RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS. in the discourses of Jesus and His apostles,—is equally worthy of its Divine Author, and beneficial to mankind. I believe no human being, of any other profession, can ever be half so happy as a true believer in it, and why? Because his faith is certain; no doubt of the truth of his religion can possibly remain on his mind; whereas the most enlightened deistical philosopher is at best but [half a line crossed out] a half convert to the opinion he professes. He believes, not that there is a God,- that the soul of man is immortal,—but that there may be a God,— that the soul of man may be immortal: he hopes for, not expects, a day of retribution: consequently the spur to his virtues is blunt, and the bridle to his vices weaker, than if he were assured of the future reward of the one, and punishment of the other. But my paper is full.” CHAPTER VII. SELF UPBRAIDINGS- CONFLICTS AND WAVERINGSLETTERS TO HIS BROTHER-SPIRITUAL DARKNESS-RIGHT VIEWS OF SAVING FAITH SPIRITUAL LIGHT—VIEWS ON HYMN WRITING — NOTE TO A QUAKER FRIEND. THE preceding letter brings us to that period of Montgomery's personal history when eternal things re-asserted their claims upon his attention. His checkered fortunes have hitherto been the battling of circumstances, the great bread-and-butter struggle often necessary at the outset of life to develope what a man is, and to determine his course in the world. Without the antecedents of friends, fortune, or patronage, to help him in the fight, he has bravely sustained himself, and secured a position of trust and comfort, looking out upon a future of honorable competency and dawning fame. Fresh sources of unrest now unseal themselves within. He feels that he has drifted from the old landmarks of his religious faith, and is breasting an ocean of perilous uncertainty. A deep sense of spiritual orphanage takes possession of his soul; he is far from his Father's house, and the Living Way is obscured with doubts. "Oh where shall rest be found, Rest for the weary soul? "T were vain the ocean depths to sound, Or pierce to either pole! CONFLICTS AND WAVERINGS. The world can never give The bliss for which we sigh; "Tis not the whole of life to live, such is the mournful utterance of his spirit. 97 His early religious education he cannot ignore. Divorced from God, what can a reasonable man hope for? Wedded to the world, who has ever found it could satisfy the cravings of immortal want? More than this, it reminded him of the trust he once had in the Saviour of lost men; the peace which filled his bosom when redeeming love smiled upon his penitent confessions, healed the breaches of sin, and made him strong and joyful in the blessed fellowship of holy things. Early piety and privileges seem more real and precious as he grows older, and with a profound sense of their loss come fearful forebodings of that "death, whose pang Outlasts the fleeting breath." Though Montgomery had never left the paths of respectable morality, he seems to have abandoned all that distinctively belongs to a religious life. Defection of the heart from God is now bearing its bitter fruit. An enlightened conscience and an unfilial spirit are in conflict. The doctrines of the Cross he cannot reject, while the rebel will quarrels with their strictness. The requirements of the gospel seem harsh and severe without that love which transmutes what seem to be tasks into loyal tributes and holy service to the Lord of Life and Glory. Its renunciations of the world wear an icy look, and he shrinks from their barren grandeur, for he does not experience the rich compensations in store for faithful believers. The anti thetic mystery of the Scriptures is not yet revealed to him; -"dying, yet behold we live"-"sorrowful, yet always rejoicing"-"having nothing and yet possessing all things" -than which, nothing so unfolds the riches of redeeming love. Long an outcast from his Father's house, like the returning prodigal, he began "to be in want." The circle into which he was first thrown at Sheffield was of the Unitarian persuasion. No Moravian pilgrims had pitched their tent there. Every year he visited Fulneck, the Eden of the world to him,—and renewed the endearing intimacies of his boyhood. The Brethren received him with fatherly cordiality, and, we doubt not, strove to renew the defaced piety of their wandering child. In the light of an increasing seriousness of mind, the witty use of Scripture phrases he abandoned as irreverent and trifling; a graver tone appeared in his articles; club meetings at the "Wicker," where pipes and politics, literature, fine arts, and the social glass, diversified the evening, he felt less relish for; and finally, preparing one night to go out and meet his friends, he took down his overcoat, but instead of putting it on, he reflected, hesitated, and returning it to its accustomed peg, seated himself at his own fireside, and never resumed his place among the jovial sociabilities of the club or tavern. More frequently he dropped into the Methodist chapels, occupied at the time by men of fervent piety; and often he stole to a little class-meeting, in the lowly cottage of a Methodist brother, where, in the happy experience and hearty devotion of these humble believers, he beheld that living faith which his soul yearned for. From a letter to his brother Ignatius, ordained a clergy LETTER TO HIS BROTHER. 99 man, and now teacher at Fulneck, we make the following extract: "You see, dear brother, how apt I am to look far before me, much farther, indeed, than I can see; and my heart aches so often, that it hardly knows any other sensations than those of remorse, apprehension, and despondency. I have almost outlived my hopes, in this world, I mean my worldly hopes. How comes it, brother, that we seldom, perhaps never, seriously turn our thoughts to eternity till we have been disgusted with the vanity, and sickened with the disappointments of time? Why cannot we embrace both this world and the next at once? Is the enjoyment of the one incompatible with the other? Am I to lead a life of self-denial and suffering, as cruel-and, I verily believe, as unprofitable-as the mortifications of a hermit, for the sake, or, rather, as an indispensable condition of salvation? You cannot mistake me here, and imagine that I mean by the enjoyment of the world an indulgence in criminal excesses. I mean only those pleasures which men of strictly moral and conscientious minds think innocent, but against which the Dissenters and Methodists inveigh with a bitterness and bigotry that makes me sometimes imagine that religion is, indeed, a cross on which its professors are condemned to linger out their lives in agonies; but I must not expatiate on this subject, lest I should be betrayed into impiety of speech on what almost turns my brain to contemplate. Yet all this I think I could be content to suffer for the assurance of that peace with God which they profess to feel, and to which I am almost an utter stranger. I have no confidence towards him, except what all the world must have, a confidence that he is good, and that what he does is right, whether I comprehend it or not; and that if he shuts me up in everlasting |