The effect of the present habits are but too
obvious—premature and indiscriminate fellowship, and the relaxation of
former discipline, has generated a race of rebels whose chief distinction
seems to be a contempt for authority, and a rash and arrogant pretension to
superiority, very unfitting their years or station. It is far better to
train up a child in the ways of God—than in the maxims of the world—to be
more intent on securing for him an entrance into eternal life, than, with a
hope of present advantage, to hazard the salvation of his immortal soul. I
would apologize (if apology be necessary), for dwelling on details which may
appear too trifling for notice—but the Christian parent, who can duly
estimate the 'potency of little things,' may collect from them some
useful hints for the regulation of his own family, and with this view I
insert them.
Mr. Richmond was an early riser, and he endeavored to
inspire the same activity into the minds of his children. He used to read
with them in his study, at as early an hour as six o'clock in the morning;
and as occasions arose, prayed with them in succession—he was very attentive
to their regularity, neatness, and good manners, and he
endeavored to make the conversation at table useful and improving. Sometimes
he proposed a subject for discussion, and when he perceived youthful spirits
rising to excess, he would throw in a remark to check the exuberance. No one
aimed more constantly to restrain the evils of the tongue in his family; if
ever a comment was made which would hurt another, his uneasiness was
apparent. Slander in any shape was distasteful to him, and he was sure to
say something in the way of allowance or excuse. Indeed Mr.
Richmond particularly excelled in controversial powers—with a fund of good
humor, he abounded in anecdote, and having a large acquaintance with science
of every kind, he never failed to entertain; while with a soul ever intent
on the glory of God, and the best interests of his fellow-creatures, he was
under no temptation to sacrifice the useful to the amusing.
Table talk is seldom regarded with a proper sense of its
importance. Servants are often on the watch to catch something for
circulation, and to retail among themselves the opinions which their masters
have expressed in their presence. The general strain of social fellowship
ought therefore to be regulated with a view to their improvement. Children
are apt to trifle, and relate all they have heard without discrimination,
and they need an adult to guide and give a tone to their conversation; this
my excellent friend accomplished in a manner the most felicitous—he allowed
and even encouraged perfect freedom and ease; yet everyone felt that there
was an eye and an ear over everything.
Innumerable harms arise to children from too close an
intimacy with domestic servants; a foundation is often laid, here, for
opinions and habits difficult to be afterwards eradicated—not only are
coarse and vulgar tastes imbibed—but vices of an appalling character are
learned, in the stable or the kitchen, where ready instruments are
frequently found to concur in deceiving a parent, or gratifying some bad
propensity in the minds of children. It was a point of importance in Mr.
Richmond's mind, that no wicked person should dwell beneath his roof; his
domestic servants, as far as practicable, were selected from people of godly
principles, and they became warmly attached to his family. Yet, even under
these circumstances, he forbade all unnecessary fellowship—there are
doubtless many faithful servants, worthy of our esteem and confidence—but as
a general rule, intimacies of this kind are productive of evil, and no good
can arise from too close a connection between our children and dependents.
Mr. Richmond provided each child with a separate
sleeping-room, thus securing a comfortable place of retirement and devotion.
These little sanctuaries were always accessible to himself; he often visited
them to leave a note on the table; for while at home, as well as when
abroad, he kept up a correspondence with his family, which he used to call
his Home Mission; and to these notes he requested a reply. I have heard him
explain his reasons for so singular a method of instruction; he used to say,
"I feel an insurmountable backwardness to close personal conversation with
my children—when I begin they are silent, and it is not long before I also
feel tongue-tied. Yet I cannot be easy without ascertaining the effect of my
instructions, and hence I have been driven to use my pen, because I
could not open my lips." Mr. Richmond is not the only father who has
felt and yielded to this dilemma, without adopting his ingenious remedy for
a weakness not uncommon—yet not the less to be lamented.
I am, however, disposed to estimate this
home-correspondence more highly than a direct personal appeal. Conversation,
(if it is not a contradiction so to speak,) is apt to be all on one side;
but a communication by letter admits of freedom and reflection, and if a
reply is expected, obliges an interchange of sentiments. It also teaches
young people to think and compose.
When circumstances required a longer letter—as when a
fault needed correction, or a removal from the family was about to take
place—when preparation for a religious ordinance was required, or the choice
of a profession to be made—on such occasions Mr. Richmond was diffuse,
earnest, particular; at other times his little notes contained only an
affectionate suggestion of a text for meditation, or a hint to improve some
event. He seemed anxious that his children should have a subject, to use his
own phrase, "on the stocks," and a habit of always employing their minds and
making the best use of the hours which usually run to waste—the moments and
interstices of time. He used to say, "an idle moment is Satan's
opportunity."
The reader may expect a specimen or two of those short
notes, which, as I have already observed, were conveyed by himself and left
on the table in his children's rooms, with a request for a reply within a
limited time. These replies formed the subjects of his prayers on their
behalf.
What are your views of the nature, design, and privilege,
of this sacrament? and what are the real feelings of your heart at this time
respecting it? This communication is, and shall be, quite confidential
between you and your affectionate Father.
P. S. I trust the first Sunday in October may unite us at
the feast of love."
Are you to reach your sixteenth year, and not internally,
as well as externally, prove yourself a partaker of the grace of God? I
trust not. True religion is not a matter of mere externals, or even of
morals. It is the spiritual application of divine truth to the heart,
producing that devotedness to God, which distinguishes the true from the
nominal Christian. But when, how, and where does this begin? It is not until
you have deep, humbling, sincere, and serious thoughts about yourself, and
the favor of God. Not until then, by a kind of holy violence, will you feel
constrained to flee to Christ, as the only refuge from the wrath to come!
Not until prayer becomes fervent, and the study of God's Word a delight; not
until every other consideration yields to that infinitely important inquiry,
"What must I do to be saved?" Not until the light, trifling, and thoughtless
person is converted, through grace—into the serious, conscientious, and
believing state of the real child of God. Is this the case with you?
I speak as a Christian father and minister. What are your
views on these important subjects? I wish my child to be deeply in earnest;
life flies apace, the period of the tomb advances quickly. I have four
children in eternity—it is true that eight more still continue with me on
earth—but how long will they be here? Which of them may next be taken from
me? I think on these things with deep solemnity. You tremble at the thought
of a school examination—but what is this compared to the examination before
the judgment-seat of God! Go, then, as a sinner to Christ. He sends none
empty away. In him and him alone, there is a rich provision for all who come
to him. But let this coming include a surrender of all you are, and all you
have, to the Lord of grace and glory. Be contented with nothing short of
reality in religion.
is a subject of great importance
in the education of a family. Offences must needs come, and the foolishness
which is bound up in the heart of a child will reveal itself in acts of
disobedience both to God and a parent. How this is to be met, controlled,
and subdued, has occasioned a difference of opinion between wise and good
men. It is agreed that authority must be maintained, and that all
which is sinful and injurious to a child's welfare, must be firmly
corrected. But it is not easy to avoid the two extremes of harshness—and
a weak fondness; to be firm—yet mild; to do nothing
from anger, from partiality or caprice—to preserve composure under
circumstances of provocation.
I cannot undertake to decide whether physical
chastisement is to be inflicted—or dispensed with. The Scripture warns us
equally against severity—and undue leniency; not to provoke
them to wrath—nor honor our children above God. On this point men must
determine according to the dictates of their own consciences. So far I am
satisfied, that there are few occasions when the rod is indispensably
necessary, and none which will justify its use under the rufflings of a
parent's temper—nor will the effect be beneficial, if a child does not at
the time understand it to be a reluctant severity—giving more pain to
the offended parent—than to the offender.
Force may be the easier way of settling a difference,
and is probably often resorted to from a wish to escape the trouble and
labor of more reasonable methods of eradicating evil from the
child—but it seldom fails to excite sinful exasperation, and induce a
brutish character; and the example on the part of the parent, is often found
unfavorable to right dispositions in the other members of the family towards
each other. Yet I am bound to admit, (as the result of my own observation,)
that even severity is a less evil in its consequences, than a weak
connivance at a child's misconduct.
The parent who never displeases his child at any time,
must expect to reap the fruits of his own folly in the ruin of his
offspring! Excessive indulgence seldom fails to bring a rebuke along with
it. Mr. Richmond's method of discipline was peculiar to himself; partly the
effect of his own unbounded tenderness and affection—but, in a great
measure, of his deep and extraordinary piety. He could never be justly
accused of a weak connivance at evil, for here he was resolute, firm
and inflexible; yet he was never known to employ physical chastisement.
Whatever may be thought of his treatment of offences, it was felt by every
member of his family, that nothing could make him yield, or shake his
resolution—no, not for a moment. He was alive to all that was wrong in
principle or conduct, and he never ceased to remonstrate, or to
employ means to reduce his child to obedience, and awaken in him a sense of
error. But the chief way in which he marked his displeasure, was by those
signs of extreme distress, which penetrated the heart of the delinquent, and
softened rebellion into regret.
From the misconduct of his child, he seemed to reflect on
himself—as the author of a corrupt being. He humbled himself before
God, and in prayer sought help from above—while he kept the offender at a
distance, or separated him from the society of his family, as one unworthy
to share in their privileges and affections. No one of his children could
long endure this exclusion, or bear with sullen indifference, a countenance
winch silently expressed the deepest anguish. Perhaps there never was a
family where the reign of love suffered less interruption.
The reader must form his own opinion of Mr. Richmond's
mode of regulating his family. He must determine for himself, how far a
discipline of this kind is worthy of imitation, or is suitable to his own
circumstances. Where there exists the same consistency and unity of purpose,
an equal desire to glorify God in all things, and a similar diligence in the
education of a family—I feel confident that the divine blessing will crown
with success, the exercise of this or any other discipline of a Christian
parent.
Two or three other letters to his children, touching both
on lively and on serious topics, will appropriately close this chapter.
My much loved F,
Yesterday there was a great storm, and the sea raged horribly. I saw many a
vessel tossed about in all directions. I went down to the shore, and stood
astounded amidst roaring waves, screaming sea-fowls, and whistling winds.
Today all is calm, gentle, and inviting. Yesterday I saw the sublime; today
the beautiful. I am writing at a window which commands the whole view.
Somehow or other I am much amused with the appearance and conduct of a large
flock of poultry, just now parading about on the lawn beneath me. There are
five pea-fowls, six turkeys, twenty cocks and hens, and a solitary goose
from Botany Bay. They walk and talk with much diversified gait and airs. The
sober gravity of their pace, occasionally interrupted by a gobble, a jump,
and a snap; the proud loftiness of the peacock, sometimes expressed in
solemn silence, and sometimes by a very unmusical squall. The ruffling
vibrations of the turkey-cock's feathers, with now and then a brisk advance
towards his rival of the green; the social grouping of the cocks and hens,
contrasted with the unsocial condition and march of the poor unpartnered
goose, who grunts dismally, and sometimes turns up a doubtful sort of a
side-look at me, as I sit at the window, as much as to say, "Who are you?"
Sometimes a continued silence for a space, and then a sudden and universal
cackling, as if they were all at once tickled or frightened, or in some way
excited to garrulity. All this amuses me not a little.
There are also two noble watch-dogs; I wish they had been
at the house when the robbers came. I feel much when at a distance from
home—even minor sources of trouble harass and disturb me, when I am so far
from you. Let us pray for faith and confidence in God alone. I think of
going to Iona—it is sacred and classic ground. May every blessing attend my
children!
So prays their affectionate father,
My own dear child,
On my return home, I found your letter, and hasten to give you a few lines
in reply. I thought you long in writing, and welcomed your hand with much
delight. Indeed, my child, you and I are not sufficiently intimate in pious
fellowship and correspondence; we must become more so—and may God enable us.
Let us walk and talk, and sit and talk more on these subjects
than we have done. Time flies, events are uncertain, providences, health,
and life are transient and mutable. I hope the ensuing winter will unite us
closer than ever.
Winter is my domestic delight; your heart is with me in
this feeling. I much regret that circumstances have prevented your traveling
with me this year—but I hope next summer will be more propitious. When I
return, we will read and talk over together such scenes as we mutually love,
and you shall hear of my interesting journey to Staffa and Iona. Nature,
grace, history, antiquity, compassion, taste, and twenty more subjects and
affections all meet there.
Read the life of Mrs. Isabella Graham of New York, Mr.
M'S. aunt. It will show you the sort of piety of Mr M. and his family, all
of whom are valuable characters.
What a terrible storm you had! The Lord rides in the
storm! He can create—and he destroy! I hope you do not forget him in the
midst of agreeable society. The care of a soul, its natural departures from
God, its proneness to make idols of the creature, and the extreme narrowness
of the strait gate—are subjects for our deep meditation. Alas! how many
among our respectable and moral friends and acquaintances are still in an
unconverted state, strangers to the real experience of heart conversion, and
unacquainted with the love of Christ! Carelessness and
insensibility ruin more souls than deliberate acts of resolute iniquity!
You have need to be jealous over your own soul—and to watch and pray that
you enter not into temptation. Real piety is a very different thing from
mere morality, outward profession, educational propriety, and orderly
conduct. Yet without genuine piety—none can enter the kingdom of God. Where
a deep sense of guilt and depravity does not exist—all else is
but an empty formality. It is much easier to acknowledge this as a
doctrine, than to feel and act upon it as a truth. I want my
children to be living commentaries on my sermons and principles. I long to
see them adorning the gospel of Christ in all things, and that from the
inner man of the heart.
I have no objection to Mr J's being liberal and
hospitable. I only lament that among the lower classes, dancing and
debauchery are nearly synonymous, and therefore I must absent myself
from such celebrations.
So poor dear S. W. is dead. To what trials are the best
Christians for a time given up. Frequently, during periods of delirium,
the most holy have appeared the most wicked in thought and action. But of
her Christianity I cannot have a doubt,
Oh! how time flies! Generation follows generation, like
waves on the sea—but where shall we drift to at last? Much, much, very much
is needed to secure a safe entrance into the eternal harbor of peace and
safety. All other subjects sink into insignificance, when compared with
this. How foolish, how wicked are we in this matter!
Farewell, my beloved daughter! Much of my domestic
comfort depends on you; love your father, for indeed he loves you. When and
while you can—be a prop to Ms feelings and spirits. The period is now
arrived when I look for the harvest of filial fellowship, of which I sowed
the seeds with such concern in your infancy and childhood. May every
blessing be with you, in time and eternity. Seven times a day I pray, and
say, 'God bless my dear wife—God bless my dear children—God bless my dear
parishioners—and God bless my own immortal soul.'
This comes from the heart of your loving Father,
Extract of a letter to his daughter F.
I saw A__M__ last week. She is like no one else—it is a little Paradise to
be where she is! Simplicity, fluency, devotedness, natural talent, and
gracious acquirements at the age of eighty-four, concentrate a kind of
glory, playing around her head and heart.
Mr.— has left. There are great lamentations—but I think I
see the hand of God in it; there is always danger when the minister,
rather than the Master, is the object of delight; for such religion
will soon decay and dissipate. One thing, my child, is most certain, that a
great deal more than commonly manifests itself among the generality of rich
and cultured professors, is necessary to adorn, if not constitute, real,
vital, saving religion. The manners, the opinions, the luxuries, the
indolence, the trifling, the waste of time and talents, the low standard,
the fastidiousness, the pride, and many more etceteras—stand solemnly in the
way of pious attainment and progress. Hence it is that in so many instances,
the religion of the poor cottage so much outstrips that of the
mansion; and that we derive so much more benefit from fellowship with
the really sincere Christians among the poor, than among the too refined,
showy, luxurious, and dubious professors of the higher classes. Thank God,
however, there are some, though few—yet delightful, specimens of piety among
the rich. The 'gate' is not too narrow for some of the 'camels.'
And now allow me, with a heart full of love and esteem
for my dearly beloved daughter, to ask whether you have considered the
subject of my last letter. Do you not see, on mature examination of your own
heart, that religion has not done all that it ought to have done in this
respect for my dearest child; has not something of discontent been mingled
with the lawful exercise of affection; has not Christ been in some degree
robbed of his love and duty in your heart of late? I entreat my dear child
to take this frank—but affectionate reproof in good part.
I love you so dearly, that I want to see you holy, happy,
and heavenly! True, deep, and sincere piety will alone induce a right frame
of heart. Not the fretful, weariedness of this world—but the mind reconciled
to all the dealings of the Lord, because they are His, and that for both
worlds.
I gave a historical, antiquarian, ecclesiastical,
picturesque, and religious lecture on Iona and Staffa, to about one hundred
and fifty ladies and gentlemen, in the school-room at Olney last Wednesday.
I spoke for two hours and a half. I produced fifty illustrative pictures,
and all my pebbles and other specimens. I did the same at Emberton. All
expressed satisfaction.
Your affectionate father,
December, 1824.
I think, dearest daughter, that the plan which I suggested will be best for
your return home. Here, all is quiet, comfortable, and uniform in our daily
course, without many striking events to diversify it by day or by night;
unless it be that the younger bairns are rather noisy by day, and the cats
in the garden outrageously so by night. Mamma is detained at Bath, by the
lingering and precarious state of Mrs. C. Willy is not materially better. My
dear, my much-loved boy! No one will ever know what anguish I have inwardly
undergone on his account since last May. I have no reason to doubt that his
mind is in a good state—but I think its exercises are somewhat too
dependant on the fluctuations of his body. I entreat you, when
restored to his companionship, to second every wish of my heart in promoting
serious, devotional, and determinate piety and occupation of heart. I
sometimes fear that his mind is too playful, too comparatively careless, in
the midst of carefulness. He is an invalid of too precarious a class to
trifle, or to be trifled with. Watch over his besetting infirmities, and
aim, without appearing to intend it, to correct them.
Many people, God be praised, appear at this time to be
under serious impressions, and the Lord's work in this parish is evidently
advancing. I earnestly wish to see it so under my own roof, as well as in my
neighbors' cottages. Yes, my own beloved child, I wish to witness more
positive, decided, unequivocal demonstrations of it in your own heart!
Beware of substituting mere sentimentalism for vital godly experience; and
any, however subtle, species of idolatry—for the simple, sincere, childlike
love of Jesus—Jesus, the sinner's refuge!—Jesus the sinner's friend!—Jesus,
the sinner's companion!
Beware of the fascinating but dangerous tribe of novel
writers, fictionists, story-tellers, and dramatists, whose writings steal
away the heart from God, secretly poison the spring of pious devotion,
create false standards of judgment and rob God of his honor. Never let the
false light of literary genius—beguile you into the swamps and
puddles of immorality, much less of infidelity. "The heart is deceitful
above all things, and desperately wicked—who can know it?" Ten thousand
thieves and robbers within, are continually defrauding God of our best
affections; they assume imposing attitudes, array themselves in false
attire, speak flattering words, 'prophecy smooth things,' delude the
imagination and darken the soul. 'Watch and pray, that you enter not into
temptation.'
Always keep a searching experimental book in private
reading, to accompany the study and daily reading of the Word of God. Beware
of trifling and mere gossiping conversation, even with religious friends—the
afore-named thieves and robbers are never more active than under the
plausible guise of a pleasant but unprofitable fellowship with those whom,
on good grounds, we esteem. 'The time is short,' should be written on
everyone, and everything we see.
Dear Charlotte Buchanan is now gone to the rest that
remains for the people of God. Do you not now feel, that had you anticipated
so speedy a bereavement, many a thought would have been cherished, many a
word uttered, many a conversation held, more congenial with the idea of her
early flight from time to eternity, from the visible to the invisible
world? But you know not who may go next. If, then, while health may still
bloom on the cheek, so much consideration is due—how much more so, when
sickness and anticipated decay warn us, that those we love may not long
be with us.
I deeply feel that our general standard of social and
domestic religion is too low. It does not sufficiently partake of the more
simple and pure vitality of the poor man's piety. The cottage
outstrips the drawing-room, in the genuine characteristics of the
gospel efficacy. The religion of the one is more like wine—that of the
other, wine and water in various degrees of mixture. There is not only to be
found in the religious world, a solid, substantial, consistent, and devoted
character—but there is also what may be termed a pretty cultured sort of
evangelism, which too well combines with the luxurious ease and serving
of the world, and the flesh—not to say of the devil also. But such kind of
religion will not prepare the soul for sickness, death, and eternity; or
will, at best, leave it a prey to the most fearful doubts, or, still more to
be feared, the delusions of false peace. The way that leads to eternal life
is much more narrow than many of our modern professors are aware
of—the gate is too straight to allow all their trifling, and self-will, and
worldliness, and carnal-mindedness, to press through it.
The gospel is a system of self-denial; its dictates teach
us to strip ourselves, that we may clothe others; they leave us hungry, that
we may have wherewith to feed others; and send us barefooted among the
thorns of the world, rather than silver-shod, with mincing steps to walk at
our ease among its snares. When our Lord was asked, 'Are there few that
shall be saved?' he answered neither yes nor no; but said, 'Strive to enter
in at the straight gate,' and this word 'strive,' might be translated,
'agonize.' Beware of belonging to that class, which Hannah More
ingeniously calls 'the borderers.' Choose whom you will serve, and take care
not to prefer Baal. Ask yourself every night, what portion of the past day
have I given to God, to Christ, to devotion, to improvement, to benevolent
exertion, to effectual growth in grace? Weep for the deficiencies you
therein discover, and pray for pardon and brighter progress.
From my heart I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy
new year when it comes. James explains 'merry.' (James 5:13) so does our
Lord, (Luke 15:24.) May such merry-makings be ours. Our love to all.
Tell Mr. M to write to Wilberforce. I want correspondents who will do him
good, and not trifle. I am to preach two missionary sermons at Cambridge on
the thirteenth. Farewell, my beloved daughter; come quickly here, and be
assured how truly I am,
Your faithful loving father,
January 6, 1825.
My dear daughter,
Your letter is just such as I wish you often and often again to repeat. Let
your heart be confidential, and you will ever find mine responsive to it.
May no trifles ever wean your affections from the unspeakably important
subjects of eternity. Idols are bewitching, dangerous things, and steal away
the heart from God. The most lawful things may become idols—by fixing an
unlawful degree of affection upon them.
One reason of the difficulties with which you meet on the
subject of prayer may be, the not sufficiently looking by faith unto Christ.
Essential as prayer is, both as a privilege, an evidence—an instrument of
good, and a source of every blessing; yet it is only the intercessory prayer
of Christ, which can render our prayers acceptable and efficacious, and it
is only by lively faith in the great Intercessor, that we can obtain a heart
to pray. Thus faith and prayer act in a kind of circle in our
minds, and each produces, (experimentally) and is produced, by the aid of
the other.
I am glad you like Mr. Bickersteth's little book on
prayer—all his publications are good. There are many books, as well as
general conversations, about religious matters, which, after all do not
bring home true religion to the heart. Religious gossiping is a deceitful
thing, and deceives many. How many professors of religion will utter twenty
flippant remarks, pro or con, upon a preacher, where only one person
will lay his remarks to heart. How many look more to the vessel—than to the
excellency of the treasure contained in it. Some people cannot relish their
tea or coffee, unless served in a delicate cup, with a pretty pattern and a
gilt edge.
Let poor dear Charlotte Buchanan's sudden call from
time to eternity, warn us how needful it is to 'die daily;' not to
trifle with our souls, when eternity may be so near; nor to boast of the
morrow, when we know not what a day may bring forth.
I rejoice to find your recent meditations have opened to
your conscience besetting infirmities. Press forward my child; let them not
gain an ascendency. Beware of mere sentimentalism, of satire, of
fastidiousness, towards people and things. Beware of bigotry and prejudice,
of procrastination, of the love of fictions, of dangerous though fascinating
poets, etc. I wish you, my love, to attach yourself to visiting the sick,
and conversing usefully with the poor; to the instruction of poor children;
to religious correspondence and conversation, with a few sincere friends;
and particularly strive to commence and continue spiritual conversation with
our dear Willy.
I lately watched the young moon declining in the western
sky—it shone sweetly. Sometimes a cloud shot across the disk—sometimes a
floating mist partially obscured it, alternately it was bright again; it
sometimes silvered the edge of the very cloud that hid it from sight. At
length the lower horn touched the horizon; then the upper horn, and then it
wholly disappeared. Venus remained to cheer the gloom. I said to myself,
'There is the decline of my beloved boy, and there is the star of hope.'
Your affectionate father,
London, June 25, 1825.
Dear F. and dear H.,
Between the evening and morning services of this day, I have a leisure hour,
in which I feel as if I would like to sit down and talk with you two. I miss
our early morning exercises much, and this for the present must be the
substitute on my part. I have nothing very particular to recount, only that
I have been to a few places, where I was last summer with my beloved
Wilberforce, and I have indulged the silent tear, as I retraced
incidents never again to recur. At some places, where my friends remember
his visits and conversations, I am asked, 'How he is?' with interest in
their manner; and I have to tell how he has taken his flight to another and
better world; and it affects me greatly so to do. I know not how it is with
me, in regard to that dear boy's loss—but I talk less, and think
more than ever about him.
The two weeks preceding, and the one following his death,
are indelibly engraved on my heart's recollections, and sometimes overpower
me, in a way of which none of you have any real idea. Sometimes my mind is
strengthened—but at others weakened by these reflections. I am sometimes
comforted, at others terrified by these exercises of mind. It is my
weakness, my fault, my misfortune, that I cannot express more of my mind and
feelings to you both.
Dear, dear H! you are now become the prop and stay of my
declining years—think much of the station in which God has placed you. My
first-born is a distant wanderer, and God knows when or whether I shall see
him again on earth. My second boy is taken from me, you are my third—but now
my first. Be such to your two younger brothers, particularly to L; he needs
your constant superintending care—watch over him; do not leave him to seek
unprofitable associates; cherish the little germ of hope which God has
planted in my bosom concerning him; let your example influence, and
your kind attentions encourage him in every good way; and think much of your
own soul.
Beware of declensions—remember the last words of dear
Wilberforce—live up to his advice. How my heart yearns over you and all your
prospects; "What are you? What are you to be, my beloved child?" Write to me
freely.
And my F also; are you as much alive to spiritual things,
as when you hastened to the dying bed of dear Willy—as when you wept over
his coffin? My child, dread all decays, and may the flame of spiritual piety
never grow dim amidst the mists of unworthier speculations. Visit the
cottages—forsake not the poor, for your father's sake.
I have been this morning where you might least have
expected to find me; but I went not from curiosity—but from a conscientious
wish to know and judge for myself—to the Roman Catholic Chapel in Moorfield,
to hear high mass. I was astonished at the decorations, and the gorgeous
dresses of the bishop and priests; charmed with the exquisite beauty of the
music; disgusted at the ceremonial mummery of the service; and unconvinced
by the bishop's eloquent sermon in defense of transubstantiation. It was all
deception, delusion, and collusion. The service lasted near four hours. I
bless God more than ever for true Protestantism. I shall hear the Messiah
performed tomorrow. Such music I love; it lifts my soul to heaven. I am
sick and disgusted with common light modern songs—they are unfit for
Christians. Oh! what music is my Willy enjoying in heaven. Shall we all
enjoy it with him? The question often sinks me in the dust. My dear, my most
dear children! press forward to the prize of the mark of our high calling in
Christ Jesus. There is an immense gulf to be passed. Who is sufficient for
these things?
Say many kind and pastoral things for me to my dear
people at Turvey. Truly I have them in my heart. My children—I kiss you from
a distance; believe how much and how entirely I love you.
P. S.—Monday. I am just returned from hearing the
Messiah. In the two grand choruses, I thought I could hear my Willy's
voice, and it quite overcame me. Past, present, and future, mingled in
strange and affecting combination. These feelings are sometimes too much for
your poor father.
It may easily be conceived with what concern, Mr. Richmond's would
contemplate the removal of his boys from the paternal roof, when their age
would render it unavoidable. The difficulty of placing young people in
suitable situations is greatly increased in the present day, by the numbers
who are pressing into every trade and profession, and by the modern practice
of excluding youths from the master's family; a practice which may conduce
to the comfort and convenience of the latter—but which necessarily exposes
the clerk and the apprentice to the worst temptations. Mr. Richmond knew
perhaps less than many other parents how to place out his children to
advantage. He was not wise for this, world, and though few had fairer
opportunities, or friends more able to advise and help him—he shrunk from
availing himself of these advantages, to a degree which we cannot approve,
while we respect his delicacy and paramount regard to the honor of religion.
He was not the ablest Counselor under such circumstances,
except indeed on one point—that the welfare of the soul should be the
governing principle in the selection of a profession. He gave an unbounded
liberty of choice to his children, with one exception, an exception which it
is difficult to imagine would not equally be made by every Christian parent.
The profession of a military soldier, if not in itself unlawful, is
so irreconcilable with the spirit of a peaceable religion; and a life of
comparative idleness, or of activity amidst the horrors of destruction, is
so repugnant to the principles and feelings of a disciple, whose master came
not to destroy—but to save men's lives, that a right-minded man can scarcely
be supposed to admit a preference for it.
People of undoubted piety have been discovered in soldier
camps, as well as in the peaceful fields—but it has generally been found
that their knowledge of God was subsequent to their choice of their
profession. The Christian under an actual engagement in a service, may
decide "to abide in the calling wherein he is called," and honor God in his
vocation; but this is a widely different determination from a choice made
with the knowledge of peace and love in Christ Jesus.
One of those events which often inspire a preference for
a soldier's life, I mean the show of military parade, excited this
inclination in Mr. Richmond's younger son. To this choice Mr. Richmond
expressed his dissent in the strongest terms. "Anything but this," said he,
"anything but this—the very mention of a military life fills me with horror;
I cannot bear to think of a child of mine engaging in scenes of bloodshed
and destruction. No consideration on earth could extort my consent. It would
make me really miserable!"
The following letter to his daughter F is the best
transcript of his thoughts and feelings on this subject.
I grant, dearest F, you may charge me with the same thing
in which you have often been culpable; I have no very good reason to assign
for delay, and therefore will rather take my share of blame, than furnish
you with a bad argument, or a bad example, as to the duty of letter writing.
I rejoice in your account of Turvey, a spot that is always in my mind's eye,
when not in my sight. No succession of time or circumstance has weaned, or
ever can wean, my heart from the domestic village.
There is a young triumvirate increasingly endeared to me,
one in heaven and two on earth, and their names shall be recorded
together—Wilberforce, Henry, and C. Dear boys! born in the same village,
companions in the same school, partners in the same recreations, friends in
every social pursuit, and dare I say—heirs of the same glory? United by the
ties of the same grace on earth, may they share the same felicity in heaven.
I am glad that your meditations have been, of late, deep and important. Pray
that they may continue so. Life is short; eternity is at hand; banish,
therefore, all needless reserve, banish levity, banish dullness, be much
with Christ in prayer.
There is something lacking among us—as to really
improving and spiritual conversation—too much worldly bustle, too much
regard to passing events, too much consequent alienation from the one, the
only thing needful. Without inquiring who is the most in fault, let each of
us strive to resist the evil and cleave to the good.
When I think of my boys and C, I bless God for village
seclusion, and greatly rejoice that they have been kept at a comparative
distance from the evil communications which corrupt good manners. The
world, even in its apparently harmless form, is a terrible snare to the
young and untaught mind. I before gave you my opinion on Sunday evening
walks, I have often earnestly denounced them to the people, and need not add
a word to you on this head.
There is a subject which often hangs heavily on my
heart—I mean my poor dear T's inclination for a military life. Hating
war as I do from my very heart; convinced as I am of the
inconsistency of it with real Christianity; and looking on the profession of
a soldier as irreconcilable with the principles of the gospel—I would mourn
greatly if one of my boys chose so cruel, and, generally speaking, so
profligate a line of life. I could never consent to it on conscientious
grounds, and therefore wish this bias for the profession of a soldier, to be
discouraged. I dislike and oppose it with my whole heart!
May God, the God of peace, bless you, my much loved
F—Give a Christian message of pastoral love to my dear flock; I often think
and pray for them. Love to the boys. You know well how truly and sincerely I
am,
Your affectionate father,
The strongest desire Mr. Richmond ever expressed with
respect to his children was, that they might devote themselves to the
service of the sanctuary. "I have no concern," he used to say, "about their
temporal provision; God will take care of that; but I would rejoice to see
every one of my boys actively and usefully engaged in the church of God."
His son H chose the sacred profession, to which his father consented; but
the necessity of his removal to the university haunted him like a specter.
He passed many anxious days and sleepless nights in anticipation of the
event; and at times he seemed to be in the deepest trouble—he talked and
wrote continually about the possible consequences of it. The subject seemed
to absorb his thoughts and depress his spirits, "What if my boy should fall
a victim to associations which have blasted the fairest hopes of many a
Christian parent. He may do without learning—but he is ruined body and soul
if he be not wise unto salvation."
Such acute distress may appear to some—a sort of excess
worry. It is true, feelings of this order require control—but allowance
should be made for the overflowings of parental concern, and the dread of a
transition and revolution of habits not without danger, and affording just
grounds of apprehension. There are occasions in which it is difficult to
preserve the mind in due balance; and when not to feel deeply, implies a
culpable indifference to the interests of eternity, or at least a very low
estimate of their paramount importance. Mr. Richmond, as will appear from
subsequent events, was standing on the verge of eternity; his health and
spirits had been greatly shattered by the severe family trials through which
he had lately been made to pass; and his feelings on all subjects connected
with religion were wrought up to a pitch of acuteness, which rendered
unnecessary contact with the world almost insupportable. There need seldom,
however, be any dread of a glow of feeling that "would consume us." It is
much more to be deplored, that men can contemplate the "exceeding weight of
things which are eternal," with so little emotion, and waste their chief
energies on those which endure only for a season, and then flee away
forever.
With respect to our Universities, I am not
disposed to join in the unmeasured and ignorant chiding with which they have
been assailed by their enemies, and even by those who owe much of their
eminence in society to the advantages derived from them. It is easy to
blame—but difficult to improve. Plausible theories may be suggested, and the
crude hand of reform, may proceed to experiments, which are often
mischievous, and always uncertain in their outcome. The question is not,
what is desirable—but what is practical. How little is to be expected from
attempting too much, is observable in the strictness of statutes, which
descend even to absurd minutiae, compared with the feeble discipline, which
corrupt beings will allow to be enforced. It is indeed devoutly to be
wished, that a more vigilant superintendence were exercised over the private
habits of the young men as to the facility of contracting debts, and of
admission into college after the closing of the gates; that something more
of the spirit of religion were infused into its forms; that less were left
to the discretion of "the mad age;" and that the authority and duty of the
tutor should not be confined to the hours of lecture.
Desirable as are such improvements in college discipline,
I am not prepared to show how they can be made, unless the minds of men were
more deeply impressed with the true end of education—the training a soul
for eternity. I shall not indulge in idle declamation against
evils which I may lament—but cannot cure. The dangers incident
to inexperienced youth at the university, are confessedly great—but they
attach to all situations of their early career, and are not peculiar to
their residence amid these noble monuments of ancient piety and munificence.
Yet a Christian parent, in matriculating his son at college, will feel
increasing responsibility to commend him to the Spirit of God for protection
and guidance; and to use every precaution against the evil influence to
which he may be exposed from the corrupt examples of contemporaries, or the
too great liberty allowed to himself. I would suggest the inestimable
advantages to be obtained from the help and superintendence of a private
tutor—of such an age to be a companion, and of talents and
piety sufficient to make him a useful guide. Such a one, entrusted
with authority to direct his pupil's conduct and studies, would secure
everything within human means, which an anxious parent could desire.
The last production of Mr. Richmond's pen was a paper of
warnings and instructions for his son. This paper was found on his table
after his death, and was evidently the result of his dying meditations. I
deeply regret that it has been lost, and that I cannot gratify the reader by
the valuable hints which it might have suggested.
In surveying the variety of circumstances and details connected with Mr.
Richmond's plan of education, it seems to me that two points may be added
with advantage.
It has often been lamented that children and young people
receive so little benefit from public instruction. Mr. Richmond did indeed
teach his children to pray and read the Scriptures; and he wrote a form of
prayer for the use of each of them; until they were able to approach a
mercy-seat with the expression of their own thoughts and desires. They had
the benefit of his family exercises and conversations, and he kept his eye
on their behavior at church—but this is not all that is needful; they should
be frequently examined as to what they hear, and be required to give
an account of every sermon; receiving reproof or commendation as they
appear to have been negligent or attentive.
It is important also to accustom children to separate a
part of their pocket-money for charitable purposes, and to act in
their sympathy with the necessitous, on plan and system. Mr. Richmond's was
himself hospitable and benevolent; he contributed largely from his slender
means, to the needs of his poor parishioners, and he inculcated on his
family, the duty of unremitting attention to distress of every kind. But
children should be trained to seek out proper objects, and learn to
relieve them from their own means, and by the sacrifice of their own
gratifications. What portion of our goods ought to be separated for the
poor, is not determined in the Scriptures; the only definite rule there laid
down, is, "According as God has prospered him—so let every man give as he is
disposed in his heart." Children, as well as grown people, should be allowed
opportunity to exercise discretion, and evidence the sincerity of
principle—we cannot prescribe any fixed amount, which must vary according to
the circumstances of different people; still, however, this labor of love
ought to be regulated by some definite principle.
From the foregoing detail of Mr. Richmond's laborious and
conscientious care of his family, it is natural to ask—what was the
result? Delicacy and propriety forbid me to speak of the children now
living, though I might there appeal to facts which confirm the truth of
that gracious promise, "Train up a child in the way in which he should
go—and when he is old he shall not depart from it."
I shall, however, now endeavor to fulfill Mr. Richmond's
own intentions, by recording the deaths of his children, who died in
the faith, and are gone to their rest and peace in Christ Jesus.