Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB
[ocr errors]

O Eusebia, I could formerly have heard such discourse with pleasure: but now I was filled with the most poignant grief. In answer to my father, I begged him to give me his thoughts on this passage in the word of God: For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are called; but God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen; yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are: that no flesh should glory in his presence.

Of what use is it to quote Scripture, cried my father; Scripture may be quoted for any thing.

After this private conversation, my father said to my aunt, when we were at tea, I hope, Madam, you will be so obliging as to accompany my daughter and me to the play. The tragedy of Macbeth will be acted at Drury-lane. I admire Shakspeare; he was the most original genius in the world; and in his fairies and witches he never had, and probably never will have an equal.

I am willing, Sir, replied my aunt, that he should have all the honour which accrues from excelling in the invention of such sinful amusements.

I tell you what, Madam, said my father, I would rather go to see a play written by that immortal bard, than to hear the best sermon that ever was preached, and there would be more to be learned by it. But the question is, will you oblige me and go with us?

When

Indeed I will not, replied she; nor will I consent that my niece shall go while she is under my care. she is in the country she may do as she pleases.

Nay, Madam, answered my father, when she is in the country, she shall do as I please. I am afraid, sister, you have filled her head so full of religion, that it will be the cause of many a quarrel between us; for I shall insist upon her being as she used to be.

I assure you, brother, replied my aunt, it will be in vain to expect it. Your daughter was a thoughtless creature, and lived without the fear of God. Now she has learned to fear him, who, after he has killed, is able to cast into hell and I dare say she would rather suffer the greatest

:

evil than go to a playhouse, or do any thing deliberately to offend God.

So then, Madam, cried my father, raising his voice, (I perceived he was angry,) you have taught her, I observe, to set me at defiance; but we shall see when she is at home who will be the greatest coward, she or I. My daughter knew that I abhorred pretenders to religion, as I hate toads or vipers; and yet she must become one of those whining hypocrites. I must say I hate them, and shall for ever hate them.

I was bathed in tears, as I well might, at a conversation so truly alarming: but, wiping my eyes and falling upon. my knees, I implored my dear parent not to desire me to offend my Creator. In every matter wherein I could conscientiously oblige him, I promised to be obedient without reserve.

Well, Miranda, cried my father, angrily, you may either go or stay: I shall ask you no more.

My aunt replied, that she was certain I would gladly do all, or even more than he could desire, where I could do so without breaking the divine commands.

At this my father laughed, and desired to know which of the commandments was broken by going to a play?

The whole of the moral law, replied she, is comprised in love to the Author of our being, and in love to our neighbour. But it cannot be said of those who delight in such vanities that their conversation is in heaven, or that they have any knowledge of, or true love to God. And if by our example we countenance our neighbour in sin, it cannot be said that we have any true love to him. So that to frequent those indecent assemblies

Come, come, sister, interrupted my father, a sermon once a week is more than sufficient, except it be a very short one indeed. I have no doubt but as honest men as any in the kingdom frequent the theatre constantly; and if I fare as well as they, I dare say I shall not be very badly off.

As soon as my father had said this, he ordered his man to call a coach, and went away without asking me to accompany him. But he has since been very cross when he has been here, which has not been often; for he has a suit depending in chancery, so that a good deal of his time has been taken up with his attorney and counsel.

We shall be in the country in a few days, with the divine permission, when I hope to have the pleasure of seeing my dear friend. But I fear that if bonds and imprisonments do not await me, as they frequently have done the servants of Jesus Christ, I shall suffer a great deal from my dear parent, who only does as I should now have done, if the mercy of God had not prevented.

Pray remember our love to Thomas and his wife. My aunt desires you will correspond with her after I am gone, and also continue your narrative. She was so kind as to intreat my father to let me stay; to which he only answered, In my humble opinion, sister, she has been here too long already, except she had studied the fifth commandment as well as the rest. My dear Eusebia,

I am your most affectionate friend,

And companion in affliction,

MIRANDA BARNWELL.

LETTER XI.

From Miss Eusebia Neville to Mrs. Worthington,

DEAR MADAM,

YOUR niece's account of what she has suffered, and of what she is likely to suffer, from her parent, has made me low-spirited, as I fear it is only a prelude to my own trials. I expect my father and sister, and father Albino, will be at home next week, at which time I intend to visit my dear Miranda, if I hear that she is arrived at Barnwell. I expect no more comfort at the Abbey, since I dare not any longer conform to that idolatrous worship wherein I was educated.

It is your desire, Madam, that I should continue my narrative. This I will gladly do, or any thing else wherein I can oblige Mrs. Worthington.

I have already related how much I was affected with reading the examinations and martyrdom of Mr. Philpot and many others. Yet, although impressed with unfavourable sentiments concerning the church of Rome, I consoled myself with the reflection, that the same murde

rous principle was imbibed by those who had separated from us. It sometimes amazes me, that so excellent a person as Calvin should consent to the burning of Servetus; not to mention other similar tragedies performed in England the moment the Reformers got the power into their own hands. At first view it seems as if the contest between them and the catholics was, which of the two parties had the greatest right to persecute. But I am now persuaded, that wherever the civil magistrate is excited by the adversary of mankind to favour one sect or denomination of Christians above the rest, and to bestow the wealth of the people upon it, Satan will always enter with that sop, and the betraying of Christ and his cause, and the murder of his faithful servants, will inevitably follow.

About this time last year my father and sister and I were at a friend's house in London, upon a visit, where we stayed a month, the longest month I ever saw. One day my sister and I crossed Smithfield, to go through the Cloisters, in our way to Cheapside. I looked around me, and though I did all in my power to suppress my emotion, could not avoid shedding tears at the remembrance of the many servants of Christ who had sealed the truth in that place with their blood. My sister asked me what was the matter. When I was able to speak, I told her truly that I was grieved at the heart to see a place where so many protestants had been put to death, to the reproach and scandal of our religion.

Indeed, said my sister, I am not sorry about it. I have often heard my father say it was their own fault. If they would have renounced their heresy, even at the stake, their lives would have been spared.

Ah, Maria, cried I, how would you think a protestant reasoned, if you were fastened to a stake for being a catholic, and he were to tell you, that if you were burned it would be your own fault, since if you would renounce your heresy, even at the stake, you might live?

The case, replied she, is not parallel; is there no difference between catholics and heretics?

Too little, answered I, between catholics and some protestants; for catholics and protestants have murdered each other on a religious account, which was imitating lions and tigers more than the meek and lowly Jesus, who went about doing good, and came to save men's lives, and not to destroy them.

You may say what you please, interrupted my sister angrily; but in my opinion, we ought no more to pity heretics, than snakes or vermin, which were made to be destroyed. I made no reply, as I perceived that my sister and I saw things in a very different light, not only in this, but in almost every thing besides.

We had a good deal of altercation while we were in London about dress; my sister being fond of making a gay appearance, and I choosing to dress very plain. She wore a high head-dress, in the very top of the fashion; and she could not persuade me, either with good words or chiding, to dress any otherwise than I had been used to do; for I always abhorred the fickle, fantastic extremes in the dresses of our sex, and my father was of my mind. My sister was very angry. She thought it decent, she said, to follow the fashion, however ridiculous it might seem, because custom gave a sanction to every thing; adding, that there was as much pride in aiming to appear singular, as in dressing like other people. However specious this reasoning might be, I could not think of spending half my time under the hands of a hair-dresser, that I might have twelve inches added to my stature. I therefore was sufficiently unfashionable, and was, by many persons, despised as a plain country-girl; which made Maria peevishly tell me, that a fine face and shape were thrown away upon me; and that people did not deserve such things who did not know how to make use of them. Or rather, cried she, you are a little too conscious of your own perfections, and look down with contempt on the aid you might receive from dress.-I generally made no answer to compliments of this kind, since all the wrangling in the world would not have changed our sentiments. I was glad when I had returned into the country. To those who can take pleasure in masquerades, routs, and assemblies, together with theatrical entertainments and other public amusements, I will thankfully resign my share of them. I would much rather converse with trees and flowers, or the brute creation, than with mankind. The fulsome flattery and artful designs of some; the self-sufficiency, the haughty looks, and the sneering pride of others; and the poor, vain pursuits of almost all; have given me an unfavourable opinion of human nature. O my dear friends, if I had lived in London a hundred years, and had spent

« AnteriorContinuar »