himself, possessed much influence over him, and who, instead of permitting him to waste his time in the frivolous way too often pursued by youthful travellers, directed his attention to every object that could enlarge his mind, improve his taste, or impart to him useful knowledge. With all these risks of becoming a savan, or a virtuoso, Edward Romilly was neither; he had gained all the advantages his tutor desired for him, without injuring the unaffected simplicity of his truly English character. His chief aim in life apparently was, to receive and impart enjoyment; he had seen and read much, and was daily making new acquisitions in knowledge; but his sole motive seemed to be, to provide his contribution to the agrémens of life; and so far was he from trying to show himself off in conversation, that he appeared to furnish his quota of information rather as a duty, and in order to entitle him to the communications of others, than as considering it particularly valuable. As there were few subjects of which he had not some knowledge, he could make himself an agreeable companion to every one. He talked of politics with Mr. Montague, of books with Louisa, of flowers with Letitia, and of music with Emma. Nor were he and I destitute of topics in common: he was, though a conservative, (I beg pardon for the uncomplimentary conjunction,) a great friend to popular education, which his predecessor, though a whig, had miserably neglected on his estates; and he was now engaged in making inquiries respecting the population of the villages and hamlets on his property, with the view of building schools. We had many discussions on his future plans; and I was delighted with the good sense, and knowledge of the human mind, which he displayed in the prudent and widelyplanned schemes he spake of, for the moral improvement of the people. His manners were a happy mixture of the attentive gallantry of the continent, and good old English sincerity. He had that preference for female society which is generally manifested in amiable men; but he treated women as rational companions; not as idols to be worshipped, or play-things to be jested with. Nor were his attentions exclusively devoted to the young and handsome; he appeared to seek from each whatever she was able to impart of amusement or instruction; and even aunt Patty came in for her full share of his friendly notice. Such was the fair side of Edward Romilly's character. He often reminded me of the young man whom our Saviour loved, but to whom he said, "Yet lackest thou one thing." The one thing lacking in him, was a heart devoted to God. He had that respect for the externals of religion which every man of sense possesses; he had even more-he manifested much of what is called pious feeling; that is, he entertained such sentiments towards a Supreme Being as might be suitable to an unfallen creature : the expression of his devotional feelings, if addressed to God, would probably have been in the strain of Adam and Eve's morning hymn. But to the peculiar doctrines of Christianity, he had the usual enmity of the carnal mind; he had no idea of the fall of man, save as an excuse for his infirmities; nor any idea of the gospel, beyond a vague notion that the merits of Christ make up the balance of our deficiences. Spiritual religion he viewed as a gloomy and austere thing, interfering with men's innocent enjoyments, and breaking up the harmony of society. Though I never heard him directly state all this, I had no difficulty in ascertaining that such were his opinions, as Maria Compton had an abundance of anecdotes, which she was very fond of narrating, of the mischief and dissension caused in families, where one of the members took religious whims, as she called them. He cordially assented to all she said; and when I ventured to express my opinion on the subject, he turned it off with a polite indifference, which plainly said, At your age, women may be as religious as they please.' MARTHA MARKWELL. THOU art a dim-seen speck upon the main, All nations of the earth look unto thee, And proud thou smilest in the general gaze; If e'er to traitorous yoke thou bend'st the knee, Awful will be thy freedom's final days! Thy death shall share the glory of thy life, No chain shall clank round thy unsullied form, But as thou'st ris'n in thunder and in strife, So shalt thou sink in lightning and in storm. THE NATURE AND SIN OF UNBELIEF. UNBELIEF is the natural consequence of a deceitful heart, which, having no foundation of its own to rest upon, is unable to bear up under the weight and preponderating influence of truth. It is only surprising that it can at all resist so potent an adversary; and indeed, when they encounter in the open field, it is soon trampled under foot: but unbelief is a kind of Proteus, for ever changing its shape and appearance. It has as many disguises as there are deceitful imaginations in the human heart; and when driven from one hiding-place, soon takes refuge in another. Like those hardy mountaineers, whose natural resources enable them to carry on a successful warfare against enemies more numerous and powerful than themselves, unbelief possesses the citadel of the heart as her native region, and employs all its powers against her unknown yet dreaded antagonist. The beams of truth must be reflected and refracted into a thousand various forms, ere they can reach its subtle deceptions, and will thus frequently lose much of their pure and colourless simplicity. Since there is no believing a moral truth, of which there is no moral evidence existing in the mind, it is manifestly impossible that the evil heart of unbelief can receive the testimony which God has given of his Son. Who can believe in the existence of a feeling he has neither known nor understood? Can a heart wrapt up in selfish desires and gratifications, so much as conceive of an uncalled-for, unlookedfor, unmerited, self-devoting exercise of love, on the part of a Being infinitely great, towards creatures infinitely vile and miserable? Surely to a mind of this description such love would appear to be little better than folly and absurdity. Faith is therefore a principle implanted in the heart; whoever believes in the love of Christ for sinners, must have "the witness in himself,” the witness of his affections, and of his understanding, that this love is neither contrary to reason nor to the feelings of his heart. But we must not wait until our understanding and affections are properly constituted for receiving the testimony of Jesus; for it is by the act of believing him to be the Son of God that the enmity of the heart is conquered. He thus becomes our brother and our flesh; as such we are constrained to love him. By assuming our suffering nature he has performed the part of a Kinsman Redeemer, and therefore as the Head and Representative of the whole family in heaven and earth, we yield him our cheerful and grateful obedience. All things are possible with God; but the sinner that has been brought into fellowship with him by his Son, can conceive of no other means that could ever have led him cordially to adore his power and reverence his will. So deep and so black is the apostacy of nature, that we need to see how it could mar the features of Deity, and sadden His countenance, in whose presence is the fulness of joy, before we can perceive its true character, and how deadly a sting those very sins could inflict upon the Holy and Just One, which have been too often our jest and plaything. |