neither gown nor bands on this week-evening, yet the Preacher must be Mr. Charles Wesley.' On whispering to one my eager feelings, I was answered in the affirmative. The venerable Thomas Westall,* the third or fourth lay-Preacher, he remarked, was sitting behind him in the pulpit." City-Road, March 2d, 1847. THOMAS MARRIOTT. VIRTUE AND VICE, ACCORDING TO HUMAN WISDOM AND THE DIVINE LAW. TRANSLATED FROM CHATEAUBRIAND'S " GENIE DU CHRISTIANISME." (For the Wesleyan-Methodist Magazine.) THE greater number of the philosophers of antiquity have distributed the vices and the virtues into several classes; but here, as in other cases, the wisdom of man is far exceeded by the wisdom of God. At first, let us only consider pride, which the Christian religion marks as the chief of all vices. It is the sin of Satan,-the first sin that entered the world. It is so thoroughly the principle of evil, that it is found mixed with the diverse infirmities of the soul: it burns in the sneers of envy, glitters in the pleasures of the voluptuous, counts the gold of avarice, sparkles in the eyes of anger, and pillows the elegancies of effeminacy. It caused the fall of Adam, armed Cain with the club of a fratricide, elevated Babel, and overthrew Babylon. And in the particular circumstances of life, more mournful still are its effects. It rises up against God himself. If religious philosophy has given to pride the first place in the scale of human degradations, the other six capital vices are not less ably classed. The order in which they are ranged is not arbitrary: it is sufficient to examine it, to perceive clearly that religion passes from crimes which attack society in general, to the faults which affect only the culpable. Thus, envy, luxury, avarice, and anger, follow immediately after pride, because these vices act upon others; whereas gluttony and idleness, which are placed the last, are solitary and disgraceful inclinations, seeking their chief pleasures in themselves. In the virtues preferred by Christianity, and in the rank which it assigns to them, there is the same knowledge of human nature. Before Christ, and apart from revelation, the soul of man was a chaos: the Word spoke, and directly all was reduced to order in the intellectual world, as the same word had before arranged all in the physical world: it was the moral creation of the universe. The virtues arose in the heavens as pure fires: some, like splendid suns, commanded attention by their brilliant light; others, as modest stars, seeking the modesty of shade, where, nevertheless, they would not be concealed. From that period an admirable balance was seen between strength and weakness; religion directed its thunders against pride, a vice which derived aliment even from the virtues; discovering it in the inmost folds of the heart, and pursuing it under every change of form: and humility, with downcast and tearful eyes, became one of the first virtues of the faithful. * In 1744, this excellent man was seized when preaching at Camborne on the Lord's day; and committed, by Dr. Borlase, the clerical Magistrate and the histo rian of the county, to Bodmin jail as a vagrant. (Jackson's Life of C. Wesley, vol. i., p. 408.) And what were the virtues so much extolled by the sages of Greece? Fortitude, temperance, and prudence. It was Christ alone who could teach the world that faith, hope, and charity are virtues which equally suit the ignorance and the misery of man. It is, indeed, the highest reason, which shows us in FAITH the very source of virtues. There is no power but in conviction. An argument is not strong, a poem not divine, a painting not fine and beautiful, unless the mind or the eye which judges is convinced of a certain truth contained in this reasoning, this power, this picture. A small number of soldiers, persuaded of the ability of their General, may accomplish wonders. Lacedæmon trusted itself to Lycurgus: Lacedæmon became the wisest of cities. Babylon believed itself made for grandeur; and to the worldly faith of Babylon worldly grandeur prostituted itself. An oracle gave the world to the Romans: Rome conquered the world. Columbus, standing alone, resolutely believed there was a new universe to be discovered; and across the waves Columbus found it. Friendship, patriotism, love,―all noble sentiments, are also a species of faith. And thus, they whose hearts believe nothing, treating as illusions the affections of the soul, and admirable conduct as folly, who regard with pity and contempt the imaginings and tenderness of true genius; never accomplish anything that is grand or generous they have faith in nothing but matter and death; and already are they as insensible as the one, and as cold as the other. In the language of the ancient chivalry, to pledge one's faith was the synonyme of all the prodigies of honour. History, at this day, proclaims the renown of the men who gave their faith and homage to their God, their lady, and their King. What venerable and touching ideas attach themselves to one single word, foyer,* the etymology of which is so remarkable! Look at the martyrs,-those heroes who, according to Ambrose, without armies, vanquished tyrants, softened lions, withdrew its violence from the fire, and its edge from the sword. Faith by itself, thus regarded, is a force so terrible, that, were it perversely applied, it would upset the world. There is nothing that the man is not capable of executing, who is under the yoke of an intimate persuasion, and who unconditionally submits his own intellect to that of another. And this proves that even virtues the most eminent, when separated from God, and only considered in reference to themselves, approach very nearly to great vices. Had the philosophers observed this, they would not have taken so much pains in assigning the precise limits of evil and good. Christianity has no need, as Aristotle had, of inventing so ingeniously a scale in which he might place a virtue between two extremes: it has removed the difficulty at once in showing us that the virtues are only such when they re-flow towards their source, God. This truth will be clearly seen, if we apply this faith to human affairs, through the interposition of religious ideas. From faith proceed the virtues of society; for it is most true, by the unanimous consent of the wise, that the dogma which commands belief in one God, Rewarder, and Avenger, is the firmest support of social morals and civil polity. In fine, let faith be employed according to its just usage; direct it wholly towards God; make it that intellectual eye, by which you discover the "Hearth;" and, by a natural extension, like the English fire-side, "home." Foi, anciently foy, is "faith," &c. The eye of the reader at once sees the literal resem. blance between foy and foyer. Is the mental operation which formed the latter word anything of this sort? Hearth, home: the place where the family assemble in cheerfulness and safety, because they assemble in faith, in mutual confidence.-TRANS. marvels of the Holy City, and the empire of real existences; let it supply wings to the soul, to elevate it above the pains of life; and it will at once be seen that the holy books have not exalted it too highly, when they have spoken of the prodigies which it has wrought. Celestial faith!-faith, comforting and consoling!-thou canst do more than remove mountains; thou canst bear away the overwhelming loads which weigh down the heart of man. The second theological virtue is HOPE. It has almost the same force as faith. Need is the parent of power. "Seek," said Jesus Christ, "and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." So Pythagoras had said, "Power dwells near to necessity;" for necessity implies privation, and privation moves with desire. Hope has the vigour which produces,—the thirst which cannot be quenched. There is, meanwhile, an essential difference between faith and hope, considered in relation to force. Faith has its power at a distance; it comes to us as from an object without. Hope, on the contrary, springs up within us to bear us onward. The first is imposed on us; it is obedience: our own desire occasions the second; it is an inward affection. But as faith, with greater facility, raises up the other virtues, as it comes directly from God, and is, in consequence, an emanation from the Eternal, it goes before hope, which is a part of ourselves. It is therefore placed first. But hope presents in itself a particular character: it is that which puts it in connexion with our miseries. Without doubt, it was revealed by Heaven, that religion which makes a virtue of hope; that nurse of the unhappy, placed with man as a mother with her sick child, who cradles it in her arms, presses it to her bosom, and affords the milk which assuages its griefs; or watches by its solitary couch, and sings it to slumber and repose. Is it not surprising to see hope, which it is so sweet to cherish, and which seems a natural movement of the soul, transformed for the Christian into a rigorously-exacted virtue? It is his duty to drink, during a long period, of the cup with which so many wretched ones would be glad only for an instant to moisten their lips. Nay, more,—and here is the marvel, he will be recompensed for having hoped,-for having contributed to his own happiness. The believer, whose life is a warfare, who is always in the presence of an enemy, is treated by religion, even when cast down, as the Roman Senate treated their unsuccessful Generals,-decreeing them triumphs because they had not despaired of future victory. But, if the ancients ascribed so much to the man that hope had not abandoned, what would they have thought of the Christian, who does not so much cherish as practise hope? As to CHARITY, child of true religion, in the literal sense of the term, it signifies grace and joy. Religion, seeking to reform the human heart, and turn to profit the virtues of our tendernesses and affections, has, as it were, invented a new passion: to express it, neither the word love, which is not severe enough,-nor friendship, which closes at the tomb,-nor pity, too much in the neighbourhood of pride,—has been used; but, instead, the word charitas, which includes the former three, and possesses, at the same time, a heavenly element. By this, it directs our inclinations to heaven, in purifying them, and referring them to the Creator: by this it teaches the grand truth, that men should, so to speak, love themselves in and through God, who spiritualizes their love, so that, in virtue of this passage, only its immortal essence remains. But if charity is thus a Christian virtue, directly emanating from God and his word, it is also in strict alliance with nature. It is by this continual harmony of heaven and earth, of God and humanity, that we recognise the character of true religion. Often are the moral and political institutions of antiquity opposed to the natural and proper sentiments of the soul. Christianity, on the contrary, always in agreement with the heart, commands no solitary and merely abstract virtues, but virtues drawn from our necessities, and useful to all. Religion has placed this sacred charity of abundance in the desert wilderness of life. "It is patient," says the Apostle; "it is sweet; it seeks not to surpass any one; it acts not rashly; it is never inflated; it is not ambitious; it follows not its own interests; it is not irritable; it thinks no evil; it rejoices not in injustice; it is delighted only in truth. It tolerates all, it believes all, it hopes all, it suffers all." RECOLLECTIONS OF THE REV. JOHN EYTON, A.M., FORMERLY VICAR OF WELLINGTON, SALOP. (To the Editor of the Wesleyan-Methodist Magazine.) THE name which adorns this page is precious in many parts of Shropshire; and it is believed that the accompanying notices, collected with meritorious care by the Rev. George Mather, will gratify a numerous circle of readers. In times which witness an earnest effort, on the part of many of our Lord's disciples, for CHRISTIAN UNION, it will not be deemed unseasonable to record the practice of one whose Churchmanship was not allowed to supersede the acknowledgment of a yet dearer bond,-that which allies "all them that love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity." The reference to Madeley, and to the saintly pair that conferred lustre on the former history of that town, will not render the paper less interesting. DELTA. In the churchyard of Wellington, Salop, stands the cenotaph of a man whose name awakens hallowed associations in the minds of hundreds. The stranger is pointed, with melancholy pleasure, to the scene of his labours; and the object of this paper is to illustrate his shining excellencies, to the glory of the common Saviour. The Rev. John Eyton, A.M., was the Vicar of Wellington, Salop; a town known in the reading world as the place in which the best writings of Mrs. Sherwood were published, and which gave birth, a century ago, to Dr. Withering, author of the "Botanical Arrangement of British Plants." Mr. Eyton's connexions were highly respectable; his person and address, extremely prepossessing. It was obvious to see that he was not a common man; benignity, affability, ingenuousness, and intellectual power, were * The translator, instead of quoting from our English version, has thought it best to take the words of the original as he found them. Variety of verbal expression, in translating from a common original, is sometimes useful, as showing how it has been understood by different minds. As to the whole paper, independently of the many correct and beautiful sentiments which it contains, it may serve to illustrate the character of the religio-romantic French literary school, its good as well as its bad. Chateaubriand, a sincere Catholic, pays more deference to church scholasticism than a Protestant moral philosopher would do. The latter would speak less of the church, and more of the Bible; and if correctness of conclusions proves soundness of principles and justness of reasoning, then has the Protestant an immense advantage over the Romanist. finely blended in his countenance. His mind was richly stored; his conceptions were clear; and his language, happy. There was a deep pathos in his ministrations which it was not easy to describe : his soul appeared in his sermons; and he seemed to have the power of captivating his audience. A mysterious chain seemed to hold them while he communicated his thoughts and feelings. And as the winged light is followed by the rollings of thunder, so the flashing of truth on the conscience was often followed by the sighs of the broken-hearted penitent. The Preacher felt the truth of what he spoke; and his great aim, his absorbing object, was to lead sinners to Christ. His church was crowded with attentive hearers. Each Sabbath morn brought numbers of villagers to the sanctuary; and many, having washed in the Pool of Siloam, returned seeing God reconciled. As a Preacher, he was popular, and eminently successful. Two volumes of his Sermons are published; their title-page bearing the touching motto, "That ye may be able after my decease to have these things always in remembrance." (2 Peter i. 15.) The Sermons are deeply interesting; but none can judge of the power of his ministrations by the simple perusal of his writings. His heaven-lit countenance, and the beaming out of his soul's secret energy, gave a peculiar force to his preaching: it was emphatically "telling." So testifies one of his privileged hearers in the lines following: "Each thought had its expression in thy face, And every feeling had its varying shade. "Yes, they may tell of angel looks and smiles,' But to be known thy looks must have been seen." * His ministerial character is well described in a note appended to an elegiac poem, in the Select Magazine for 1823, from which we give an extract: "Brought up for the Church, without any predilection for its sacred duties, he at first discharged them with a simple reference to what might be expected from him as a gentleman and a scholar. His manners, therefore, from his first entrance on the ministry, were amiable and attractive; and his sermons, chaste, elegant, and interesting. But as he gradually felt the influence of religion on his mind, his sermons assumed a more serious and impressive form : and though the fascination of the man, the abilities of the scholar, and the persuasive eloquence of the orator, were never dismissed, for they seemed integral and inseparable parts of his character,yet they were still only subordinate, though certainly most powerful, auxiliaries to the grand objects which so completely engrossed his soul. "His ministrations cannot, perhaps, be more justly characterized than by saying that they abounded in what the French call onction. For whether his doctrine descended as the rain, and his speech distilled as the dew; or whether his astonishing appeals came with an authoritative force, which his hearers had not the power to gainsay or resist; still it was the unction which pervaded the whole, which was so peculiarly felt and acknowledged. "His labours were abundantly useful. During the twenty years in * "Recollections of a beloved Pastor by one of his Flock." |