of philosophy instead of the GOD of revelation. But prudence demanded that opinions so obviously heterodox should be cautiously concealed ; for though there were some of my acquaintance who went nearly as far as myself, they yet found it convenient to suppress their sentiments, and conform to the reigning system.

Among these was a gentleman of great talent and considerable learning, who kept a preparatory school for young men destined to the priesthood. Three of his brothers were among the regular clergy, and he was himself educated as a priest; but having been engaged in a love affair that obtained some notoriety, he was not permitted to enter college, and he betook himself to teaching as a means of living.

"that

Once I heard him allude to this subject :-"You know," said he, when a boy is set apart for the sacred office, he is a pet with the whole neighbourhood. The embryo priest is looked on with reverence already, and is supposed to be invested with some degree of sanctity. He is especially flattered by pious females. His solemn designation to the service of the altar obviates the modest delicacy, and liability to misrepresentation, which, in other cases, influence their conduct. Towards the young "collegian," the current of affection may flow without control, as there is no room to impute a selfish motive. I need not say that the fond familiarity with which he is constantly beset is peculiarly dangerous. Never does love operate with an influence more fatal to virtue and happiness than when he borrows the mask of religion. This fact I was doomed to verify in my own experience.

"I loved," continued Mr. F.,* "one every way worthy of my regard. But our dream of happiness was troubled by dark anticipations of the future. We must part! This consideration began daily to throw a darker shade of sadness over all our intercourse, while it bound our hearts still closer together. The religious illusion that had concealed the real nature of our attachment was in my case gradually dissipated. The respectability and influence of the clerical office began to loose their charms in my estimation, and I lamented that celibacy should be the price at which they were procured. The time for going to Maynooth was approaching, and my brother had all matters satisafactorily arranged with the Bishop for the next vacancy that should occur. My resolution, however, began to fail, and I had serious thoughts of giving up the thing altogether; and this I at length resolved on doing, not, however, without a painful struggle of conscience. Miss S. received my proposal with mingled emotions. The feelings which she had so long endeavoured to disguise, even from herself, she began now to perceive in their true character. But to be the instrument of inducing a person to renounce the service of the altar she regarded as a thing so sacrilegious and so infamous, that my offer of marriage filled her mind with horror. I saw the tumult of conflicting feelings that agitated her bosom; and my own

* Many readers have, through inadvertence, applied this passage erroneously to the Author.

30

DISAPPOINTED CANDIDATE.-AN INFIDEL TEACHER.

mind was no less violently exercised by antagonist motives, now heightened to the utmost, and wrought up to the crisis of the struggle. Some days were spent in agonising deliberation. Resolving and resolving, my heart continued like the pendulum of a clock, to vibrate between “holy orders and matrimony.” “Meantime,” he added, “the circumstances of the case obtained publicity. Certain rash expressions, which escaped me in some moment of anguish, were reported to the parish priest. I soon received a note, signifying that I must dismiss the thought of going to college for some time; but ordering me to hold myself in readiness to attend to any future intimation on that subject. Almost immediately after this, Miss S. was, to my utter astonishment, suddenly married to an old farmer in the neighbourhood, of whose mean and selfish habits I often heard her speak with contempt. Attributing to clerical influence this hasty proceeding, so ruinous to the happiness of one whom I felt to be dearer to me than character or life, I was filled with indignation and disgust; and, under the influence of those feelings, got married privately, through dint of spite, to a person possessing many amiable qualities, it is true, but destitute of those higher attributes of talent and sensibility which had acted with too fatal an influence on my heart.

"On more mature reflection, however, I am inclined to think that Miss S. scarcely required the exercise of pastoral authority to induce her to take the step I have just alluded to. The attraction of wealth exerts a very powerful influence on the female mind-so powerful, indeed, as to overcome the repulsive operation of many things which would otherwise be quite intolerable. But, besides this, she naturally shrunk from sharing the destiny of one whom she must regard as devoted to disgrace and misery in the present life, and probably perdition in the next. The apostate candidate for the priesthood is looked on by the Irish peasantry as the most degraded of the children of wretchedness. Their belief on the subject, and the very comparison they employ, may be given in the words of a noble poet :—

'They melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!'

It is thought that a curse attends them, and all that concerns them. This conviction prevailing among the people, and operating on the mind of the individual himself, tends naturally to produce the wretchedness in which the characters in question are too often involved. Shunned by the respectable portion of society, and regarded with suspicion by all, their energies are relaxed, their hopes are blighted, and they seek in the intoxicating draught a refuge from those corroding cares and dark forebodings that unnerve the mind and break the heart. Hence it is, that nine out of ten of these unhappy men become confirmed sots and parish nuisances."

"Two causes," continued my friend, "have contributed to keep me from falling into the slough of despond. I was sustained by the interest of my brothers, who are priests, and I have had the courage to shake off the yoke of superstition, which is, indeed, a cleaving curse. But let it be once removed, and you can laugh at the thunders of the Church. Superstition is the conductor of the Papal lightning: it cannot injure him who is clothed in the armour of truth."